Tuesday, May 31, 2011

jazz fest pt 3: Austin, Texas! Day One!

Man, how incompetent am I? I make an announcement on facebook that I'll have the Austin segment up the next day, and here it is, four days later, and I've just started working on it. Is that any way to gain the trust of the few readers I have? Is that any way to climb the ladder of blogger success until I am so high up and powerful that I can finally put a stop to all those fatcats in Washington who push me around? The answer, of course, is no. I am a miserable failure.
     In my defense, the day I was supposed to post this piece was the Friday of Memorial weekend. Would any of you even have read it? You got a three day weekend staring you right in the face, are any of you thinking, "man, I can't wait to go on my trip to my beach house/cabin/ favorite Hooters restaurant but first I have to read about what Randy thinks of Austin, Texas?" Didn't think so.
     So instead I'm posting this on a Tuesday, at the beginning of a short week. I figure this is much better because, let's face it, nothing really gets done on the short weeks. Friday just seems too close for you to take your job seriously. So instead of working, all of you guys are going to just twirl around in your little desk chairs and email your coworkers the dirty jokes that you found on the internet. Well now instead of doing that, you can email them a link to this blog. And you can say in the email "He calls himself a Boy with a Beard because he's like this full grown man who acts like a child. Isn't that hilarious and original!" And they'll think to themselves: "Yes that is both hilarious and original. In fact, it's someone with this kind of ingenuity and brilliance who needs to rise to the top of the blogger world so those fatcats over in Washington will understand that they can't push the average guy around anymore..."
     OK, I think I've had too much caffeine this morning. Nevertheless, I will press on.
      I will press on all the way to about ten miles before Austin, Texas. For that is where I was when I saw this monstrosity:

   Now when we came across this car, part of me realized it was a sign that Austin was going to be awesome. But another part of me was just simply terrified by the fact that there were doll heads glued to her car.  
      I don't know what this person was trying to accomplish by decorating her car with doll heads, but unless she was actively trying to make the world a scarier place, she has failed. Even worse, she is doing irrevocable harm to the political agenda she is trying to promote. Think about it. If you're a child, just a sweet, innocent child, and you see a car with doll heads glued to the top of it, you are going to assume that this person is an evil monster. Then you see the liberal bumper sticker on the car, and for the rest of your life you're going to associate liberal ideals with evil monsters that glue doll heads to cars. This is how members of the tea party are made, people. With doll heads.
     But enough with politics and scary doll head ladies. We have a whole city to check out!

       That first afternoon in Austin reminded me of a scene from Garden State. I was Zack Braff, Shorty was Natalie Portman, and Austin was our Garden State. And by that I mean, it was a place for us to explore while we pondered the mysteries of life before taking a bath together. (They do bath together in that movie, right? It's been awhile since I last saw it. I distinctly remember Zack looking malcontent in a tub though, am I making this up?)

You can tell by the way I'm far out in one picture and then close up in the next one that I was doing some serious pondering.

We didn't just ponder life that afternoon. Oh no, we also visited a cemetery and reflected on the idea of death and mortality. 

  Also, I reflected on Stroburg, a man I never knew, but am certain that he was a badass. I mean just look at everyone else's boring, run-of-the-mill tombstones. Now look at his tombstone. Clearly we had found a man that didn't take any shit, even after he died. I could only hope that at some point in life I can be as cool as he was in death. 

    After our reflection, Shorty and I hurried back to the hotel so we could get ready for a night on the town. So after a quick nap; we showered, dressed and headed out to the bars. 
    We were about eight blocks away when I realized I had forgotten my camera back at the room. I wanted to go back and get it, but Shorty didn't want to walk back. Also, I didn't want to walk back either. 
   "What would Stroburg do?" I asked myself. 
    "He would stop being a fucking chump and go back and get his camera!" I told myself before continuing to walk to the bar.
     So I'm no Stroburg, is anyone surprised?
     It really is too bad that I don't have any pictures of that first night in Austin. It was an insane night, one which I don't remember well at all. If any pictures had been taken, I'm sure it would have been just as revealing to me as it would be to you.  Instead, I have nothing to share with you...except for this humorous story:
     This story occurred early in the night, which is why I can remember it. 
     Shorty and I were in this bar that only served fruity shots (we were curious!).  I remember that the gimmick of this bar was that when you stepped up to the bartender he would immediately ask you to name a fruit. Once you did, he would grab several bottles out of his trough of endless colorful bottles and concoct some sort of shot that would taste exactly like the fruit you mentioned, without the faintest hint of alcohol. (I assume this kind of bar doesn't exist in any other towns in Texas...)
     Anyways, Shorty and I had enjoyed several fruity shots when two attractive girls walked into the bar. Feeling daring and bold, I invited them to take a shot with us. They accepted. 
    I remember that soon after that I ended up talking to one of the girls alone. She had blonde hair and great posture. So we're talking and I'm making her laugh, which is always awesome, and then she casually let it slip that she's in the army. 
    Yeah, the army. How hot is that?
    But I play it cool. I can't let her know that I'm attracted to women of power, I know how that game ends.
  So instead I ask a few questions about life in the military and yada, yada yada....
    After a time, she excuses herself to use the restroom.  I order another round of shots of Strawberry Wonder for everyone while she's away. As I'm paying for the shots, Shorty gets a text on his phone that changes the entire night. 
     "Dude! We got Osama!" He shouted to the bar. 
    Of course, no one believed him at first. But once I confirmed his text with CNN mobile, I realized the gods had smiled upon us. Could there be a better time to be in Texas than the night when America killed Osama Bin Laden? Doubtful. I remember thinking right then that I was going to make at least a hundred new friends before the night was through. 
    This thought made me happy.
   Then I saw my army girl coming out of the bathroom and this thought was immediately replaced by an image. One singular, iconic image:

Sure it was a crazy idea. But it was also a crazy night.  A night where emotions would be running high for everyone, especially soldiers.  How could a soldier not be overjoyed by this news? How could they not have the overwhelming urge to grab the nearest nurse or redhead and dip them right before planting one right on my lips? Could you really blame my army girl for wanting, no, needing, to do that? Well, I couldn't. Which is why I made myself readily available for dipping and smooching after I told her the news about Osama.   
    But did she smooch me? Did she take me in her arms like some helpless nurse who couldn't fight temptation any longer and give me a lesson in love?
    No, of course not. I'm no Stroburg (I've suddenly decided that the sailor in the picture must be Stroburg. It just seems right, right? Wait, actually, she would have to be Stroburg for this too make sense. Wait, it doesn't make sense at all).  
  In any case, my army girl called her army friends and they all made plans to meet in five minutes. Then she waved goodbye to Shorty and I and left my life forever. 
   Then there was just me, and the two shots of strawberry goodness that were meant to be for both of us. Instead they were all for me. I took the first one real quick. Then I looked over to the bartender and, just before pounding the second one, I muttered:
"Army women..." 
     After that point, my memory starts to get hazy. I remember visiting a lot more bars, making a lot more friends, and taking a lot of shots with my new friends. Unfortunately, that's all I can tell you. But perhaps that's best. Maybe that night was meant to be the one night on the trip that was just for me, no one else.... 
      Even if I can't remember most of it.

    COMING TOMORROW: Austin day Two!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Jazzfest Pt. 2: One Friend and A Long Drive


  When you drive across the country with a friend, there's always a chance that, at some point, you'll hear that voice. You know the voice. It's the one that tells you that you've made a big mistake. You usually hear it a day or two into the trip, when just enough time has passed for the initial thrill to fade away and reality to settle in. That's when the voice creeps into your head:
    "Look, I know you don't want to hear this,  but the truth of the matter is that you have to travel a thousand miles with this person, and he's already kinda annoying you.  In fact, you practically hate him. I mean just look at him.  Look how stupid his face is. How badly do you want to punch that stupid face? A lot, right? Well imagine how much more you'll want to punch it after another two days of this. You've made a big mistake."  
       For the first twenty hours after we had escaped the sprawl I was completely lost in the thrill of what we were doing. I didn't have a care in the world.
     But then it faded away like it always does. And I realized that if I was going to hear the voice on this trip it would be during this stretch of time, when LA was behind us and Austin was still days away. Nothing to look forward to in the near future except each others company. This seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

      It's not that I disliked Shorty, we're good friends. But when you're a loud, outspoken guy who thinks he's always right, and you spend countless hours with another loud, outspoken guy who thinks he's always right, it's probably not going to end well. 
      Why, you may be asking yourself, did we decide to take a road trip by ourselves in the first place? Well, it wasn't suppose to be just us. We were supposed to be a group of four.  But on the very day of departure, the other two ran up to our car as we came to pick them up and yelled:
           "Just kidding! We're not going!" And then ran away like giggling school girls. Like little fat, double-chinned, sniveling school girls who knew nothing of honor or what it took to be a hero...

So anyways, that's how it came to be just the two of us.   

             I suppose the biggest difference between the two of us is that Shorty is a cautious person, and I'm not. I tend to act on impulse while he plans things out meticulously. I like to take chances, he prefers to play it safe. Which is why he had a whole itinerary for the trip written down weeks in advance, and I had never even bothered to read it. What was the fun of going on a road trip if you knew what was going to happen? 

       But the biggest problem for us, as I saw it, was that I could be very absented minded at times, and he had a tendency of talking down to people when he was frustrated with them. And what's worse is that when someone talks down to me, I become blind with anger.                     

      We were close to the New Mexico border when Shorty started looking anxious.
      "Hand me the map." He said.
      "What?" I asked.
        "Hand me the map, dude. I think our turn is coming up."
       I hadn't remembered seeing the map in awhile and was pretty sure he was the last one to have it. I looked for it anyways, but to no avail.
       "I don't have it." I told him.
      "Are you sure?" He responded in a condescending tone.
      "Yes, I'm sure." I said with just a hint of anger.
        "Well, I don't know where else it could be. You had it last..."
      "No I didn't."
      "Yes you did. Trust me."
        Trust him? Trust him to know me better than I know myself?  I felt the rage building up.
        I heard the voice speak. 
       "Look, I know you don't want to hear this." It began.
        Here we go, I thought.
       "But," It continued. "you had the map last, you're probably sitting on it."
 .    That's not what the voice usually says, I thought. 
       But I checked. Without letting Shorty see, I slid a hand under my leg and to my horror I felt the map.
       "Give him the map." The voice said. "Admit your fault."
        " I can't. He'll never let me live it down."
       "Maybe so. But you'll only make it worse if you don't do the right thing now. In fact you'll be doomed! Doomed I tell you!"
        And then the voice laughed maniacally, which confused me.
        Anyways, I gave the map to Shorty and for a moment it looked like he was going to say something harsh. But he didn't. Instead we both laughed and the tension melted away. 
       It was at this point that I knew we had made it through the second biggest hurdle of the trip to date. Sure, getting out of the sprawl was no easy feat, but to have both parties act mature enough not to make each other miserable, that was a great sign for our trip. Sure we still had a long ways to go, but again, I felt this was a good sign.
       As if to prove my point, about twenty minutes later the landscape changed to this:
        "It's gorgeous, right? " Shorty said when he saw my surprised expression. "I discovered this scenic route when I was researching our drive. It's a little out of the way, but not too bad. And you can't cry about the view. Didn't you see it on the itinerary?"
       "No, I must have missed it."I said, before asking: "So what tricks do you have up your sleeves for Texas?" 
         "Eh, nothing. Texas is just a barren wasteland no matter where you drive."
        "Except of course, for Austin." He added.
        "Hell ya." I said. "We'll just zip through the rest of Texas as fast as possible, like it ain't no thang."
        "Oh God no," He said. "we can't do that. I researched this dude, you don't speed in Texas. They'll always get you. Nobody speeds in Texas."
         "I'm sure there are people who-"
          "No dude. I've researched this. I know. Trust me."
         I sighed. Alright Shorty, we'll do it your way. I trust you.



Thursday, May 19, 2011

Part 1: Leaving the Sprawl

Sometimes I feel that if the world’s so small
That we can never get away from the sprawl,
Living in the sprawl,
Dead Shopping Malls rise like mountains beyond mountains,
And there’s no end in sight 

        We were in hell, folks. Only four hours into our trip and we were already in hell. It was the kind of hell that you can only know after trying to leave Los Angeles on a Friday during afternoon rush hour traffic. In four hours we had moved eighty miles. We were surrounded by suburbs on either side, and those ugly suckers stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction.
        It wasn't a pretty scene. The traffic itself was the worst kind you could ask for. A lot of people think the worst kind of traffic is the kind that never moves. Bullshit. At least you know where you stand with that kind.  No, the worst kind of traffic is the kind that teases you. The kind that plays with your mind. The kind that gives you hope before stripping it away.
         You know the kind.
         It's the kind where at least once every five minutes all the cars in front of you suddenly start moving faster. You try to peer out to see further down the road and you think it looks better than before, but you can't be sure.
         So you gamble, you push on the gas just a little bit harder than usual, just to test the waters, and just as it looks promising, just as you think you can continue at this speed- BAM! a sea of red brake lights hits you right in the face.
         And as you push down on the brake pedal for the millionth time you mutter to yourself that this is no way to live.
         Not in a sprawl.
         Not in a city that has grown so grotesque in size that its actual numbers in length are known by no man.
         But I guess I couldn't feel too sorry for myself. It was I who chose to live here. And on some days I do enjoy it. But lately, I felt like I was suffocating. I felt like everyone in this damn town was trying to kill me. So I decided to get out for awhile.
         Get out of dodge, as they say.
          I should go to some place small, I thought, some place that has a city limit that actually means something. I could go to New Orleans. I have family there, they would let me stay with them. And isn't Jazzfest coming up? I've always wanted to experience that. OK, I decided, That's what I'm going to do. 
        But of course, I wouldn't fly out of the sprawl. Oh no, not me. I had to leave this town on my own terms, by ground. I had to go out to the most eastern point of this monster and see with my own eyes the exact spot where it dies off and turns into desert. 
        Oh, the desert. That's where I wanted to be. Above all else, above New Orleans, above Austin, I wanted to be in the desert. Nobody lives out in the desert. It's just cactus, rock, maybe a windmill or two, and all the empty space you could ask for.
        That's where I needed to be.
        So I started making plans. Then one day my friend heard about my plans and asked if he could join.
      "Of course," I said. "We can use your car."
       We decided we would leave on a Friday at five, the minute my friend got off work.
        I knew that that was going be trouble but I just put it out of my mind. I'm escaping the sprawl, I kept telling myself. That's never easy.  
        And it wasn't easy.
        It was hell.
        And I almost lost it, no joke. I was honestly about to blow a gasket right there in my buddy's car.
        I guess my friend could sense the volcano getting ready to blow, because he quickly decided to play some music, something relaxing.
      "Have you heard Arcade Fire's new album?" He asked.
        I told I hadn't, although I was a fan of some of their older work.
      "Well you gotta check this out. It won the Grammy for best album of the year. And besides, they're going to be headlining Jazzfest this year. "
        He played the first track off the album and I rested down in my seat, closed my eyes and listened. The name of the song was Suburbs, same name as the album, and man, was it fucking good.
         I listened to every single song on that album with my eyes closed, it was as close as spiritual experience as you can hope to achieve on a LA highway during rush hour.
          But it wasn't just the quality of the music that made this so special, I mean the music was beautiful, but it wasn't just that. It was also what they were singing about. It was what the album was about.
          Living in the sprawl. Feeling trapped in a maze of never ending suburbs. Wanting so badly to escape, but feeling like it will never happen, could never happen.
          In short, the album was dealing with the same shit I was dealing with, and even though neither of us were happy about it, there was a certain kind of peace to the album that I certainly didn't have. I wanted it though. I really did.
          When the last song on the album ended I asked my friend to play the album again, from the beginning.
           I kept my eyes closed and just listened to the music.
          We were in the middle of listening to the third run-through of the album when I noticed that the car was no longer coming to a complete stop every twenty seconds. In fact, it felt like we were moving rather fast.
            I opened my eyes and looked around.
          "Hey buddy," My friend said when he saw me rise. "I would have told you but I thought you were sleeping."
            I didn't reply. I just stared out the window. Then I hurriedly reached to the backseat for my back pack and pulled out my camera. I held the camera out of the passenger window and took a picture.
             I immediately switched the camera to display mode and examined the photo I had taken.
            Then I showed it to my buddy.
            He laughed emphatically.
           "We did it." He said in between laughs. "It almost killed us but we fucking did it."
            We did, didn't we. I thought. And now we have the road trip of our lives to look forward to, and after that, New Orleans,  Jazzfest, and Arcade Fire.
             I suddenly felt like a little kid again. You know that feeling when there are so many new and exciting things going on at the same time that you really just can't even handle it so you just go and do something stupid because your a kid? Well that's how I felt. 
             But even though I may be a boy, I am not a kid, so I didn't do anything stupid. Instead I just looked out into the desert and thought about how great this moment was. And how great it was to know, that it's possible to escape the sprawl.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

I'm Back and More World Weary Than Ever!

 So I got back from my Jazzfest road trip last night and let me tell you right now, it was absolutely stupendous! (Actually it was more epic than stupendous but I don’t want to use the word epic because it gets thrown around way too much. But stupendous, no one says stupendous.  So by using the word stupendous I’m showing you how epic the trip was... you know this sounded funnier in my head, let's just move on).
The best part about the trip is that I have tons of awesome pictures to share with all of you. Unfortunately I’m in the middle of writing down all the cool stories that are behind the pictures. So I can’t share the awesome pictures with you right now.
So, you ask yourself, why are you wasting my time then? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because my friend and blog expert informed me that I should I try to post at least once a week so that people don’t forget about me and the wonderful things that I do. So with that in mind, I decided to provide links to a story I did last year that is similar, in a way, to my Jazzfest trip.  
   But before I get to that, I also wanted to share a brief humorous story that happened to me this morning. I was in the Vons parking lot, walking to the store. As I was walking, this beautiful woman came out of the store carrying bags of groceries.
            “Man, that chick is hot.” I thought to myself as she walked towards me. “ I wish I could just go up and talk to her. But what could I possible say to her? I don’t even know her. Woe is me!”
            And then, just as I was woeing myself, she tripped on a crack in the pavement and stumbled forward before catching herself and regaining her balance. She looked around and caught me smiling, she smiled back in embarrassment.   
            Awesome! I thought to myself. Now I have something to talk to her about! I have an in! I have an in!
            “You almost fell!” I said.
            She laughed. “I know! I can’t see the ground because of all of my bags. I have so many...”
            “Yeah, also you’re wearing high heels. That doesn’t help.”
I walked past her and enter the store. 
I hope she calls.

 Great story, right! It reminds me of the end of Dumb and Dumber when Harry and Lloyd tell the bikini models that they could find lotion boys at the next town… (I’m such an idiot).
 OK, now I have to go- Oh wait, before I go, I wanted to ask you all something. My cousin thinks that my design is flawed. He thinks the black background and white letters makes my blog hard to read. I’m not opposed to changing it, but I wanted to see if anyone else had thoughts on the matter. Anyone? Bueller? Mother? OK then, I’ll just go back to repeatedly clicking on the link to my blog in an effort to boost my numbers. Oh and here’s the link to that other story. Check it out! And if you’ve already read it then you are awesome and I love you. Now read it again!  

And if you don't have much time but love riots, just read this one!


Sunday, May 1, 2011

Lindsay Lohan Hates My Body


This is weird. I mean this started out as a joke, but it doesn’t feel like a joke right now…it feels sexy. I feel sexy.  Yeah, this is definitely weird.
  “I can’t stop staring."
 “I know! It’s disturbing that he looks so good.”
      These catcalls belong to my friends, who follow behind me as I strut down the dark city street. It’s clear that all of us are trying to deal with this new feeling we don’t fully understand.
      A Honda Civic full of cute Asian girls pulls up to us and asks for directions. I notice the streetlight hanging above them and seize the opportunity. I walk into the street and bask under my spotlight.  I watch the girls look from me to my legs, which are completely exposed except for the very top parts that are concealed by a pair of tight yellow short shorts that fit perfectly around my hips and upper thighs like a glove, a love glove, for my junk.   
     This scene makes the girls laugh in awe. This makes me happy so I do a jig, throwing my hairy, milky lower limbs about in the cold air. This causes the girls to let loose a series of their own catcalls. And shrieks. Yes shrieks, like they’re watching Elvis shaking his hips in person. 
        For the rest of our walk I’m on such a high it feels like I’m floating. I mean I really changed those girls’ lives.  I don’t feel sexy anymore; I feel even better, I feel like I’m doing God’s work.  We reach The Drawing Room, the neighborhood dive bar, and the bouncer tells us it’s dead inside as he checks our IDs. Perhaps a resurrection is in order, I think. I laugh at my own cleverness.   
         We walk into the bar and I find that the bouncer is right, this place is dead. Except for the group of people in their mid-twenties on the far end of the bar, standing in front of the jukebox.I have no choice, I must go to them. So I do, leaving my friends behind.    
          As I get closer I realize everyone in this group is very good looking. Not like normal good looking, but like Zoolander-really-really-ridiculously-good-looking, especially the blonde one in the middle who’s talking to some beautiful man. This is LA so I’m not totally shocked, but still, it’s kind of intimidating. Whatever, I brush it off. Beautiful people are just like everybody else, they want to be entertained by a sensuous jester who wears a golden cloth about his loins yet allows his rugged, voluptuous legs to run wild and unconstrained.   
       A new song starts up just as I reach the group. A boy and girl separate themselves from the rest of the pack and start to dance. Remembering my track record with dancing, I immediately approach them and do the same.           
     God’s work. 
     But they do not see God’s work in my leg thrusts and quick pivots, they see a person they do not know, that they do not want to know, that they hate.  They sneer at me disapprovingly. I give the couple a smile to put them at ease. 
       But my goofy smile does not melt their hearts, instead it only quickens their retreat back to their group. I watch as they whisper to the others. I see eyes darting to and away from me. It’s clear by the disgust on their faces that they are not impressed with me, but no one dares speak. 
       No one, that is, until she sees me.  Yes she, the bleach blonde girl who had been talking with the beautiful man. She is the last to notice me, but she has the biggest reaction.  Her eyes widen and her mouth opens up and forms a huge O.
      “Oh my God!” She shouts loudly.  “Why would you wear that? You have nothing to show!” 
       I only hear silence after this. I’m not sure if everyone in the bar has stopped talking or if my ears have just stopped working. Then I hear her words again as they bounce around in my brain.   
       You have nothing to show!
       You have nothing to show!
       YOU! Have! Nothing! To Show!
       What does that even mean? I have nothing to show? I have everything to show! Sure it’s hairy and parts of it haven’t seen the light of day in long time, but it’s still something! Right? 
        I look down at my lower torso and realize I don’t even know anymore. 
        I leave the beautiful people and buy a drink.  
        The bartender hands me my beer and I look over to my friends. I can see that they’re arguing about something. Good, maybe they didn’t see what just happened. I’ll just play it real cool when I approach them, act like nothing happened.
       I casually approach Dave.  “What are you guys arguing about?”  I ask him. 
     “We’re arguing about that girl that just embarrassed the shit out of you.” 
     “Which one?” I say coolly.
     “The one who’s Lindsay Lohan.” 
     “She’s not Lindsay Lohan.” Cormac responds.
     “Yes she is dude, I’m positive.”
     “You’re crazy. Why would Lindsay Lohan hang out at a dive bar on a Wednesday night?” 
     “Because she’s Lindsay Lohan!” Dave says. 
       I have to admit that does make a lot of sense. But there’s no way that’s Lilo, I would have recognized her.
       I look back at the beach blonde. Oh my God, that could be Lilo.  I suddenly feel myself getting very excited. I mean if this is true it would be one of the biggest moments in the history of humanity. Well, it would at least be the biggest moment out of all the moments where a hot chick has publicly decried my legs.
      But I can’t count my chickens yet. First I have to be sure. Which means we have to return to the scene of the crime.   
     Two minutes later we return from the scene of the crime and we’ve all come to the same conclusion. That blonde girl is, without a doubt, Lindsay Herpes Lohan (too much?).  
         Now I can’t hear anything again, and this time I know that it’s not because everyone has stopped talking, it’s because I have discovered that a trashy celebrity just ridiculed my body and my brain doesn’t know how to handle it.    
        “What are you gonna say to her?” Dave asks. “You should tell her she should be kind to you because you’re both kindred spirits.” 
        “What do you mean?” I ask.
         “She’s a ginger, like you.”
         That’s right, I remember. She is a natural red head. A ginger.  A firecrotch. Just like me.   But as I look upon this celebrity in front of me I don’t see a female version of myself, I see a girl who has forgotten that those poisoned blonde Hollywood drapes don’t match the goofy, fun loving carpet below. I see a girl who has forgotten who she really is. And I realize that tonight isn’t about getting revenge, it’s about a girl who needs to be saved.  
         God’s work.    
         The bartender announces last call and I see Lindsay and her minstrel of douches start to gather their things.  It’s now or never. I get within arm’s reach and I stick out a leg, blocking her path.  
       “Take a good, long look,” I say. “Because this is the last time you’re ever gonna see anything this good again.”
       We both look down at my exposed leg. But the question is, do we see the same thing?   “I’ve seen better.” She says coldly before leaving the bar.  Well that certainly was anticlimactic, I think to myself.  
        The next week I saw Lindsay on the news, the police had busted her for stealing a necklace. My first thought was, “if only she had seen the light…”
        Now am I saying that if she had smiled or laughed at me and my shorts that she wouldn’t have stolen the necklace? No, no one can know that for sure.      
       But I do know that if she had enjoyed our moment, and embraced her inherent appreciation for absurdity that all gingers are born with, she wouldn’t have needed the necklace, because she would have something much greater: true happiness.
       Instead, she’s going to prison. I guess that’s the hardest part about doing God’s work, you can’t save everyone.