Dear Fans

Dear Fans,

The blog is back. Summer 2009. Get excited.

-Dave

 

Catnap

There was something amidst in the air as I was seeing my family off in the airport. And that something told me that I forgot to feed the cat. Waving my hand farewell, I grinned hesitantly and impatiently until they were out of sight. One whole week on my lonesome- the American Dream- family in Barbados, basking in sunlight and sipping margaritas, and I would have the entire house for myself and my girlfriend, Laurie. These thoughts fueled me as I took off from the airport; my seat belt not so securely fastened as I menaced a poor elderly couple with devastating whiplash spinning them around so violently that they swapped dentures in mid air.

In a dastardly attempt to get my girlfriend to agree to living with me for this next upcoming week I had bought her a kitten. It was a striking little creature, with tender white paws and an orange striped face, a pair of eyes so green and vivid they almost matched hers. She would love it, who wouldn’t? But the poor little thing had got nothing to eat for over a couple of days with well my family of five, not including me, getting ready to depart and then driving them to the Fort Worth airport (an appalling three hour drive from our homely suburban home)- at worst this kitten would probably be starving.

I drove rabid, taking turns and rushing yellow lights; I even made an Asian-woman driver tremble, I grinned, revenge. After reducing the drive to a mere two hours I ran into the house, meowing and cooing, trying to find the kitten and that’s when I saw it, sprawled across the kitchen floor, dead.

Before the ensuing panic rushed in I let out one final meow. This one hung in the air, a cloud, resonating throughout the walls, a treble cry that sent shrills through the silverware.

Jesus H. Christ, I thought to myself. What now?

I bent over his body- the little thing looked so peaceful. It died with his tongue slightly hanging out from his mouth, barely grazing his little new-born teeth. Even I couldn’t interrupt these few moments of silence that had found its way over my house. But enough was enough and I bent over the little man and started analyzing the best possible way to get his body out of the house and into the dumpster out back.

Aluminum foil wrap him and then toss? Too down and dirty. Sweep him into the dustpan and then shake him out? Too impersonal and harsh. Roll him onto a towel and then bury him out back? Bingo.

It was game time. But as I lifted myself up and brushed some unsightly dust off I saw my girlfriend’s red Hyundai drive right up into my driveway. You know those moments in life when everything kind of reaches to a halt, like some clandestine celestial force accidentally pushed pause on that magic VCR tape that is your life and you’re free to move within the space-time continuum free of fourth dimensional consequence?

Well it wasn’t quite like that but as I stood still in sheer dread she had already gotten out of the car and closed the door and was well on her way to knocking as she fumbled through her electronic lock and keys. Luckily with a few mental urges my feet started moving and began my search for the nearest towel.

“Tap, tap,” her gentle hand struck my door.

Damn it, I had only taken three steps. “Ummm honey, I’ll be right there I’m kind of indecent at the moment.”

“Well that never stopped you before,” she quipped.

I half-grinned, knowing that her remark was hiding some type of sexual connotation; good or bad I couldn’t tell. Instead of turning to the door and letting her in, I rushed upstairs for the towel. There was no way I was going to let her see that cat. I mean giving her a living, beautiful kitten would have pretty much catapulted me to the top of boyfriend echelon but presenting her with a lifeless kitten that wasn’t stuffed, well that might very well mark the worst present since giving her a power chord for our 6 month anniversary.

“Tap, tap,” she continued her knocking. “Come on it’s one leg in and the other follows.”

Grabbing the towel out of the closet and turning around to head back down stairs, I realized I wouldn’t have enough time to wrap up the kitty and then go out back to throw it out. She’d probably hear the screen door opening and start imagining all sorts of unnecessary shenanigans. Quickly going to plan B, which was conjured instantly, I sprawled down alongside my fallen comrade and wrapped him in the blue Malibu towel.

“Tap, tap,” once again. “I’m two seconds away from leaving.”

Shit. I had him in my arms now barely out of sight from the kitchen’s large windows. I knew I couldn’t take him out, so where to stash him? I looked around the kitchen and there it was, shining in off-white glory I opened the refrigerator and stuffed him right in the center tray where there was the most space. I closed the refrigerator door with a thud.

Walking to the door I said, “Hey babe what’s the hurry? A man can’t take a shower and grab something to eat anymore?”

“Only you can enjoy peanut butter in the nude,” she shook her head, mockingly disgusted. “So how’s the big boy feeling all alone for the first time?”

“Ha well you know it gets kind of lonely after a while…” I let my sentence trail for a little added effect. Maybe I wouldn’t need the kitten after all.

I could feel it now; it was about to come, her admission that she was sorry that I felt so lonely and maybe the every-guy-should-hear-this-once-in-his-life offering of ‘is there anything I can do?’ But instead I got a chuckle and only, “Oh Eric, you and your jokes.”

She crushed me. And then she squeezed a little tighter.

“By the way, I’m really thirsty what do you have in this thing?” She said as she reached over to the refrigerator door handle and began her pull.

“NOOOO,” I leaped at her, “You can’t open that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s broken…” I stammered, “It’s been broken for a while now, the cold air barely stays inside and if you open it then it just pours out and the food will go bad.”

“Now that is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, I was here the other day helping your mom cook the going away cake she left you and it was working just fine,” she replied.

This girl will just not quit today, jeeze. “Haha well I just wanted to get your drink for you. When should my little princess have to pour her own drink when her prince is in the house?”

“Oh Eric, shut it and get me some lemonade.”

I went over to the cabinet to grab a fresh glass first; trying to minimize the chances she would catch a glimpse of the old fur-ball and brought it with me to the refrigerator. It might have seemed odd but it was either that or her seeing it and catastrophically ravaging our relationship- and my rear end. I opened it slowly, trying to block the tray that it rest on with my body. I got out the carton of lemonade and I stood at the door facing in while I poured.

“Ugh what is that god-awful smell?” she asked.

“Ah it’s probably nothing I actually don’t smell anything,” I got out a little too fast as I closed the door.

“Eric, please whatever that thing was it reeked. I think something died in your refrigerator. Maybe something went bad or sour. Let me check,” she said and the irony of her statement was not lost on me. She tried to nudge her way past my arm but I wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t think of anything to divert her attention now, it seemed like she would be staring straight into the little kitten’s deceased eyes any second.

But then heaven itself opened up… and called my house.

“Rrrrrring-rrrring-rrrrrring,” my house phone chirped.

My grin now reaching from ear to ear I asked her, “Babe could you get that for me? I’ll check what’s inside this nasty thing but it might be my mama.”

She went over to the next room where the phone lay and I quickly opened the refrigerator and brought the bundled cat back out. I looked around the room once more, realizing, eerily that I was in the same position just about a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to put it in the oven, nor the cabinet, and I wasn’t going to put the little guy in the garbage bin we had in the house. So when I looked at the kitchen window that led to the flat of our house, the same one we shared with the neighbor, I immediately opened it up with my free hand, raised the window plane up, and just heaved the little sucker outside.

I’d make amends with him later, I promised myself.

“So it was just another one of those stupid telemarketers asking if you wanted to join some crazy hooha medical plan,” she came back into the kitchen evidently annoyed.

I took a deep breath and realized I had just gotten out of the stickiest situation harm-free. “Well don’t worry about it but thanks for getting it for me,” and I tried to put the kitten as far away from my mind as possible. I had my girlfriend here, in my own house, alone. “I cleaned out the fridge; I think it was just some fruits that had gone bad so don’t even worry about it. Do you want to watch a movie or something in my room?” I crossed my fingers.

“Fine as long as you don’t make me watch Star Wars for the 700^th time,” she replied. Well I guess something is better than nothing. As I put my arm slyly around her waist and began to lead her upstairs…

“Tap, tap,” who could it be?

I walked back up to the door with my girlfriend in tow and I looked out the peephole to see my neighbors. Oh how thoughtful of them, probably checking up on me knowing this was my first time alone. So I opened the door and there they were, a nice elderly couple probably married for at least half a century and in the husband’s hands was a muddy blue Malibu towel and barely leaning over his wrists was the head of the long dead kitten, tilted and with the tongue now cascading down from his mouth. Somehow one eye was opened and it was staring directly at me, pleading, wondering, accusing, oh the cutest little dead thing in the entire world. I stifled a shriek.

“Young man, we saw you throw this poor thing out into our flat, what is the meaning of this?” The husband took the towel off of the kitten and it uncovered him so you could easily see that there was no life left in him, nothing but dirt and a few frostbitten fur marks.

I couldn’t think of a word to say and suddenly my face and tongue matched his exactly.

And my girlfriend, as the reality of the situation slowly sank in, let off a battle cry that surely startled the poor kitten’s soul past its ascendance up past the clouds.

 

I Dont Think Titles Matter (introducing, Gio)

What influences someone to record their thoughts on paper and to be crazy enough to let other people read them? Even as I sit here now I wonder if anyone would actually find my incessant ramblings slightly interesting. But alas I do not care. At all. And in that somewhat paradoxical statement, ladies and gentlemen, lies my greatest accomplishment and my most regrettable flaw.

I do not listen to what people say – I measure intent. Other people’s opinions are rarely high on my list of cool stuff to think about. The thought processes that stumble around the immense void that is my consciousness are my closest friends and most trusted guides. I live for the feeling and thrive off of emotion. I ponder, I calculate, and I accomplish.

I don’t see myself as witty, clever, charismatic, or terribly funny and I don’t play sports or do amazingly well in school. I am stubborn and unmotivated but I try hard and the slightest failure kicks my ass faster than Kimbo ever could.

So, what drives me to write, besides the influence of my English professor, whom I have a slight crush on? You do, my most trust worthy and opinionated (or bored) reader, you do. If I can offer you a different perspective, change your mind, make you think, or just make you smile, I have served a purpose on this blog. And that, my friends, is why I sit in front of the keyboard (other than to kill time between classes).

 

What’s for Dinner? Tim Tebowned Steak

As I’m strolling into the Tartan Pavilian, the local place to get some good pizza and have a nice overlook of the football stadium I’m rocking my one and only Miami Hurricanes football shirt. On my mind there is only one glorious thing, the UM vs UF game coming up in nearly an hour.

Some quick little background info- I am a diehard ‘Canes fan, I bleed Orange and Green, I love Ibises, and I hate Tim Tebow (the quarterback for the Gators).

So as I pass by these two semi-chums that I kinda know but I kinda don’t and then they turn to me, they decide to smirk up. The one on the left, sporting a sadistic smile tells me:

“Hey will… do you know, Tim Tebow does not get wet, water gets Tim Tebowed…”

and the one on the right says (right before embarking on a chuckle fest):

“Tim Tebow is not allowed to sky dive… one Grand Canyon is enough!”

I am utterly flabbergasted.. trash talking during DINNER TIME? They aren’t even from Florida, they don’t even know what an I- formation is, the touch of a football, who John Madden is and much less the smell of a vagina. Who are they to talk trash to MOI?

“Excuse me good sirs?”, I barely manage to reply, “How would you like to go through life with only one functioning teste? Have you ever tried testicle tar tar mothatruckas?”

Let’s get one thing straight, If bitch were an acronym it would stand for Tim Tebow.

Tim Tebow routinely pulls off this “I’m a good Christian boy” act like he’s Saint Tebow, that foo’ is burning pages of the bible for aerosol treatments, making love to quadripeds before marriage and just overall being a bitch. Bitches aint Christians they just bitches. And oh yeah, did I forget to mention he’s dating a pornstar?! What? Don’t believe me?!

(yes this is the future Mrs. Tebow)

What? UM lost you say? I’m just talking smack? Please dawg, Tim Tebow is chubby, and you know what Sean Spence says, FAT NI**AS AINT SHIIIII..

 

The Issue of Race at Vanderbilt

Growing up in Miami, I had qualms about Vanderbilt and its reputation in self-segregation and racism. I read that comments posted on www.Juicycampus.com had spurred discussion about racism on campus and that the administrators were trying really hard to bridge the rift between races and social classes.

When I got here, my first impression was that racism wasn’t a problem. After all, people at the airport were courteous, cafeteria ladies would not murmur obscenities and all the students I met in the “orientation” (Sometimes referred to as “Camp Vandy” because freshmen moved in early and did camp like events like going on boat rides and having casino night) were kind to me.

But after about a week, I understood where the reputation of racism at Vanderbilt came from.

Racism at Vanderbilt does not exist in the cross-burning, racial slurring, slave lynching kind of way (try to use less intense examples, like i mean no one really expects that form of racism to be existent on a college campus unless you’re going to Alabama state). In fact, it would be almost impossible for anyone who is not a minority to even sense the existence of the discrimination.The reason why you have to be a minority to sense the racism is because the racism is not about actions but about attitudes.

People’s attitudes toward me revealed an underlying sense of discomfort that many people have with minorities. For instance, not once here have I been approached by a white stranger just to get to know each other (even with my VUCepter group). I have always been the one to initiate contact and even after that, I have to be the one that guides the conversation to somewhere meaningful. Curiously enough, I’ve been approached by not only asians, but blacks, indians and arabs just “because”.

Of course, when I get to know them better, many of the white students become comfortable and conversation becomes easier. Yet, i have still not been able to make a consistent white friend.

Some people might say”Maybe you are self-segregating”. To that, I would say that I have tried my best not to self-segregate. I have avoided asians as much as possible and have tried to make friends who are not like me. The college, however, hasn’t been helpful in that they gave me an asian roommate and urged me to join an asian group before I even arrived on campus. My closest friends now are: Two blacks, one half-hispanic, an Indian and my roommate.

Sure, I’ve got white hallmates who are nice and courteous but we have not made any connection. There is a mutual awkwardness between us that is hard to explain. Since they haven’t seen many asians before, they don’t know what to say to me or how to treat me. To me, it seems like they’re not talking to me as much because I’m asian and now I become self-conscious of being asian and I remain quiet and insecure.

The physical manifestations of racism are not visible on campus but the tension between the races is definitely there.

If you’re Asian and considering Vanderbilt expecting a strong education AND the great greek scene, football games and social scene, you will be disappointed. You will have difficulty tapping into the greek scene, football games and social activities.

Do I regret coming to Vanderbilt? Somewhat. The racial tension that I experience wherever I go is uncomfortable and would rather not have to deal with it but the academics and quality of life here is great. Don’t let social discomfort stop you from coming to this college if you’re really only worried about academics.

 

roomies

“Uh, Will?”

I opened my eyes groggily confronting an equally disheveled reflection of myself in the mirror. I had left the sink on and my toothbrush was in the works of reenacting the sinking of the Titanic. Taking one final look in the mirror I saw a lone eyedookie clinging to my eyelash. While splashing that cold, invigorating Indiana tap water onto my face I rotated my neck to face my more pudgier roommate of four days.

“Uh Will?”

I continued staring at him, not saying a word. If your mornings are going to blow why not try to spice things up once in a while?

“Hey uh Will you there?”

I really didn’t know what I wanted to do. Should I respond verbally? Or parley with his face with the “twins” (raises fists): Andrew Jackson and Jamal.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?” He playfully knock-knocked against the mirror to, I guess, visually emphasize his point in the most visually upsetting way ever.

“C’mon Will I’m sorry for intruding but can you please respond?”

Wow I hated his impeccable politeness and courteous disposition. Always quick with a “please” or “thank you” his inability to be an asshole pissed me quite the fuck off frankly. I stirred the twins a bit, Jamal likes his beauty rest.

I muted my roommate, watching his mouth move up and down I was pretty sure if I heard one more ‘excuse me’ I’d suffer an aneurysm and our health insurance coverage didn’t include Indiana. Shit I don’t even think I have health insurance period.

As I readied myself to throw it down UFC style I had a sudden change of heart. He DID bring the microwave, TV, and fridge. So… ehhhh.
“Yeah Ryan, whats poppin?”

“Ho-hum looks like the hens are in the coops after all!”

Wtf.

“Are you done using the sink?”

“Yeah sure enjoy yo’self.”

I gathered my things and was about to relinquish my claim upon the sink when Ryan chirped up once more

“Hey Will?”

Deep sigh. “Yep Ryan?”

“You forgot your underwear again nude-a-rino!!!!”

And that was when mah fist… stopped right in his face

 

The Tragedy of Alicia Sacramone

Quite a girl isn’t she? Well if you were watching the team women’s gymnastics in the 2008 olympics you would’ve witnessed one of the saddest tragedies in recent memory.

Even before the olympics began, people buzzed about the rivalry between the Americans and the Chinese. Even though the U.S. has taken the gold for the past few olympics, this year China assembled a dynamic new team. It was believed to be the greatest battle of gymnasts since the U.S. and Soviet days.

Fast forward to the event. After excellent performances by the Americans, and subsequent flawless performances by the Chinese, the score was almost even with the Chinese with a hair above the Americans.

The second to last event for the Americans was balance beam. Alicia was first to go on the balance beam. The balance beam was one of Alicia’s best events and she had proved her consistancy in this event in the trials and there was no doubt she was gonna give the Americans the head start they needed for their last event.

“Alicia typically has an very aggresive style, just watched her warm up.  She was attacking the beam looked extremely confident and right off the top she’ll mount the beam with a difficult mount and you can typically get an idea of how she’s feeling from that first skill

The three Americans need to be great to pass China”

Her reaction immediately after the fall

As she mounted the beam, the announcers went quiet. She fell. Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin tried to hold it together. It would, however, not be enough. Sacramone fell again during the floor exercise and a demoralized Nastia and Shawn messed up on their routine.

Alicia knew in her mind that she was to blame for the women’s losing the gold to the Chinese. After years and years of landing the same mount on that same balance beam, she missed it when it counted most. To make it worse, she let her whole team down when she is the one that is supposed to be the experienced one and the most consistent. That’s without mentioning that all the folks back home and everyone in the U.S. are watching and knowing that she messed it up for the country.

After the medal ceremony, when they interviewed the team, Alicia stood in the back, hiding behind Nastia’s head, trying to avoid any questions that the reporter asked.

Now I don’t think she was to blame for the loss. But I can tell by her expressions she believed she lost it for the U.S. It was really sad seeing someone go through the humiliation. How sad is it to see someone work really hard for something and not reach their goal because of an uncontrollable force? Do you know of anyone, famous or not, who this has happened to?

 

Henry and Manny’s Most Excellent Adventure (pt. 1)

Manny coughed, blinked, and coughed again. Turning his head to face the drivers side he initiated the mental clockwork needed in order to formulate and enunciate his intended thoughts. Crinkling his nose as he tried to lift the hazy veil from his eyes words began to formulate in-between his vision. Words in bright neon colors and fuzzywuzzy textures. Words such as “penis” and “zebra cum”, Manny couldn’t help but chuckle at this parade of prepubescent potty humor but was again seized immediately with a sense of purpose, shook his head clear and whispered, “Dude”.

Henry muttered “Yeah man?”

“How fast are we going Hen?”

“I don’t know man my spaghetti-o-meter is busted”

Henry raising a finger from the steering wheel pointed to the center of the dashboard where in its center where a speedometer SHOULD have been was a can of spaghetti-o’s with a kitchen timer in it. As Henry said it was broken, the meat sauce was leaking out.

“Hen everytime I try to stare at a pebble on the floor it like… disappears that-a-way” Manny pointed towards the rear of the car.

“Hen it like disappears into… the past man”

“Man thats insane, lemme see”

Henry craned his head outside the window, as he tried to focus his vision onto specific pebbles the car slowly veered to the left. Moments later an explosion rocked the fender of the small burgundy Toyota, and a flash of heat washed over Henry’s neck but Henry didn’t notice. The police would later find the mangled wreckage smoldering by the side of the turnpike the next morning. The victims? Two brothers, blonde haired, with immaculate teeth, and contrasting life aspirations. The driver, an associate of Henry and Manny was found with a look of bored pessimism. CSI detectives are almost 99% sure in their assumptions that the drivers last words were “Goddamn it Henry.” The chubbier sibling shat himself.

Henry brang his head back into the car and readjusted his rearview mirror just as the flames were beginning to fade off into the distance. Shaking his head in disbelief with palms quaking in anxiety all Henry could muster was a bemoaned, “O man I think you’re right Manny”.

Manny trying to shove himself in the glove compartment peeked out from the bottom of the passenger’s seat, “Hen I think, we’re traveling…” Manny looking around and cupping his mouth hoarsely whispered, “…into the future…”

“OHMANOHMANOHMANOHMANOHMAN” Henry was… uh, he uhm… fuck I don’t know how to describe it, Henry was freaking out.

“Let’s make sure Manny, we can’t be traveling into the fu-, I mean it’s impossible right we don’t have the uh flux capacitor and Michael J. Fox isn’t in the car with us so we can’t man!”

Henry turned to the back of the car, “Ying are we time traveling?!” The underaged Chinese gymnast who Henry and Manny had accidentally kidnapped on a surprise trip to Shanghai (”Henry and Manny’s Most Excellent Shanghai Shenanigans” will be coming soon!) barely stirred as her snoring (similar to that of an adult elephant walrus) curtly answered Henry’s question.

“Leu man can ya tell if we’re tearing through the time-space continuum man?”

Leu sat stock still twiddling his thumbs as he constantly glanced at his watch muttering the words “momma gon kill me, momma gon kill me, momma gon kill me…”. Just then Leu’s cell phone rang, it was his momma. In a flurry of panic he tossed the phone across the back seat, smacking Ying’s ass. Probably in response to all the beatings she received at the hands from her Chinese gymnast coaches for not “sticking her landing”, or to be more realistic “sticking her rranding” she instinctively pommel horsed the living shit out of Leu’s sternum.

She then flailed for a bit in her seat, shouted something unintelligible and immeidately fell back into her deep sleep. Leu in utter dogshit disbelief stared at the sleeping minor and keeled over.

Henry slowly turned his head back to its normal position and let out a long sigh. Manny noticing this unusual display of calmness from his usually neurotic buddy asked “Hen how can you NOT be freakin about this shet?!”

At the same moment the biggest fuck bomb just detonated in Henry’s mind.

“Huh what’d you say man?”

“Ok Hen what about if ya know we slow down, maybe we could slip out of hyperspace and fucking exit through a stargate and fucking ask Scotty to beam us up?”

“No Manny man you’re such a bobo head, if we slow down we’ll just crash into our “PAST” selves.”

Manny’s eyes went wide with enlightenment and his mouth hung open, “Holy shit… you’re fucking RIGHT man. Shit I’m such an idiot, how are we gonna do this Hen?!”

Henry with a mysterious newfound sense of confidence replied “Manny I’m going to need some floss, ketchup, and 72 cents in pennies. I GOTS a plan man.”

The camera begins to zoom into Henry’s face slowly, in the background a subtle yet authoritative hiphop beat begins to escalate in volume. In fact I think I hear some T-Pain on that shit, hellz yeah. The camera slowly begins to fade as this episode slowly concludess…

“Wait Hen we don’t have any of that shit”

“OhFuck.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

17B

17B

How ya doing Miss Thang? I see you relaxing, reclining, riding that gulf stream breeze aboard your 747, please. I can’t help but stare at the back of your head, at your mouse brown hair gleaming amber against the penetrating sun’s rays. You squint in defense, sun bothering you Miss Thang I’ll gladly close the blinds for you. Fat person in the aisle seat though, stuck. You order a bloody mary from the stewardess and all I can keep thinking about is ordering up a heavy shot of you, hold the ice I like my Mary’s hot. Is that your name Miss Thang? Mary, Elizabeth, Jasmine, Madame Curie? No matter all I can really do is stare from afar and hope my drool doesn’t stain my good pants. Why you keep looking back Miss Thang? Stealing peeks at me, or the other lovestruck saps? What was that Miss Thang? Tossing me a wink while I was turning my head, but I caught ya from the side of my vision. Eyelashes fluttering and mischief playing on those lips. As I walk past your aisle on the way to beat out the 4 toddlers for the lavatory. You stuck out your leg a bit, black heels embracing your hazelnut skin. You didn’t even look up at me, not even a “hi”? Playing hard to get, I like. Striding back I take a look at your seat number, mmm 17B. Walking past I can’t help but smell you. Reminding me of a field of flowers on a summer day is what you might want a smooth playa to say, but I ain’t no such thang. All I can do is just go “guffawbleah”. And try to play it off as its Chinese. You laugh though and this time you be glancing at me from the refuge of your seat. I can’t help but feel a little cocky, a little confident. Then as I proceed to buckle my seat, I notice I gots a piece of toilet paper stuck in my fly. To think we was making progress. To think how we so high we can kiss the sky, get married, laugh and love. Give me something Miss Thang. Cap’n says we landing in a few, and I’m set on committing right now. Wheels landing, hearts still soaring, lets not waste this opportunity. Leaving me Miss Thang? For realz? Don’t leave now, how bout coffee at the baggage claim? I thought you were having a good time, this mile-high version of redlight/greenlight, ‘cept we been stuck on yellow for some time. Air traffic control be telling you no? Have a go, let’s take a ride cause you’ve already flown off with my love Miss Thang in seat seventayne-B.

- Leupe

 

The Twilight Zone

Lives can be turned around by the smallest of decisions and tonight, when my friend Mr. Chu and I agreed to accompany two of our friends to the midnight release of “Breaking Dawn” (The Twilight Series) I sincerely believe our lives have been warped.

I have been to two Star Wars Movie premiers at midnight (donning my Jedi robes nonetheless), I have stood in line for hours for the midnight release of Halo 3, and I have snuck into many a Marvel movie in my time, but let me tell you the sheer fervor of these crazed women shook me to my very core.

You would think that a 300 square foot acre area packed with over 500 women would smell something like estrogen-infused bliss… but the aroma of sweaty armpits and reeking puberty resonated above all. There were no- how shall I put this- Monroes in attendance, no no, these women were straight from the Hills have Eyes and Can Read epoch. Star Wars fans are classy, you either have a Storm Trooper outfit on or you rock the Jedi hood. But these literary devourers had fake vampire teeth and torn prom dresses, painted blood and shiny eyelashes, demonic nail designs and worst of all… way too much hosiery.

As my colleague and I strode down the lineup of precarious women we noticed two of our former schoolmates in attendance; we did our manly duty and greeted them but before we realized they had sprung up from their prone positions and raced down the line, apparently it started to move. They were very quick in moving forward but the girls behind us were not and slowly realization started trickling in… the gap in between us and the next group of shrieking overweight Harpies was about to be closed in. Suddenly a roar unlike anything I have ever heard erupted from their mouth and a stampede tore towards me and Mr. Chu. I was willing my feet to move, to plaster myself against the wall and hope that somehow one of them would trip and cause a gigantic ball of congestion but my feet simply would not obey.

So many theories circulate about what goes through your head when you can see impending doom racing towards your mortality. Let me set it straight once and for all: you piss your goddamn pants. My feet simply were as transfixed as my conscious was in the final seconds of my humanity. But abruptly and unexpectedly, the backhand of my faithful friend Mr. Chu brushed against my sternum and sent me sprawling into safety moments before my life escaped.

God bless the Chinese.