One of my most vivid memories from my childhood is visiting my grandparents back when my uncle Tom was still in high school and living at home. To my eyes as a young child, Tom was terrifying - a huge, muscular teenager with athletic trophies littered throughout his room and often sporting a football jersey. I would always keep my distance from Tom, cautiously eyeing him, and hoping not to arouse his wrath. I never saw anything that would make a reasonable person assume that he was an angry or violent person, but I didn’t want to take any chances. At the time, it seemed that he might viciously slug me in the gut at any moment.

One particular thing about Tom sticks out in my mind, and this image has stuck with me through the years, shaping my dreams and desires as a man. You see, Tom ate cereal out of a Cool Whip bowl. Not the shallow little Cool Whip bowls, mind you, but the huge 32oz ones. So there was Tom with a massive basin of Alpha-Bits, eating with a spoon so big that it might have been better characterized as a ladle. This was the ultimate image of masculinity to my young eyes. I began to look forward to the day when I would be big enough for Mom to let me eat my food out of a Cool Whip bowl.

Sadly I still don’t feel ready to pick up the gauntlet laid down by Tom. I sit here a 25-year old college graduate, yet I don’t believe that I possess the smoldering masculinity and virility needed to pour my Golden Crisp into an empty dessert vat and begin shoveling the deliciously sweet puffed oats into my mouth with a spoon the size of my palm. Maybe someday the good Lord will allow me to reach the point that Tom did so long ago. On that day, I will know that at last I am truly a man.

I came in to work today all excited about my blog entry. I had a funny idea picked out, based on a popcorn-related mishap at work yesterday, but when I checked out Adam’s blog this morning, I see that he had already written a very funny bit on it.

Damn you, Adam. Now I am left wandering in blogsqualor without a suitable topic to write about.

I suppose I could go ahead and do the bit I was thinking about on burning popcorn, but it would be pointless. Adam’s writing is quite similar to how I would have gone about it anyway, with unnerving descriptors and even the violent punchline to punctuate the humor at the end. I could make this entry about my slow-burning, intense hatred of Adam’s blog, but I’ll save that for next week, after I punch Adam in the mouth and make him bleed.

So basically I’ve got nothing. Except for this:

As a fan, I’ve long been bothered with Neil Diamond’s appearance. The glittery shirts, the poofy hair, the caterpillar eyebrows, the sideburns inexplicably combed over the ears, and his ever-growing nose.

Over the years Neil has come to resemble a Jim Henson creation. He is missing only the ping pong ball eyes. Maybe upon his death I will finally see this dream come to fruition. It would be a death with dignity - having him stuffed and manipulated with a puppeteer who allows us to witness him performing “America” one last time, but with the added intensity that googly eyes would bring. Maybe someday we could witness such a glorious vision…

Image courtesy of Ryan (Guy Incognito)

Is there anything more cruel and sadistic than junior high swimming class?

“Well children, I know that your young bodies are developing and growing in new areas, and that your physical development has reached its most awkward and horrific stage. Having said that, I’d like all of you to get into these filthy, school-issued swimsuits and then present yourselves to the other boys and girls in our class. Now I’m also aware that certain parts of young boys bodies have minds of their own at this age, and that the skin-tight swimming trunks we’re issuing you will only serve to horrify your peers and further humiliate and scar you, but this is the price we pay for proper physical education.”

“Very good. I see that all of you have properly changed into your swimwear. Your boney, uncoordinated limbs and sallow skin are now revealed for all your classmates to see. Please note that everybody is looking at you and judging you while I speak. You will also see that there is no comfortable position for you to place your arms, so I would suggest using them to cover your genitalia, as most of you have already done instinctively.”

“For today’s class, we’re all going to get in the water and do a few rudimentary swim excercizes. We will then heighten the level of awkwardness by having all of you observe each other getting out of the pool. You will likely remember these terrible moments for the rest of your lives. You will then return to your respective locker rooms, disrobe, and take a shower under adult supervision. There is, of course, no reason for an adult to observe you taking a shower, other than for the sheer cruelty of it.”

“Okay, let’s get started!”

I hate being asked the question, “What kind of music do you listen to?”

It’s one of those impossible situations where you’re asked to describe something that’s probably impossible to summarize in a single sentance, knowing full well that the person who asked is preparing to make important character judgements based solely on your answer. Here, for the benefit of all of us, is the decoding system used by people who ask these questions. Now you can know the significance of your answers!

Note - I fall into many of these categories myself.

“I listen to anything besides country.” = I have no discerning taste and I’ll listen to whatever’s on the radio.

“I love U2.” = I’m a Christian, but I’m too cool to listen to Christian music. (note: this person is not as cool as they think they are)

“I listen to a lot of indie stuff.” = If you’ve heard of a band, then I hate them.

“I’m a big Elliot Smith fan” = I have been prescribed Zoloft.

“Mostly Led Zeppelin.” = I am in my mid-40’s, but my musical pallatte stopped growing at age 18.

“I like Nickelback and Three Doors Down.” = I lead an utterly pointless existance.

“I love Bob Dylan.” = I’ve grown good at post-rationalizing.

“I listen to a lot of acoustic singer-songwriters.” = I am lonely and wish to be married as soon a possible. As a bonus, I am also incredibly pretentious.

“I love Rush and Yes” - My priorities are hopelessly out of line.

“I like Bon Jovi” = I am a boring woman.

“Coldplay is my new favorite band.” = I like my rock ‘n’ roll as safe as possible.

“I own mostly movie soundtracks.” = I do not understand how to listen to an album.

“I love Neil Diamond.” = I am a 52 year old divorced woman.

“Pearl Jam is probably my favorite band” = I am a white male who was aged between 13-21 in 1992.

“I love EELS” - I am sad and often feel underappreciated.

“I like REM’s early stuff.” = Regardless of the band, I prefer their first album.”

“I’m a big Radiohead fan” = I am not as intelligent as I think I am.

So what do I say when asked this question? Simple. I tell them that I listen to mostly Dutch music. That seems to leave them confounded.

The sports world is abuzz with Triple Crown fever!

The young colt Smarty Jones has blown away the competition in the first two stages of the Triple Crown, and now only the final stage – the Belmont Stakes – stands in its way. If Smarty Jones were to win the Triple Crown, he would be the first horse to do so since 1978! What an amazing feat that would be! I simply can’t wait to see what happens!

Of course, it would probably help if I ever cared about horseracing to begin with. That’s the funny thing about horseracing – people only care if there’s a chance that a horse will win the Triple Crown, but even that interest is completely fraudulent because nobody cared in the first place. It’s an utterly irrelevant activity in every possible sense.

On the other hand, Smarty Jones will be racing against horses with such provocative names as “Rock Hard 10” and “Tap That”. If I were Smarty Jones, those names alone would be enough to motivate me to stay well ahead of those two horses. I’ll just take the owner’s word for it that his horse is a Rock Hard 10, thank you very much.

There really isn’t a point to this post. My friend Kevin wrote me a funny email commenting on the inherent futility of horseracing, and I thought I could come up with something funny enough to blog about. Clearly my instincts were wrong on this one. I’ll regroup and be back tomorrow with a better effort. I’ll write about something wacky like bizarre excercize machines or junior high swim class. Maybe I’ll go off on some pleasantly insane diatribe about tapioca pudding. Don’t you worry, though. I’ll be zany and sassy, and you’ll all get your fix. Just get off my back for once.

I drive a Dodge Stratus! I deserve some respect!

Every now and again, I like to use The John Larroquette Project to document incredibly awkward moments in my life, today I’d like to talk about the Awkward Belligerent Question.

This is a rare sort of awkward moment, brought on only by the actions of somebody unaware of their surroundings or the background of somebody they’re talking to. A classic example might be somebody who continues to talk about how much they love their dad and telling funny stories about him before asking the other person, “What about your dad? What’s he like?”, and receiving the answer, “My father died last week.”

I was the recipient of an Awkward Belligerent Question last week. Church had just finished up, and I was going around talking to some friends of mine. Eventually I made my way over to a seat near where my girlfriend Bridgette was talking to my friend Adam. As I struck up a conversation with Bridgette, Adam began talking to another person sitting nearby. Bridgette had been having a tough time that day, so our conversation was a bit quiet at first. At one point, I asked her, “Is everything ok?” She didn’t initially answer, but gave me a look that indicated that it wasn’t. At this point, Adam abruptly re-joined the conversation by loudly blurting out, “WHY AREN’T YOU TALKING?!” I chuckled uncomfortably and mumbled something, and Bridgette remained quiet while Adam started up his conversation with the other person again.

The moment had been swiftly destroyed by Adam’s Awkward Belligerent Question, and we were left swimming in its wake. By the next day, it was pretty funny, particularly because we know that Adam didn’t mean to alienate anybody, it’s just a part of his nature. After all, Adam is one of the members of the Alienating Boys Club (along with me, the founding member). It is in our nature to inadvertently abuse and alienate other people. I can’t tell you how many female acquaintances approached me between the years of 2000-2002 to ask me, “Do you not like me for some reason?” I’ve since gotten a little better, but I fear that my interactions with women will always be somewhat clumsy and uncomfortable for everyone involved. I seem to be unable to avoid making stupid comments or creating pregnant pauses in conversation. Fortunately, Bridgette seems to enjoy my awkwardness, and has thus far put up with my inadvertent alienation. I’m quite the lucky guy.