Thursday, September 28, 2006

Apparently, everyone experiences an identity crisis eventually.

Some just get to it sooner than others. For me, it took just shy of twenty nine and a half years. It all started on an early morning train ride. I was on my way to work. As I stared aimlessly around the train, my eyes fixated on a portly fellow sitting, facing me, a few seats down the isle. It wasn't so much the person that I was fascinated with as it was his choice of reading material. It appeared to be some sort of fan zine for Mexican wrestling.

And just like that, it happened. Like tag team inside a schizophrenic's brain, I switched. No longer was I Steve on my way to my job in advertising. I was Brian, Brian Damage on my way to the title. While the mental transition was almost instant, the physical transformation happened with surprising brevity as well. All I really had to do was remove my blouse and fashion a mask. I began today what will ultimately be a long and tedious training schedule, but I figure if all goes according to plan, I should be fight-ready by Christmas.

NOTE: While the above story is partially fabricated, you have to admit, the picture is believable.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Ah, the baby blessing.

For us crazy Mormons, ths baby blessing is a grand event. It's a time for relatives to travel near and far. A time to buy a really cheesy white outfit that the baby will only wear once (thankfully). It's a time for borrowing folding chairs. A time for mothers to worry the night before and send their husbands out into the cold night air to buy "a blueberry bunt cake, just in case there isn't enough food." It's a time for left over food, including blueberry bunt cake. It's a time for ex-husbands to offer motorcycle riding advice to new husbands, all the while making everyone in listening distance very uncomfortable. In other words, it's a time for Keith. It's a time for cousins to ruin their nice Sunday clothes by playing in the wet sandbox. It's a time for carefully balancing fruit salad-loaded paper plates on your lap. It's a time for great grandmother to sleep on the couch and, in doing so, somehow make the entire house smell like Vicks vapo-rub.

Ah yes, it's a wonderful time.

I survived.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

What in the world is Bunko?

Tonight, my wife is hosting a neighborhood Bunko game. She's scared. I'm scared. Can anyone tell me just what in the world this phenomenon is exactly?

UPDATE: 7:28pm - Apparently it involves a bunch of ladies sitting around tables rolling dice and then writing something down on small pieces of paper.

UPDATE: 8:30pm - We've reached the husband talk stage. My husband this and my husband that. Can you believe he would do that? I wanted to strangle him.

UPDATE: 9:03pm - I'm sitting in the other room, and I kid ye nay, I just heard a woman say, "I asked for an enema. I really didn't want to have an unexpected bowel movement." The other women quickly offered comfort. "Oh, I know" and "Yeah, yeah."

UPDATE: 9:30pm - Still rolling dice. Still dissing husbands. Still writing secret scribblings down on paper. Still not wanting unexpected bowel movements.

UPDATE: 9:45pm - I'm going to call it a night. The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner I wake up and discover the house is mine again. I sure hope I don't find an unexpected bowel movement. "OH BUNKO!"

BONUS UPDATE: 9:47pm - I was about to walk up the stairs and I heard the following, "If the Blue Boutique sees me coming, they lock the doors!" Awkward laugher immediately followed. (For those of you who aren't from SLC, the Blue Boutique is an adult novelty store.)

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

To be honest, I've always seen myself as an art film type of guy.

There are really only two types of people in this world. Those who take art films seriously and those who don't. Oddly enough, these types also correspond with two other types - those who like Neil Diamond and those who will eventually like Neil Diamond.

I recently realized that I fall into the category in favor of the art film (and I dig me some Neil Diamond). So, after years of going through the motions of society, I decided to send the man a box full of dog dung, throw caution to the wind and make a little film (with social undertones) of my own. Both critics and fans will soon agree - The Tip is a masterpiece to behold.

What you are about to see is years worth of meditation, preparation, degradation, condensation, mutilation, and a little bit of awesome.