Wednesday
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4/26/05
Crash And Burn Style Whimsy.
Although it seems lifetimes ago, it was only just this last Sunday when I came-to in our local Fox Sports Grill with a cool poultice applied to my forehead that did little to extinguish the visions of the Hindenburg's final stop at Lakehurst that were dancing in my head. How did such a strange occurrence come to pass? Well, snuggle a little deeper under the covers kiddies, and Uncle Evan will tell you a cautionary tale about insight and whimsy. And poor judgment. You get the idea. Enjoy.
It occurs to me every now and then that there are countless ways in which life is not only interesting, but keeps you on your toes as well. One of my favorite examples of this is that we are, on occasion, struck by an insight or realization about some mundane aspect of life that catches us completely off guard.
An insight like finally realizing that there's no need to remove the Christmas lights that I had so painstakingly hung in the tree in our front yard the previous December. Now, when the tree leafs out in spring the lights simply disappear into the foliage, as does the two hour chore of putting them up and taking them down every time.
And then there are, of course, many different sorts of realizations, some being long term or mass/societal insights. The sort of communal insight, for instance, that Americans seem to have made after the first half of the twentieth century, which is that drunks aren't funny. Which, incidentally, renders entirely inexplicable the relative success enjoyed by Foster Brooks well into the nineteen seventies and eighties. But then again W.C. Fields really was very funny indeed. Oh hell, I don't know.
Anyway, it was just this last weekend that I found myself in the afore-mentioned Fox Sports Grill making the rounds as host at our younger lad's First Communion party. All was going well, which was no great surprise as the guest list was composed of the usual suspects of friends and family. So, after making a short detour past a plate of bruschetta, I found my way to a small group that included my Lovely Bride as well as gentleman known for maintaining a certain twinkle in the eye.
In a trice I had formulated a brilliant opening gambit as I neared the group. I would, I thought to myself, combine my fondness of those serendipitous flashes of insight with a bit of whimsy. I put my arm around my Lovely Bride and gave her an innocent peck on the cheek, followed by a hearty "Hey there, Dan, glad you could make it."
Sure that my hastily planned conceit was worthy of even the most rarified of salons, I continued: "So I had this really strange realization this morning" For effect I paused and glanced around at the First Holy Communion decorations that filled the room.
"Apparently," I continued, "my kid is Catholic. Who knew?"
The purity and sincerity of the ensuing silence was truly something to behold. After a few beats an eyebrow was raised here and a head was slightly cocked there. The room was, in fact, so profoundly silent that I could actually hear my own synapses atrophying; all while doing my best to avoid making eye contact with my Lovely Bride.
Finally though, the owner of the twinkle did his best to throw me a lifeline. "Yeah, you probably should have noticed back when he was in the church getting baptized."
Probably indeed. When I did finally glance at my Lovely Bride, she was, with her brow furrowed in that way I know so well, looking at me as if she were weighing which was the more inexplicable: Foster Brooks' career or her continued matrimonial union with me. Then, thankfully, I went into a swoon and all went dark.
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4/26/05
Crash And Burn Style Whimsy.
Although it seems lifetimes ago, it was only just this last Sunday when I came-to in our local Fox Sports Grill with a cool poultice applied to my forehead that did little to extinguish the visions of the Hindenburg's final stop at Lakehurst that were dancing in my head. How did such a strange occurrence come to pass? Well, snuggle a little deeper under the covers kiddies, and Uncle Evan will tell you a cautionary tale about insight and whimsy. And poor judgment. You get the idea. Enjoy.
~ ~ ~
It occurs to me every now and then that there are countless ways in which life is not only interesting, but keeps you on your toes as well. One of my favorite examples of this is that we are, on occasion, struck by an insight or realization about some mundane aspect of life that catches us completely off guard.
An insight like finally realizing that there's no need to remove the Christmas lights that I had so painstakingly hung in the tree in our front yard the previous December. Now, when the tree leafs out in spring the lights simply disappear into the foliage, as does the two hour chore of putting them up and taking them down every time.
And then there are, of course, many different sorts of realizations, some being long term or mass/societal insights. The sort of communal insight, for instance, that Americans seem to have made after the first half of the twentieth century, which is that drunks aren't funny. Which, incidentally, renders entirely inexplicable the relative success enjoyed by Foster Brooks well into the nineteen seventies and eighties. But then again W.C. Fields really was very funny indeed. Oh hell, I don't know.
Anyway, it was just this last weekend that I found myself in the afore-mentioned Fox Sports Grill making the rounds as host at our younger lad's First Communion party. All was going well, which was no great surprise as the guest list was composed of the usual suspects of friends and family. So, after making a short detour past a plate of bruschetta, I found my way to a small group that included my Lovely Bride as well as gentleman known for maintaining a certain twinkle in the eye.
In a trice I had formulated a brilliant opening gambit as I neared the group. I would, I thought to myself, combine my fondness of those serendipitous flashes of insight with a bit of whimsy. I put my arm around my Lovely Bride and gave her an innocent peck on the cheek, followed by a hearty "Hey there, Dan, glad you could make it."
Sure that my hastily planned conceit was worthy of even the most rarified of salons, I continued: "So I had this really strange realization this morning" For effect I paused and glanced around at the First Holy Communion decorations that filled the room.
"Apparently," I continued, "my kid is Catholic. Who knew?"
The purity and sincerity of the ensuing silence was truly something to behold. After a few beats an eyebrow was raised here and a head was slightly cocked there. The room was, in fact, so profoundly silent that I could actually hear my own synapses atrophying; all while doing my best to avoid making eye contact with my Lovely Bride.
Finally though, the owner of the twinkle did his best to throw me a lifeline. "Yeah, you probably should have noticed back when he was in the church getting baptized."
Probably indeed. When I did finally glance at my Lovely Bride, she was, with her brow furrowed in that way I know so well, looking at me as if she were weighing which was the more inexplicable: Foster Brooks' career or her continued matrimonial union with me. Then, thankfully, I went into a swoon and all went dark.
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