Pardon our silence, but life has been wrought with activity both predictable and unpredictable as of late. I’ve been doing my best to stave off the delirium inevitable from a complete and utter lack of weekends. I’ve been working straight since my last day off on December 30th, and my last two-day weekend was before Christmas.
Aside from the headache that crops up right behind my eyes and lingers for a few hours, my brain has been pretty rad, lately. Last weekend I taught snowboarding lessons to some five-year-olds, and tried to convince them that apples were part of the meat food group. I did this by telling them stories of my childhood in the Midwest, growing up on an applebeast farm. Applebeasts have apples growing out of their backs and they are harvested once a year for their sweet, delicious bounty. They resemble small hairy elephants with tusks and everything, so you gotta be extra careful when going after those apples.
“There’s no such thing as applebeasts.”
“Sure there are.”
“Apples grow on trees.”
“That’s what they always say, but have you ever actually seen an apple tree?”
Eventually the kids decided I was the applebeast and they started attacking me with snowballs. A few of my fellow instructors accused me of having more fun than the kids. I said mission accomplished. When their parents picked them up after lessons I explained to them all the neat things we learned about science and apples and food groups, today.
“Hmm. Sounds like we’ve got some unlearning to do on the drive home.”
And thus I had my vengeance for performing the thankless task of teaching five-year-olds to snowboard.
Last week I finished week two at my new job and it’s still totally rad. I’ve started telling people I’m a high-powered web designer and like, stuff.
Last night a bunch of us Bachelors went out to Sun Mountain Fun Center for a rolicking evening of cosmic bowling. We got really creative and bowled an entire game switch (using our non-dominant hands), and then did a round of “trick bowling,” where we made up our own moves (backwards, spins, under the leg, handstands, etc.) that everyone else had to mimic. Early on in the game I smacked myself in the leg with a bowling ball. Regardless of bowling-related injuries, it was an evening of absolutely infectious fun (which would be the slogan for the Sun Mountain Fun Center if it serviced a den of heroin addicts) with some super-duper cool folk. The teams Otter 1, Above & Beyond, Fo Schizzle, Neu-Q-Lehr, Ballahs, Orbitz and The Pin Pirates all made an appearance, and swore themselves to numerous rematches over the coming weeks.
When we left the alley I had a bump on my leg the size of a golf ball, and when I took off my snowboard boots this afternoon it had turned into a four-inch bruise laced with the same pattern as my Smartwool socks.
Also, over the last week I’ve developed an unhealthy addiction to Europop/Eurodance music. If you aren’t familiar with Europop, think Club Stargate in Superior. Think unchanging electronic drumbeats with mindless lyrics and a classic 80’s snare line that links every chorus. If you could grind a pack of 18-year-old girls into a fine powder, melt it in a metal spoon held over a lighter and administer it via syringe to a hepped-up vein, you have Europop. It is unsophisticated musical dribble with no lasting value whatsoever. It is completely consumable and disposable. Europop has all the wit and appeal of a vending machine.
And I am completely consumed by it. Whether I’m at work or home, I’m constantly streaming Europop radio stations via Winamp. Every song, every group sounds exactly the same, and yet the music never gets old. I swear that Europop is the most unapologetically happy music being produced today, and represents kitsch in its purest form. With Europop, the 80s never ended and the 90s never happened. It lags twenty years behind current musical stylings and is an idealized wormhole back to big hair, rollerskates and florescence.
Certain writers that we respect and admire have written that no living man or woman has the rocks to resurrect the 80s. Certain writers that we respect more and admire less are going to make every effort to see that it happens. We will do it single-handedly, and we will do it with a word from our sponsors.