Adding Insult to Injury

Yesterday, during another day of not being on the mountain, I built a fire. Once it got going well, I went to the restroom and returned to a smoky living room. In an attempt to clear the smoke, I opened the doors and went to check that the fireplace flue was open. Evidently, I was just in a hurry to sear the flesh on my fingertip...on the only functional hand that I have. Nice job, guy. Today, I might try to accidentally stab myself in the thigh or otherwise damage one of my remaining pristine extremities.

Things You Cannot Easily Do Without Your Dominant Hand

• Type
• Read a book
  
• Open a bottle of beer
• Put on / take off clothes
• Wipe after pooping
• Pull up pants and boxers after pooping
• Take a leak
• Tie shoes
• High five
• Throw anything
• Shower
• Scoop ice cream
• Eat
• Drive a car ... in the snow
• Get out your wallet
• Fight a snowbo (snowbo = hobo who camps near ski area)

Facebook Faux Pas

A few months back, at the behest of a good friend, I joined Facebook. At times, I think it's pretty cool. At many others, I find it to be pretty creepy or annoying. For the record, I'm one of those people who never updates a status and never ever sends or accepts flair or pokes or drinks or anything. At most, I'll log in and check it about twice a week for about ten minutes. It is, in my opinion, just one more thing to manage. Personally, I already have enough things that deserve my attention.

In spite of all of the annoyances, there are some redeeming qualities about it. There are some folks from high school with whom I'd lost touch that I've traded a few emails. Unfortunately, after not hearing from or, in many cases, thinking about someone for fifteen years, I now have the ability to know what they are doing at any given moment courtesy of the Facebook's wretched Status updates. Is it critical, for example, to know that someone has paused "The View" to run to the restroom? Methinks not.

Anyway, it can be a better way to email someone than email, you know? There's no bother of remembering an email address. If you're connected to someone, you can send them a message. I've probably done this about ten times.

Several days ago, I emailed a buddy that I've know for many years. I told him how I missed seeing him at the bachelor party/tailgate for K's bachelor party weekend, that he picked the right game to miss because Alabama kicked our ass, that I hoped to catch up with him and his family soon, and that we should go snowboarding again this winter. It felt nice to email him. After I, I did miss seeing him there. Yesterday, I popped into my Facebook account and got his reply:

Dude, I was there! We had our picture made together. Guess I was just that forgettable.LOL. Still trying to figure out if I can go on the ski trip. I really want to. Keep me posted on the updates.

I'll have no recollection of this moment in 3 ... 2... 1...

So, not only did we have our photo made but, I recall that we talked at length about snowboarding again this winter. On top of that, I walked to the stadium with him and his buddy from back home.

My only explanation is that, yes, the tailgate was that good. Yes, I am just that idiotic. Yes, I had a blast.

Of Course, I Mean Softballs

Sunday, in the aftermath of K's bachelor party, I played softball with my neighborhood team. I knew that playing while running on only a few hours of sleep wasn't a good idea, I owed it to the team to be there to give them my support.

Boy, I was wrong. How was I wrong? Let me count the ways from The Scholar's E6 Spectacular:

• Overthrew 1B on a routine play.
• Underthrew 1B on a routine play.
  
• Overthrew 3B on a routine play.
• Made an amazing over-the-shoulder catch while running toward LF, promptly turned and overthrew 2B.
• Bounced hard-hit grounder off of my arm.
• Bounced hard-hit grounder off of my hip.

The best inept play of the day, came on a sharply hit grounder to my side of second base. I shuffled a few steps to my left toward the bag and bent to field the ball. It takes a nasty, nasty hop and pops me squarely in the chin as it rolls up my face, knocking off my hat and glasses, and standing me straight up. Everyone at the field made a wincing noise. Hell, even the base-runners stopped running. I felt something dripping from my chin and looked over at the second baseman to ask if I was bleeding. When she said that I wasn't, it just pissed me off a little more. Hell, I at least needed a little injury to the insult, you know?

When we got back to the dugout, everyone was asking if I was okay and checking on me.

"I'm fine," I confided. "Just a little pissed off at how I'm playing."

"Don't worry about it," one friend told me. "We can tell you're not your normal self out there today."

"Guess not," I said. "Seems like I'm getting tons of bad hops and just not playing well. Damn, it's like my chin is a magnet for balls."

As soon as the last phrase left my mouth, I kid you not, several heads whipped around to look at me, mouths agape, grins spreading across their faces.

"Softballs. I'm talking about softballs."

The important life lesson: don't perform activities requiring coordination if severely sleep-deprived. Also, do not speak in front of a group of people.

An Open Letter to Mercer University School of Medicine

Dear Mercer University School of Medicine,

What's up? Thought I drop you a line because it's been a while since I've heard from you. I hope all is well and that the new campus is coming along. Growing pains are tough, aren't they? Anyway, I know you'll get through it and be successful. If anyone can do it, it's you.

So, hey, I was wondering if you'd had some trouble getting in touch with me. I was out of town a few weekends ago but, mostly, have been around. I left - once more - my mobile number on your machine. I figured that maybe you'd written it down wrong or something and might've left a message for me in someone else's voicemail. When you can, give me a shout, I'd love to hear from you. Maybe we can get together for dinner sometime soon? If you can't do that - I know you're busy - I know some great lunch places around here. Heck, I'll even settle for a quick coffee just to look at you and hold your hand for a few minutes. You get the point, just please give me a shout.

Forgive me for bringing this up but it's been bugging me little. I was telling my buddy that I'd not heard from you and he brought it up that maybe you're not interested in me anymore. Crazy, right? I told him exactly where he could stick that kind of talk. Yep, right in the old poop shoot. I mean, come on, if you were over me, you'd at least let me know, right? Right?

Seriously, you aren't trying to break up with me, are you? I mean, when we were together, we had such an awesome time, didn't we? I know that I did. You did too, didn't you? We smiled at each other, flirted a little; you made me feel alive. You laughed at my jokes and seemed to think I was witty. Hell, even your friends seemed to like me.

Anywho, I was thinking that maybe it was something I said or did? You aren't still mad at me for New Year's, are you? I am sooo sorry for drunk-dialing you like that. Really, it'll never happen again. (I hope.) I was just thinking of you and wanted to hear your voice. At 3 o'clock in the morning. While I was in Waffle House. With a ton of strippers. What can I say? I think 8 messages on your machine should be enough to convince you that my apology was sincere.

I bet it's someone else, isn't it? Is it one of those douchebag little guys you met right after me? That adolescent prick from the elite private school with the Mercedes? That little shit has never worked a day in his life. Really, what could you see in him? How funny would it be for you to dump me for that clown? Pretty hilarious, huh? I know, I know: you're better than that!

If it is something that I said, you should know that I was completely honest with you and never meant to hurt your feelings or anything. Look, I stand by everything I said. I thought we clicked. Maybe I was wrong about you...about us. I thought we had a future together. I guess I was wrong. I hope I'm not but, with this deafening silence from you, my mind is really starting to make me think that you're not interested in me, that you've moved on. If so, then I wish you the best. I'll be sad but, hey, don't worry about me, I'll be just fine on my own.

OK, enough of the crazies from me. I hope that we'll have a good laugh at my paranoia over beers sometime soon. Call soon, will you? I really, really want to hear your voice.

All the best,

The Scholar

P.S. - If it is that little prick with the Mercedes, you can go to hell.