11:25 a.m. - May 22, 2006
On the contrary, I am chock full of idiosyncrasies, enough to make a mere mortal fear where I tread.
But, you all arenít mere mortals, are ye?
Well, are ye?
Well, how odd of a duck am I? Letís examine, shall we?
I like to cook. Iíll admit that Iím not a gourmet, when it comes to cooking, and stick to the basics (mainly for time, because when I cook dinner itís usually around 5 or 5:30 when I start and we need to start eating by 6:15 so Katie, the dawdler, will finish by 7:00). But I like to cook and will try a new idea now and then, if I have time.
One thing I do a good job with is spaghetti. Now, Iíd LOVE to make my own sauce, but again, thereís that time thing. One Saturday I will just make my own sauce, but I use good sauce and THEN I enhance the sauce with my own blendings of spices and garlic and what-not, so it doesnít taste like itís out of a jar.
But one thing I cannot do, for whatever reason, is judge when the pasta is done.
I always ask for help.
No matter what pasta it is (well, except tortellini. I can figure that out), I make a plaintive cry to Liz to test the pasta.
And she does, without fail.
It still makes me feel a bit inadequate, but the last couple of times I tried to get it right on my own havenít been to Lizís satisfaction. So I play it safe, rather than be sorry.
I also feel a bit sheepish because at times, I have to stop and think about what foot my shoes go on.
I think women have it easy, with the strappy things and all that really show you if itís a left foot or right foot.
But for whatever reason, I have to think a minute and go, ďIs this left or right?Ē It slows me down if Iím in a hurry.
Most of the time, this happens when Iím changing into my basketball shoes at lunchtime. I think Iím in such a rush to get ready and go play, that when I get my shoes I start just putting them on, and then goÖ
ďWhoa, left foot or right foot?Ē
HmmmmÖmaybe I need to re-take kindergarten.
Another odd thing about me is that when I hang up my clothes, I only want hangers without paper on them.
You see, at our old dry cleaners, they used to give us the hangers that said ďOfficial Cleaners of the ColtsĒ or other such what not on the paper covering the hanger.
For some reason, that paper just bugs me.
Iím not all Joan Crawford about hangers. No one cowers in fear if I get the wrong kind of hanger for my shirts, and Blue Oyster Cult hasnít written a song about me, yet.
But I am very particular about my hangers and moan and groan if there is a hanger with a paper cover on it. Why, I donít know. OCD?
(You know, I have a built in excuse with thatÖheh, heh, hehÖ)
Did you catch the obscure reference above?
How many people know about the song ďJoan CrawfordĒ by BOC? Show of hands? A few? Itís hardly on the radio and I saw the video just once. Yet, Her I am making a reference about it.
I think I drop in more OBSCURE pop culture references than just about anyone.
And itís not just here, on line. I do it at home, at work, wherever. I leave people with their head scratching all the time.
I mean, who else would write an essay about his daughterís 4th birthday and title it ďSmedIndy At Your Birthday PartyĒ and think people would reference an obscure Steppenwolf album?
(BTW Ė that album had ďRock MeĒ, one of Steppenwolfís last monster smash hits, along with ďJupiterís ChildĒ and ďItís Never Too LateĒ and a bunch of other gunk, really. It did hit the top 10, though.)
Itís probably just me, and a few other lunatics, for sure. Or foí shizzle, to get with the pop culture vernacular.
Speaking of music, I have a habit.
Once in a while, when Iím really concentrating on the tunes Iím listening to, I start absent mindedly playing the air bass.
Or air drums, or air guitar. But mostly itís the air bass.
Sometimes, even when Iím not actually listening to music, but a song is going through my head, then I start doing the air instruments. And then, of course, here is something I wrote about my air guitaring issues.
But of course, besides the air guitar, I do get wrapped up in my tunes, and sometimes get buried in my music and my work, and really concentrate and zone out.
Then, when someone walks into my office, and calls my name, I happen to have the most slapsticky startle reflex anyone has seen.
Itís like Iím mugging for the camera or something. I flail around and do a double or treble take, and my eyes get all buggy like.
The QB takes pride in doing that to me, just so he can see it.
I know lots of people have startle reflexes that are a bit odd, but mine does have to be seen to be believed.
As you can see, Iím not a normal guy? Or am I?
Iím sure everyone has little odd duck things, and I suppose mine are just part of who make me what I am. So thanks for indulging me, and thanks for Aliannmil for inspiring this.
(Oh, and one more odd thing about me. I basically have stated that I donít do any memes or chains here, and I really donít, unless I can work them into an essay format. But I do them all the time on MySpace. So yeah, itís a bit complicated, but thatís life, I suppose.)