Day One: Recounted the early history of video games to my nephew (he asked, really), making sure not to leave out Colecovision. I won’t stand for the Atari-centric bias that permeates so many of the texts on the subject. Also attempted to answer the question of who is the better basketball player: Kobe or LeBron. Realized if NBA Jam were still around, the debate could be settled for us (whoever gets “on fire” first is superior). Also realized I share the same interests as an 8-year-old, meaning I haven’t matured since second grade.* Came to the conclusion while eating Lunchables. In my Underoos.
* Later, thought of a rebuttal if anyone makes the same observation: Oh yeah? Well neither has your mom.
Day Two: For the first time in five years, went into the Atlantic Ocean. With my phone. Whoops. Am reminded of the famous verse from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” Water, water everywhere/ but not a drop your cell kind of place. Plan to sue AT&T over claim it has “more bars in more places.” Where were the bars when I was in one of the largest bodies of water on the planet, jerks?
Day Three: Lose another prized possession to the wicked waves, my sunglasses. Vow revenge. Attempt to wrestle the water. Want to call Vince McMahon to see if he’ll put “The Commotion in the Ocean” on pay-per-view, but the sinister sea stole my phone. After 15 minutes or so of combat and nearly double that of trash-talking (threatening to “pound the sound”), concede the fight. Learn that some battles, like the Iraq War or the Pepsi Challenge, aren’t winnable (I just couldn’t chose a cola; it still haunts me). Also, the ocean is a dirty cheater.
Day Four: Read a large portion of British comic Russell Brand’s bawdy autobiography. Have never seen the word “wank” or a variant of it used so many times (surprised he didn’t title it “Wanks for the Memories”). Determine that the people who think Dane Cook is an egotistic d-bag would have to burn Brand at the stake and pee on his charred remains just to not be considered hypocrites.
Day Five: Played my umpteenth game of Life with my nephew, who’s not only becoming very good, but also hyper-competitive. His obsession with winning runs in the family. Recall my own board game addiction: Pretty, Pretty Princess, 1991. Picture him patrolling the playground, threatening to sink his peers’ battleships and relishing starving their Hungry, Hungry Hippos. In 70 years, I could see him being a belligerent bingo player in Boca.
Day Six: Haven’t had much alone time with the spouse. Start a tally of celebrity deaths since our marriage began versus number of times we’ve been intimate. Even Joan Rivers’ face isn’t this lopsided. Wouldn’t be so tough to take except for the absence of the internet. The closest I’ve come to a XXX encounter is using a marker to add an extra letter to a Dos Equis bottle. Start fantasizing about reaching third base with a modem. Nothing would please me more than jacking on.
Day Seven: Crack joke that “Seven days of marriage makes one weak.” Fear that I’m losing my sense of humor. Bill Cosby syndrome is very real, folks. Spend rest of the final day writing pitch for reality travel show involving South Carolina’s governor, called “Sanford and Sons.” At the last minute, shelve the idea. Do I really want “Created show for Bravo” on my resume?
July 9th, 2009 at 12:21 pm
I’m a much better comparison to boost your ego on the # of times doin’ it lately scale, 1/2: there was that really fat lady who collapsed on me during the bus ride to work. I fell into a pocket or a fold or God only knows what. I think it should count.