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28

Charlie’s “100 Things Posts About Me”

#28. My first girlfriend was twenty-eight years old.

Okay, so before you go off snickering about how it was ‘just last week’ or anything like that, let me lay some numbers on you. I’m thirty-three now. I’ve been married for seven years, and dated my wife for six years before that. And I met my first girlfriend five years before that.

Caught up with that? Okay, you can start snickering, now. At least you’ll be doing it for the right reason.

I’d launch into a tumbling, windy explanation, but truly, there’s not a lot to tell. I was in high school (barely), and volunteering / acting in a community theater. She was doing the same. I was just coming through puberty; she was on her third husband. Yes, on, as in ‘still on‘. What?

She’d also had three kids, apparently, though I couldn’t really tell. Well, of course I couldn’t tell. She could have had three elephants and I wouldn’t have been able to tell. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And really, neither did she, I think. But somehow, we clicked, and then… well, we made all sorts of other noises. Some of them were probably close to ‘clicking’, but most of them were more like ‘clacking’ or ‘oomph-ing’ or ‘hawoo-ing’. It was that sort of relationship.

Actually, I’m not sure I should really call her my first ‘girlfriend’. But that’s what I consider it. Lord knows I wasn’t dating anyone else at the time, of any age or motherhood status. And we did get along and have fun being together, though I don’t think we could possibly have had many common interests. I can’t really remember very well, but I imagine most of our conversations went something like this:

Me: ‘Hey, hon, you into playing soccer and baseball and pretending you’re in a rock band?‘

Her: ‘Um, no, not really. Do you like going out to bars and shoe shopping and doing body shots of tequila?‘

Me: ‘I… don’t… know.‘

Her: ‘Oh.‘

Me: ‘Oh.‘

Her: ‘Hey, wanna get naked?‘

Me: ‘Um… yes. Yes, I do.‘

Romeo and Juliet it wasn’t. Well, except the fact that we had to hide it from our parents. Well, close enough. Our parents. My parents and her husband. What’s the difference, really?

Anyway, this lasted for a while. Four or five months, I think. Then, I made a fatal (or near-fatal, anyway) error, and got drunk with her and a couple of school chums. Yeah, I didn’t know what I was doing there, either, and got uber-loaded on vodka as we passed the bottle around. I called my dad for a ride home, and the rest was history. They coerced most of the story out of me, and guessed the rest, and I never saw her again. (Nor did I drink vodka for another four years, but that’s pretty understandable, don’t you think?)

Anyway, I did hear from her a few years ago. She’d tracked me down somehow and sent me an email. We exchanged a note or two, but I think just knowing that the other was still around was really enough for us. My memories of the whole time are fuzzy, because I was so young then. And hers are probably pretty fuzzy, too, though it’s more likely that she just has Alzheimer’s at this point.

Anyway, it was quite a way to start a sex life. (And just about all you’re going to hear about my sex life, too. I don’t need more people laughing at me as I’m walking down the street.) But I don’t think it scarred me for life or anything, or caused me any great damage. It even makes a helluva story — you know, with the right crowd. It’s not something I could whip out in the middle of a Catholic cathedral, of course. (It’s amazing what’ll set those people off sometimes.) As a matter of fact, I’m not sure there are any residual effects from the whole thing, except a few fuzzy memories and a vow never to drink vodka from the bottle again. Oh, and one more thing. I’ll never look at a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle quite the same way again. Damn, I was a lot more flexible in those days.

27

Charlie’s “100 Things Posts About Me”

#27. I have roughly twenty-seven hours of Monty Python-related material on videotape.

That’s two hours of Life of Brian, another two of the Meaning of Life, an hour and a half of And Now for Something Completely Different, fifteen hours (two and a half tapes’ worth) of episodes lifted off of PBS, and eight half-hour Fawlty Towers episodes. Plus another two hours of A Fish Called Wanda, which I’m counting. Oh, and a half-hour special interview to round out the set.

And yes, I know that some of that doesn’t really count as Python proper, but to me, it’s all Pythonesque, and that’s what matters. I’ve also got books and tapes and vinyl LPs — in other words, I’m a big fan. I’ve been watching the ‘silly six’ for years now, ever since I accidently caught them on late-night PBS as a teenager. One glimpse, and I was hooked. Not with the most popular skits, necessarily — sure, I love ‘The Lumberjack Song’ and ‘Australian Philosophers’ and the ‘Norgewian Blue Parrot’ as much as the next guy. Those are classics. True comedic genius.

But for my money, I’ll take the ‘Mosquito Hunter’, or ‘The Cheese Shoppe’, or even ‘The Fish-Slapping Dance’ (which Michael Palin claims is also his favorite sketch ever). These are the my favorites — they’re silly, and fun, and make very little damned sense at all. Just like this blog. Yippee!

So, as proof of my Python influences, I’ll tell you this — in high school, I was one of three people chosen (Forced? Coerced? Can’t remember.) to ‘host’ the talent show. So, we weren’t performing, per se; we were just introducing the other acts. Well, unfortunately for them, they chose me, a friend of mine, and a friend of his. All of us Python fans. And so, we lobbied to not just introduce the acts, but to entertain the troops during the setup periods with a skit. A Python skit. I don’t remember how many we ended up doing, but I do know that it was at least three — at the tender age of seventeen, we performed ‘Albatross!’, ‘The Job Interview’, and, yes, ‘Norwegian Blue Parrot’ for nine hundred noisy, rowdy high schoolers who were just glad to be out of class. And we were a relative hit. We even got a laugh or two, and brought a little ray of silly sunshine to all those kids in the process. Downright fucking heartwarming, isn’t it?

As you can see, my love for the Pythons started early, and continues to this day. It’s been a while since I’ve fired up the old VCR with Biggus Dickus or ‘the salmon moooouuse‘. But I think it’s about time for a showing. Now if I can just find that bag of wolf nipple chips…

26

Charlie’s “100 Things Posts About Me”

#26. I dropped out of graduate school when I was twenty-six.

Which is a hell of a lot better than being kicked out of grad school. That’s from experience, folks.

Actually, my second stint in the world of higher (better, faster, more!) education was thoroughly enjoyable. My classmates were cool, I worked in some really interesting labs, and I had enough experience (or savvy about bullshitting) to get through most of the coursework without much problem at all. I remember the year I was there as one big fun party, more or less. I was doing well, learning computer skills on the side, and I was living with and engaged to a gorgeous, wonderful girl. (And yes, that’s just one girl. What does this look like, a Three’s Company episode?)

Of course, maybe I’m romanticizing just a tad. I’m sure there were some dark times in there. I probably picked up a bad grade or two, or struggled with some personal issue, or was asked to take out the garbage. But honestly, I don’t remember any of that. I remember Friday parties in our conference room, and weekend cookouts at Bill’s, and sitting in the office, bullshitting with Bill and John and Kendra and Carrie and the rest of the gang. I studied when I had to, and got enough lab work done to get by, but I was finding out that doing research really wasn’t my thing. And so, I was enjoying myself.

It’s funny how you can make the most out of a situation when you just don’t give a damn, any more. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I didn’t have a nasty attitude toward the work, or the people. It’s not their fault I desperately wanted to be doing something else. And the work was important — I didn’t disrespect the people there, or the research they were doing. Some of it was truly amazing.

But, it wasn’t for me. And I hit a sort of groove with it. I knew just how much needed to be done to keep the wheels turning, and that’s what I did. That kind of thing would have eventually come back to bite me in the ass, of course — it always seems to — but I knew that the hammer wouldn’t come down before the end of the first year. And as it happened, I was able to line up a job in a new line of work, starting that July. So all I had to do was keep my nose clean, show up with the occasional assignment finished, and coast on down the road. It’s probably one of the best years of my life, now that I look back on it.

I think everyone should have a similar experience, at least once. Everyone should get the chance to work somewhere for a while where they really can’t get in trouble, as long as they’re reasonable about things. I think that can be a very empowering situation. Sure, some people can get lazy in that role. This is America, after all. But for a lot of people, I think it would be liberating. Some people would throw themselves into the work anyway, seeing just how well they could do it. Others, like me, would find something outside the work that’s challenging and rewarding, and quite possibly decide to switch careers (as I did).

And yes, others would come in two days a week and sleep on the job. Yeah, you’re right — it would never work. The lazy bozo fucks would screw it up for the rest of us, and then nobody would get the benefit. I guess it’s best to just luck into these situations, rather than mandate them for everyone. Plus, that way, they’ll seem more special when they do happen. Or something. I’m not sure this thread is making any damned sense. Eh.

Anyway, I’m glad for that year of grad school. I left the program for greener pastures, of course, but a part of me was sad to go. (On the other hand, another part of me knew it was only a matter of time before they wanted to see real results. And that part trumped the ‘wish I could stay‘ part. Quite handily, as it happened.) It was nice to leave on my own terms, though, instead of being shown the door and asked to turn over my keys. So I’m happy I went back to school, and just as pleased that I dropped out when I decided it wasn’t for me. Things have worked out pretty damned well since then, so I think I made the right choice. Now if I can just keep my next boss from wanting to see ‘real results’, I can really have some fun!

25

Charlie’s “100 Things Posts About Me”

#25. I got married when I was twenty-five years old.

Okay, I don’t know if there’s anything particularly funny about our wedding. Frankly, it pretty much went off without a hitch. Well, to be fair, it went of with a hitching, of course. That’s the whole point. Having a wedding without a hitching would represent quite a big hitch in the event, now, wouldn’t it?

But there were no real surprises. No one stood up after the ‘Speak now, or forever hold your peace.‘ line. I didn’t get trashed at the bachelor party and throw up on my wife’s veil, or on the flower girl, or anything like that. The bridesmaids didn’t stuff a monkey in the wedding dress and send it out for the ceremony. Nothing like that. It wasn’t even a shotgun wedding.

(I know, I know — why would any sane girl marry me otherwise? Who knows? I like to think it’s because I make her laugh. And when I tell her so, she does snicker at the thought. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, though…)

So, anyway, what else can I tell you? We were married in Kentucky, on a Saturday afternoon in June. Our mothers both got pretty tipsy at the reception. We gingerly, daintily slipped the slice of wedding cake into each others’ mouth after the cutting ceremony, because when it gets right down to it, we’re scared to shit of each other. And the groomsmen spent most of their time hitting on the single bridesmaids and other female hangers-on. In short, it’s pretty much all that you could ever ask for in a wedding.

I mean, sure, Heather Graham didn’t slink up out of the wedding cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President‘ to me, or anything. But who am I to be greedy?

24

Charlie’s “100 Things Posts About Me”

#24. The only show I’ve religiously watched in the past two years is 24.

Well, all that’s changed now that I have TiVo, I suppose. Now I simply don’t need to know when a show is on, because the machine will figure it out for me. Now this is technology I can use!

But in the pre-TiVo era (mine, anyway), I had more difficulties. I never knew when anything was on, and I played sports two or three nights a week. So even if I did manage to figure out what I wanted to watch and when, there was a good chance that I’d be away when it aired. And somewhere along the way, setting the VCR to record was a task that I undertook only for the most critical situations. Like taping 24.

I’m not sure why I got so into the show, to be honest. I do like Kiefer Sutherland — Lost Boys and Young Guns and all that — but I’m not sure his presence alone would have held my attention through two full seasons. I’m not a teenage girl, after all.

I do like the concept of the show, though. Certainly, the ‘real-time’ parallel-story aspect is intriguing, and most of the plots have been more or less plausible. Oh, the segments with Jack’s daughter got to be pretty old, other than the fact that she was the prettiest eye candy on the show. But could one real-life person get into so many unlikely and diverse jams? For chrissakes, girl, just go home and lie down or something! Leave the child-abusing, wife-beating guy alone, and forget the fool robbing the convenience store, and simply don’t go with the scary guy in the woods to his cabin. Just go the hell home already! Honestly. just call a damned cab, all right? You’re exhausting me.

And, to be fair, a few of the plot elements have been a little hard to swallow. Certain series of coincidences that stretch the imagination, and some plans that have worked out just a little better than they should (or worse than they should — did they give Jack an upside-down horseshoe at the beginning of this thing?). But the suspense is there, and if you can overlook the occasional inconsistency, it’s one of the more gripping shows on television.

Which is a double-edged sword, of course. I stopped watching ER after about three seasons, because I just couldn’t take it any more. So much drama, so many crises. And certainly, a real emergency room can be like that — I’ve worked in a hospital myself, and have known quite a few medical personnel. It can be hectic, and overwhelming, and terrifying. But it’s not that way every damned day. Of course, the show can’t include the lulls and down times — there’s no story there to speak of. But watching emergency after emergency being dealt with for an hour each week stops being entertainment after a while in my book. It just makes me tired.

And I wonder if I’ve reached that point with 24, too. To be honest, I haven’t even watched the last three episodes of the second season. I’ve got ’em on tape, ready to roll, but my wife and I haven’t been able to get ourselves in the mood to watch them. The VCR’s been patiently waiting for weeks — months, now — but we just aren’t interested right now. I’d like to finish it off before the third season gears up, but on the other hand, maybe I’m done with the show. Maybe I’ve just had a bit too much drama for a while. We’ll see, I suppose. If nothing else, I’ll set the TiVo up to tape the new season. Maybe I’ll just record them all, and we can wait until next year to decide whether we want to watch it. Surely by then we’ll be ready to pack our lives with action and suspense again. Life’s not all Family Guy and Simpsons, you know. Even if it should be.