I was sitting on the couch the other day, just thinking, (I know, that could be dangerous) and reached a very important conclusion. Unfortunately, since I don’t retain my thoughts as well as OJ does his lawyers I have forgotten what that momentous conclusion was. Therefore, in order to get something out of this column let me relate one of my lesser thoughts.
It’s time for a career change.
Please…don’t laugh at me. I know it seems like I have no career that needs to be changed, but trust me, I’m just in a Lindsey Lohan-Al Gore-Jon Gosselin kind of slump right now. Sure I write, but there’s got to be more out there than simply spending endless hours staring at a blank screen trying to come up with ideas. Come to think of it, with all my experience in the Staring and Waiting for Ideas sector, I’d be ideal for a career in the POTUS field.
Well if that doesn’t work out I’d like to try my hand at anthropology. In case you don’t know, anthropology (literally: the study of anthrops) is all about hanging around and watching people long enough to develop critical profiles about them, whereupon you can dream up wild scenarios to explain every facet of their lives. Sort of like what bored husbands do while waiting for their wives at the mall on Sundays during football season.
I have a lot of experience in anthropological (literally: the logical study of anthrops) studies already under my belt. And to prove I’m qualified for such an important job, I will reveal to you the results of my latest project, which explored the various types of human existence which can all simultaneously occur during a live sporting event. I chose baseball as my test environment, July 4th as my date (I thought the festive nature of the day might bring out some especially titillating specimens), and a seat about half-way up along the first base line.
So without further adieu, which by the way, would make a phat name for a French mime troupe, I now present to you my findings regarding five of the specimens I observed.
1. The Pencil Pusher
My first anthropological victim was an older-ish male, sitting three rows down, on the aisle, in the next section to the left. He held in his rather corpulent right hand what appeared to be a lead-based wiring implement. I couldn’t tell if it was a number 2 lead-based writing implement, so let’s just hope for the sake of his final score that it was.
Anyway, Mr. Pencil pusher commenced writing down every little detail of the game in a series of cryptic letters and numbers that would make even the Windtalkers proud. He maintains he was keeping stats on the ball game, but my keen anthropology instincts suggest he might have been writing speech notes for upload to the presidential teleprompter.
2. The Bottomless-Pit-of-Knowledge Guy
Actually, the Bottomless-Pit-of-Knowledge Guy shows up every place in the world at least once, but he sat behind me at the ball game, allowing me to dredge the river bed of his mind with my sharp, anthropological ears. BPK Guy is the one who knows everything about anything that’s brought up by anyone in the entire seating section, including the elderly lady who was complaining about her bunions. Or was that “bunting” she was talking about?
Either way, we poor slobs owe BPK Guy his due respect. Without him I never would have known that fireworks are made from a combination of Pop Rocks, Life breakfast cereal, Mentos, cola, and black powder invented by a Chinese guy in a swimming pool named Marcus O. Polo.
3. The Impressor
I didn’t actually see the Impressor within my visual target range, but I didn’t need to. I could smell the distinct bouquet of Parfum Au Desperate poured onto twenty-something male skin by the gallon; a scent one’s nose and sinuses doenot easily forget. Though I was unable to observe the Impressor first hand, my keen anthropological sense allowed me to paint a detailed picture of the post-hormonal young man doing every thing in his power to impress his date using his limited knowledge of baseball. With any luck, the Impressor may grow up to become the next Bottomless-Pit-of-Knowledge Guy; that is if the cologne doesn’t disintegrate his brain first.
4. Little Susie Whiner
Little Susie Whiner is the sports fan’s biggest nightmare. She is usually a little girl of no more than three or four years old whose father-ish type person seems to believe would love to sit through three hours of baseball without having to: A) go to the bathroom 49 1/3 times; B) beg for ice cream, cotton candy, peanuts, a Belgian waffle, cheese chips, 3 sodas, and something to make her tummy feel better; and/or C) spend nine innings rhythmically applying her three year old, cute little Dora sneakers to the back of my seat. If only I could have gotten the Impressor to come around for a few minutes she might have passed out!
5. The Up-and-Down Obliviator
My friends, may I just say that this year’s July 4th game brought out the mother lode of Up-and-down Obliviators. These are the folks who have no freaking’ idea what’s going on down on the field because they don’t stay in their seats long enough to even watch the third base coach scratch himself! They are up and down to the concession stands, the bathroom, to see their friends four rows down, and whatever else they came to the ball park to do. Some of them even bring active cell phones and PDAs so they can keep up with life outside the park for few those long hours. Would it be too much to ask for them to just stay home and flush their ten bucks down the toilet? At least then I wouldn’t miss so much of the game watching their posterior attributes passing me by for the hundredth time.
So….there you have it; how’d I do? Pretty good if I say so myself. I think I have a keen eye for anthropology study and analysis. Either that, or I’m next in line for Grumpy-Old-Man-Who-Can’t-Seem-To-Enjoy-Anything assignment.