Ahhhh, Blaugust is making me nostalgic for the far-gone days of Bloganuary, mostly in that my life is still not interesting or busy enough to generate two introduction-topics on sequential days. Uhhhhhhh I dunno, here have a Misu:
That’s the stuff! You gotta give the people what they want.
Alright, the masses have been pleased, let’s get down to what Beck, in his endless wisdom, called mixed bizness. Siri, learn me a number.
YOU HEARD THE ROBUT.
#13: Tell us 5 facts about yourself.
- Once, as a younger man, I was very, very ill, but my boss wouldn’t let me keep a doctor’s appointment, bringing dishonor that cannot be redeemed to Vitamin World and all who keep its borders. As a result, I had a grand mal seizure and lost consciousness during my ASL class and was hospitalized for about a week; I don’t remember much of it, and what I do remember is contradictory and smeared by the devil morphine1. I got better, went back to school, and took two more years of classes with the same ASL teacher, Dan, who was there when I went down, and it wasn’t until the very last day of my very last class with him that he told me, with all the seriousness of a man mentioning the weather, that during my seizure he lowered me to the ground (bless him) and received a BITE FOR HIS TROUBLES, from which he still had a scar on his gripper. He was Deaf himself and ASL is an…expressive language, and as a result, the telling of this story involved big ol’ chomp-chomp sharky motions and sound effects.2 So for three years, I had endeavored to do well in his class, made him laugh with my retelling of a homework-story that he’d been having students recite for a decade, and the WHOLE TIME his mental index-card for me was labeled Kid Who Fuckin’ Bit Me, and I think I have no choice to be proud of that. (Not dissimilarly, I was awake during the only surgery I’ve ever had, and when they wheeled me out and She Who Is My Wife asked how I did, the doctor got a look of puzzled amusement on his face and said “He…knows a lot about Dune?”, and if that’s the impression I leave on a man who’s had his hand inside my human meatflesh, I’ve done my job.)
- I fckn’ love peas, I have no idea why so many people hate them. Wee green beauties! Just thaw ’em out, toss ’em in your pasta, or butter ’em up alongside some chicken, or add ’em to your ramen with an egg, some corn, and a little diced sausage, there’s no wrong way to do it. This has been a Peas Service Announcement.
- I have an instinctual, uncontrollable hatred of Jimmy Fallon3; I am aware and indeed celebrate that he is an incredibly hard-working and talented individual (his duet with Neil Young remains one of the most impressive live performances I’ve ever seen, it shook me to my core), and yet when his face appears on the screen my fist freezes and sniffs the air, knowing its rightful prey is near and eager for the hunt. (I am also unable to visually distinguish between him and Chris Kattan, save that the latter does not trigger my kill-code while bothering Patricia Heaton while she tries to sell cars.)
- Either my biological father or grandfather4 was an archaeologist who discovered a species of diplodocoid sauropod which is named after him, Haplocanthosaurus Delfsi, and that’s pretty cool! I’m not much on riding the accomplishments of one’s family or trying to draw any connection between an ancestor’s deeds and my own, but it would be neat to stumble across one of those big bronto-lookin’ dumdums on a museum trip and know that a piece of me is the reason its bones are seeing the light of day and delighting children with its prehistoric propeller-beanie, rudimentary orthodontic retainer, and fossilized pocket protector.
- I don’t drink, or take anything stronger than our nightly jazz gummy, and I have never in my 30 or 40 years been drunk. This isn’t due to fears of addiction or troubling family history, or even religious reasons (although the religion to which I at least nominally belong does prohibit alcohol), it’s because I think it tastes bad, and my head already hurts most of the time already, and none of that jive5 is worth the calories and the cost. No, I’ve got only one vice: Wholesome, nourishing Diet Coke, and the occasional Dr. Pepper depending on if I’m eating something6. Oh man, a DP and like a bag of Snyders of Hanover pretzels? Oof, wrap that up and call it my birthday.
Speaking of jazz-gummies, mine is going 🎼🎺🎶🎷🎵🪘🕺, AND SO I LEAVE YOU WITH THIS HEART-HAPPY-MAKING FACT: I learned yesterday on the GoosePod that cows cannot be milked against their will! They have to feel safe and content in order to release the hormone that “lets down” the milk; fortunately for us all they love being milked and will actively rush to the milking shed more often than they actually need to. So now you know that about cows! Tell the world!
- Morphine is bad shit, 0/10 stars, but I cannot deny that you’re just never gonna have a better time watching Independence Day than you will on a tiny hospital TV with an armful of the stuff. ↩︎
- , -🦈🦷🤏🦈🩸🙀🍔 - ↩︎
- As I wrote that he stopped somewhere out there, probably in the middle of a live taping, sensed danger, and looked right down the barrel of the camera, just straight-up spiked it; fortunately he does this all the time anyway, so nobody noticed. ↩︎
- Long story whose moral is “never give a loved one an Ancestry DNA test for their birthday”; without getting too much into it, let me just warn you not to look into Edwin Delfs’ non-archaeological exploits unless you’re a fan of documentaries like Netflix’s Our Father. ↩︎
- Shuck that jive, man! SHUCK ALL YOUR JIVE! ↩︎
- I’m actually very particular about whether my foods and beverages pair together nicely, and yes, I’ve considered that it’s a Sign Of Something, but as long as it keeps working its magics with salty snacks I’m prepared to stick with the program. ↩︎