Thursday, September 09, 2004

Hey, remember the Chris Farley Show on Saturday Night Live? When he would ask his guests about things they did in movies or whatever? To Martin Scorcese: "Remember, in Taxi Driver, when DeNiro says, 'You talkin' to me?'" To Paul McCartney: "Remember when you were with the Beatles? Remember when you were dead?" Remember that? That was awesome.

It's like that with my friends when they reminisce... except they mostly bring up silly things I've done.

My childhood friend is always mentioning my embarrassing moments or repeating the same uncool aspects of my youth. "Remember how you used to have really gross eating habits with peanut butter?" Yeah. I don't do that anymore. "And when you were first learning to drive, and we were waiting at the intersection, and you kept letting every car go ahead of you? Even the ones that were like a half-mile away?" Yup. I live in LA now, so, y'know, I'm an excellent driver. Definitely. "How 'bout that time when we were around nine and you got into a fight with that kid who turned out to be a psycho and he took a swing at you with a baseball bat?" Right, that was hysterical.

I can laugh at myself -- there's plenty of material. But once in a while, it'd be nice if they invoked the good memories. He never mentions how I was in the elementary school talent show every year, and my performance of "Casey at the Bat" or Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue" brought down the house. Or the time I stood up to that bully Matt Nocerino and kicked his ass (okay, more like I gave him a bloody nose, and then the teachers broke it up -- but hey, that was pretty brave of me). How about that one wrestling season, I went undefeated -- a school record (sorry to sound Al Bundyish), got my name on the announcements every week, and for a brief period, I was BMOC. A few of the Jewish-American princesses had crushes on me, but I eschewed the Benetton-clad babes for the goth-punk chick with the Clash T-shirt and spiky hair. Damn, I was cool.

One of my college friends loves to tell Mikey stories that usually begin with, "Dude, you were so wasted this one time..." Then he'll tell me about the crazy things I did, and in true Farley fashion, end it with, "That was awesome. Remember that?" Uh... not really.

Last night, I hung out with an old running friend, who's back from Europe. After we caught up a little, she started doing the same thing.

"Remember that time we all hung out at your place, and we were all watching Bourne Identity on DVD, and when it was nearly over, we looked in the corner, and there was you and Summer making out on the couch?" Yeah... "And how you didn't want to go running with me for a few weeks 'cause you felt weird about hooking up with my best friend?" Yeah... "Oh! And how about when I had to drive you around town when you were practically naked?!"

Yeah, that was a good one. After a long morning run with her, I was back at my car in Venice. I had a clean shirt in my car, so I threw my sweaty one along with my sneakers into the trunk, slammed it shut and -- dammit -- what was I thinking?! The key was inside the trunk. Everything else was locked inside the car. So there I was: no keys, no money, no cellphone... no shoes, no shirt... no dice. I was miles from home, and couldn't walk, especially after having just run 15 miles. Fortunately, I saw my friend drive past, flagged her down, and had her chauffeur me back to my house. Then my sweaty, half-naked self had to jimmy into my own apartment to get a second set of keys. The only thing that woulda made that day complete is getting busted by the cops for breaking & entering.

It was amusing, but I just think she was relishing it too much. What am I, a clown, here to amuse you?

"Remember that, Mike?"

Do you remember how you married some guy you didn't really like, perhaps just to get a Green Card? And then you got into running, just to get away from him? To the point that you would encourage me to join you on ridiculous mileage -- two-, three-hour runs, even though you didn't even want to train for a marathon? And then when you finally split up with the guy, you decided to go back to Germany? And everyone kept telling you to stay in California -- hell, we've got an Austrian governor. But you said that you always had more fun when you went back there? But I told you it's 'cause you were on vacation -- of course it's fun if you're not working and stressed out and dealing with the day-to-day bullshit. I go to New York to visit and think the subway delays and crowded streets are wonderful. And then you came back after a few months, 'cause you realized that your hometown in Deutschland Uber Alles is full of schtupid schtrudel-eating chain-schmoking schprocket-heads? Remember how I hated to tell you I told you so?

Of course, I didn't tell her so. I just looked at her as she continued to laugh at my little mishaps.

"Yeah," I said. "I remember that. That was awesome."

Good post and I like it very much. By the way, anybody try this Sony SD Card Recovery Software? I do not how to use.

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