A Question.

     Why? Why do you mothers and fathers of young children insist on dragging your wailing child to the movie theater? I can assure you your baby is not interested in this year's action movie blockbuster, and I'm positive that it will not pick up on the more stylistic touches of the French New Wave. I tell you what it will do; cry. I swear, every time I try to forget my crappy life by submerging myself in cinema and I hear your squalling meat-sack let out a shriek, I mentally murder a puppy. Do you want that? I thought not. Don't try to give me excuses, because there are none. If you don't have the money to hire a babysitter, then guess what? Save your money! Don't go to the movies! 

     Oh, but I'm not safe from your insufferable spawn outside of the theater either! No, you then bring your kid to church, an act that is not malignant within itself, but when your kid starts crying, it's proper to take him outside. Last Sunday I was sitting in church, when I heard the sound of a young child whimpering in the pew two rows in front of me. I didn't pay too much attention, as I was sure the parent responsible would soon either pacify the urchin, or otherwise take him outside to calm down. Neither course of action occurred. Instead, the father made a choice that I will describe in terms of the mental process required to come up with it. 

     Kid is making bad sounds-> I want the kid to not be making bad sounds-> The bad sounds are coming out of his mouth-> If I squeeze my hand over his mouth and hold it there, he won't be able to make bad sounds!

As you can imagine, this plan was not very effective, and through the last ten minutes of the sermon, the entire congregation was forced to suffer through "Child Asphyxiation in F Major." I just don't understand.

     Parents I'm sure you love your child, and I'm sure it's adorable; but when your child starts making a nuisance of itself in a public space, it's no longer a cute baby. It's a red-faced screeching creature that you are responsible for bringing into our midst. Keep your child calm, or the puppies in my mind will die.

Bloglet #1: Phases of Bowling

Phase 1) Josh is feeling good about this bowling excursion, and is ready to bring his A-game.
Phase 2) Josh must go through the embarrassing process of trying to find a bowling ball that fits his hand and yet is light enough for a 9 year-old girl.
Phase 3) Josh has bowled pretty good on his first turn, and is confident in his performance. At this time he is trying to bowl properly with his fingers in the holes.
Phase 4) Josh's ball goes straight into the gutter four times in a row, and Josh is forced to realize that he sucks as much at this game as the last twenty times he has played.
Phase 5) Josh thinks maybe it has something to do with his throwing technique, and resorts to holding the ball without finger holes and hoping that his hand doesn't flop ridiculously to one side, sending the ball horribly askew.
Phase 6) Josh lapses into self-parody, throwing the ball between his legs and other equally silly gimmicks, in the hope that he can convince onlookers that he's "not really trying," and can be forgiven of his earlier mishaps.
Phase 7) Josh is pretty much just throwing the ball as fast as he can so he can return to the Netflix movie that he is streaming. 
Phase 8) Josh is starting to wonder why bowling is so popular and so common of a social outing.
Phase 9) Josh has asked someone to take over for him, and has retired, defeated, to the arcade.
Phase 10) Josh plays some games and leaves the bowling alley moderately satisfied, and with a final score of 54 in bowling, and 5780 in CarnEvil.
Phase 11) Josh is invited to another bowling event. (Return to Phase 1)

"You're Tall."

 Dear Everybody who greets me,

I understand that first introductions are difficult, and I am aware that the mere sight of my handsome visage has been known to strike people speechless. I do not blame you for not being able to think up a brilliant conversation piece on the spot, and I can forgive you for pulling me away from my iPhone* to attempt to do so. But of all the banal, unimaginative, marginalizing, and downright infuriating responses you could have the audacity of greeting me with is: “You’re tall.”

Oh yes, thank you for pointing that out to me. I must have forgotten that I possess this admirable trait sometime between ducking through your doorway and stooping over in order to inspect the contents of your fridge. How could I possibly have conceived this actuality without your aid, despite the fact that my neck and chin are currently forming a 45 degree angle to meet your eyes? So, I’m “tall” am I? I’m glad that your brain has developed to the stage where it is able to make simple inferences from visual stimuli. Mentally speaking, I can now assume that you have the logical capacity of an 8 month-old child. You even share that goofy grin that says, “Gee, aren’t I oh so clever for coming up with that?” As if I haven’t heard “You’re tall.” or some variation of it before in my life. As if I haven’t heard it within the hour.

And woe betides ye that follow this obnoxious assertion with, “You must play basketball.” Really? Must I? Is being tall really the only requirement of playing this “basketball” you speak of? Is there no need for skill, talent, or sheer physical optimization which it is visually apparent that I lack? The worst part is the expression on your face when I tell you that I do not, in fact, play basketball. The half-hearted “Oh.” you utter, as if I have rejected my calling, no, my destiny to be a great basketball player, and have instead chosen to follow the path of the Dark Side. How dare I pervert the natural order of the universe by refusing to engage in normal “tall people” activities!

Personally, my main problem with being told that I’m tall is the whole marginalizing aspect of it. It’s as if the singular trait of my height is the only one that really matters to the person I’m talking to. My favorite instance of this was at my Mother’s wedding. The pastor stood up to make a toast, and decided to give my new step-dad some friendly advice in the way to bond with his newly acquired children. Paraphrased, his speech went like this, “In order to be a good father Caleb, you need to understand your sons’ interests. If Jake likes videogames, play videogames with him. If Justin is into rockets, go and get him some rockets and enjoy building them together. And with Josh, this giant of a kid, YOU BETTER WATCH WHAT YOU FEED HIM OR HE'LL BE HARD TO MANAGE!”** (Insert derisive chuckling) Yes, it seems I cannot escape my fate of being referenced solely in height even in wedding toasts.

The situation I face is like in “Recess,” where every kid has a name like, “<Insert attribute here> kid.” There was “Digger Kid,” “New Kid,” and the D&D-addicted “Pale Kids” who stayed in the basement of the school. I get the feeling that that is how people classify me in their minds: just “Tall Kid.” Why can’t I be “Funny Kid,” or “Smart Kid?” Hell, I’d even take “Socially-Awkward Kid” or “Definitely a Virgin Kid” over something as hackneyed as “Tall Kid.” The name of this blog is a kind of parody of this blatant over-generalization.        

It’s come to the point where I dread meeting anybody, as I can literally tick down the seconds to them making a remark about how tall I am. In the end, while I do like to think that I am a man of stature, just greet me with a simple “Hello.” and you can leave the embarrassing social mishaps to me.

*Because all normal teenagers have an iPhone for the purpose of listening to music, playing games, and going on YouTube... Oh yeah! And it calls people too right?
 **I generally disapprove of the use of capital letters to show yelling, but he really did say it pretty loud and obnoxiously.