As WC Fields once said, "There comes a time in the affairs of man that he accidentally disconnects his laptop from his power source, erasing an hour's worth of work but somehow still accidentally posting the first half of his blog entry to teh interwebz." History has smiled favorably on this commentary; and last week provided another example of its efficacy.
As thousands of my fans have commented in the forums, via email, on twitter, and through 4chan, I did indeed leave an entry unfinished. Being a man of action- and one who likes to see the right thing done no matter what- I offer no mitigation for this state, but merely hope to amend matters with the greatest efficiency possible. So without further ado, I will pick up where the last Whoah! left off:
Having just observed a dozen or so tutu-clad young men and women emerge from a room blindfolded, I simply had to know what "the haps" was. "So, what's 'the haps,'" I asked the group at large, in my "big" voice, since they hadn't heard me the last time I'd asked.
"Logan, you don't have to shout," one of them responded.
"Sorry. So what's going on here, anyway?"
"Logan, get out of the way," another put in, "we've got to go."
"Nice shoes," I responded, "...NOT!"
Nobody laughed, and I thought that the pink tutus were bound to be forever a mystery, like carburetors and the meaning of the word "nonplussed." But later that week, at a soiree in Cairo, I happened to run into one of the participants!
"Treasure hunt," he explained over a light nosh, a guy named Sam playing sad, sweet music in the background.
"Treasure hunt?" I asked, skeptically. "Like the great Doubloon-hunt of '87? Or an excavation? How does a tutu help one fight off pirates, angry militant nihilists, or secret organizations with cool tattoos on their faces?"
"Oh, don't be such a bother," he exclaimed boringly, while Sam tickled the ivories with particular relish. "It wasn't for Glory, or Country, or Extreme, Scrooge-McDuck-Swimming-In-His-Vault-Of-Money-Wealth. It was for a Sense of Community, and put on by Our Parents."
"That's so cool," I told him, mind wandering to a shady-looking individual with an extremely poor french accent. Earlier, he'd asked me to "hold onto" an extremely large wad of money, and I was beginning to wonder if he'd be coming back to claim it; or whether I might not just "bop off" and forget about the matter.
The young man's lips kept moving for a while, so I nodded sympathetically every time Aerosmith screamed the words "dream on," in the song playing in my head. Eventually, one of the most attractive women in the history of everything wandered in on the arm of a famous WW2 war hero; and everybody dropped their pretense and watched the drama unfold as she asked Sam to play a song that simply wasn't meant to heard ever again.
So here's what I found out about the group of tutu-clad collegiate men and women:
-They're basically a gaggle of fun-loving kids with fun-loving parents or mentors who decided that Easter was too long to wait for a treasure hunt of sorts
-The pink tutus were neccesary, and I was not to question this.
-"The Angry La's" is such a good name for a band that it was already taken. Check them out here. Or don't; honestly, their name is the best thing they've got going for them right now. They sound sort of like The Clash mixed with Stone Temple Pilots, fed through a ceiling fan.
-If you ever want to alienate yourself: walk up to anybody, grasp their chin between your index finger and thumb -forcing them to look in your eyes- and say, "Here's looking at you, kid." If they don't narrow their eyes menacingly, then it's true love forever.
Comments