The Big Day

My sister recently attended a wedding reception for a neighbor that can only be described as a bit different from those I that normally attend. For starters, my sister has lived near the couple for many years, and until she received the invitation, didn’t realize that they weren’t already married.

The tone for the reception was established as soon as she entered the Moose Lodge. While a carefully crafted archway over the entrance can hardly be considered innovative, constructing one from empty Budweiser beer cans is an approach I was unfamiliar with. I can only guess that such a welcome of stale smelling cans becomes a reasonable alternative only after the wedding party has consumed the requisite amount of beer to generate the required building blocks. At that point, a lot of things suddenly become good ideas.

Once through festive archway, the theme of the wedding became abundantly clear. The happy couple had settled on camouflage for the color theme. Even the blushing bride had camouflage finger nail polish and elbow pads. The bridesmaids were featured in white tops and camouflage skirts and the groomsmen - well it was too late by the time she arrived to catch them in full attire - were at the bar still wearing tuxes, however, had shed their shirts and were bare chested.

Before anyone begins to categorize our newlyweds as being on the less cultured side of the bell curve, I would ask that you visualize the final scene in our story. Well into the reception the bride, who had been absent for a prolonged period, happily entered through the back door with a fork in one had, an oven mitt on the other, and with a big smile thanked everyone for their patience and announced that the pork was almost done. To be sure, the bride preparing her own food at the reception while still wearing her wedding dress won’t suddenly propel one into the social elite; however, I would ask you to note the most important part of our story - she was smiling. Her reception was everything that she wanted it to be, and was thrilled with the outcome.

Consider that while recalling all of the over-orchestrated insufferably boring weddings and receptions that we have all been sentenced to endure. The father of the bride stands in the corner throwing back drinks while suffering chest pains as he doubts if the marriage will last longer than the payments on the second mortgage that was required to fund the spectacle. The bride, who has spent the last month making life a living hell for everyone around her as she juggled the hundreds essential details required for the day of her dreams, has spent the day vacillating between tears and anger as she faced such unforgivable catastrophes as runners that wouldn’t lay flat, pink flowers that were clearly mauve and champaign bottles not properly centered on the tables. Cultured? Yes. Fun? No.

For me, I can only hope that one day I am fortunate enough to arrive at a reception hall and be greeted by a Budweiser arch. As for those of you still to plan your big day, go for the day that leaves you with the same smile as our bride.

Thanks for stopping by - I’ll keep my eyes open for more people Hunting Squirrels with Bazookas.

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Modern Warfare and Bambi

Regardless of where one calls home, our surroundings relentlessly force their unique perspective on each of us, (despite our self-proclaimed worldliness). The backdrop for those mundane real-life moments is unavoidably colored by the influences lurking outside the front door. The day-to-day happenings of life, what each of us considers normal, or more precisely the lens through which we observe such events, cannot escape the environment that wraps itself around us on a never-ending basis.

I unfolded the daily newspaper and my eyes instantly fell to the lead story which referred to guns, specifically machine guns, and music. Okay, I’m game, I read on. It seems that a local music festival was interrupted by a stray bullet, but not just any bullet, a 50 caliper machine gun bullet. No one was hurt, the show went on with most of the crowd unawares and only a shattered window to show for the excitement. In short, the lead story was that they didn’t have much of a story.

To put the event in its proper perspective, I live in a small town in Northern Michigan, and as such, carry the influences of what rural life brings. In many places the first thoughts that would flash into the reader’s mind would be of gangs, violence, drug deals or some militia group crawling around the woods waiting, and hoping, for an invasion, (admittedly, a realistic candidate in these parts). However, this is where my environment injected itself into my thought process and I turned to my son.

“What are the odds that whoever owns that machine gun has used it to hunt deer?”

“100%,” he replied without looking up from his computer screen.

It occurred to me that if I lived in a place such as Boston, Chicago, or Los Angeles, (let’s be honest - most places on the planet), a story about a machine gun at a music festival wouldn’t typically bring to mind a testosterone filled twenty-something carrying a six pack and unloading on an unsuspecting doe trying to enjoy dinner. For reference, the person hunting deer with a machine isn’t capable of only one bad decision, therefore, would most assuredly embark on his adventure with alcohol tow. My only hope is that he got deep enough into the Budweiser that he lost his patience and decided to empty his gun on the nearest tree and leave the deer for another day. It would only be later that he would discover that one can’t replenish the required ammunition at the local Walmart.

The story may leave those not familiar with this particular brand of logic believing that those of us from these parts are a bit backward at times, and looking back over this piece, that’s an understandable conclusion. However, at least in our case, the only human likely to be shot is the owner of the gun, (sometime after the fifth beer).

Thanks for stopping by - I’ll keep my eyes open for more people Hunting Squirrels with Bazookas.

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Hunting for Stupidity

It’s important to know if you’re stupid. More precisely, it’s important to know if you’re prone to do stupid things.

Don’t get me wrong, being stupid is nothing to be ashamed of. Personally, if an object has an engine, or for that matter requires a reasonable level of mechanical aptitude, I am well aware that I have entered into my personal “stupid zone” and it is unlikely that playing in such an arena will result in anything but pain. The problem comes about when individuals fail to acknowledge their stupidity, which frequently not only leads one down destructive paths, it invariably leads to the next stupid decision, (back to that later). To make my point, consider a recent news event:

The scene: a police officer was on patrol when he realized that he was the target of a golf ball.

This is a text-book example of needing to realize that you are prone to stupid decisions. If you think that targeting a cop with a golf ball is a good idea, you have entered into the stupid zone on a number of levels:

Unless your first name is Tiger, the odds of you hitting the officer are well beyond your ability to calculate them, (based on what we can already assume regarding your intellectual capabilities).

If by some miracle you do make contact, it’s probably safe to assume that your plan wasn’t thought through in detail and you have left ample evidence behind to convict you of:

Killing a law officer

Assaulting a law officer

Stupidity

If you miss, you are still guilty of:

Attempted assault on a law officer.

Stupidity

At this point, your only hope is that your golf game rivals your cognitive thinking ability, and you missed the officer by such a wide margin that he failed to notice. (Note that being bad at multiple things is your only hope of salvation). However, in this case, the intended shot was close enough to attract the cop’s attention.

If one makes the decision to launch a golf ball at a police officer, it is likely that the situation will continue to deteriorate, and in this case, our subject didn’t disappoint, (please reference above where I noted that one bad decision leads to another, or even more likely, a series of bad decisions). Rather than stepping back and asking ‘what else could go wrong,’ our subject stood in the window and watched as events unfolded. Realizing that he represented the one and only possible suspect, when the officer approached and inquired about the origins of the golf ball, he quickly confessed, (finally a good idea). However, he also provided a clear line of sight into his house, (a bad idea), so that the cop could see his stash resting on the table.

Our hero now has attempted assault on a police officer and possession of marijuana. However, alas, possession has a way of leading to a search warrant, which in this case, turned up a number of mature plants awaiting harvest. The felonies are beginning to stack up. All of this because the suspect failed to ask himself if trying to hit a cop with a golf ball was a stupid thing to do.

I stopped reading the article at this point because it was clear to see what direction this was heading. I have little doubt that “the accused” was unable to stop digging his hole and followed up the episode with a series of increasingly stupid statements to the police and attorneys that eventually carried over until he found himself standing before a judge, who must have been trying to decide if the episode was humorous or a sure sign of the approaching apocalypse.

Robert Fulghum tried to sum up life’s lessons in his book Everything I Really Needed To Know I Learned In Kindergarden, with a list of timeless observations. It’s a wonderful read for those prone to over think life; however, although it probably wouldn’t have helped sales, I can’t help but feel that including Don’t Do Stupid Things would have been a worthy addition.

Thanks for stopping by - I’ll keep my eyes open for more people Hunting Squirrels with Bazookas.

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