Skeletons In The Closet
With Halloween rapidly approaching, now is a good time to talk about the skeletons in my closet, at least the ones that are documented.
Whenever a person tries to run for a political office, or starts to get ahead in a very public sort of way (television, fortune 500 big wig, global domination) it seems like all the stupid things he or she has ever done suddenly comes to light.
For a lot of these very stupid things, denial works (unless there is DNA evidence on the clothing). I did not sleep with that woman. I have no knowledge of any stock transactions. I was out of town at the time. I don't take drugs and I'll pee in a cup to prove it. The glove didn't fit.
Increasingly, however, people feel the need to video document every single aspect of their lives. It is as if they are saving up the memories against the day the brain starts failing and they need to remind themselves of all the things they witnessed in their lives (witnessed, because they were to busy taping to participate). This sort of thing can totally hamper the denial thing. Hard to claim one was sober when there is high quality footage of one doing a keg stand.
So I've decided that now is the time to come out ahead of a few of these digitally preserved moments.
First there may or may not be a video of me as an adult in a makeshift diaper dancing like the dancing baby. Each year at the summer camp where I worked, the staff would have a banquet to kick off the summer, and another at the close of the season. There were, of course, skits and songs performed at these banquets. By the end of the summer we were pretty well and truly crazy, so the closing performances tended towards the oddly and creepily funny. Our skit consisted primarily of me dancing while the people I worked with sang a parody version of Track 4 of the Reservoir dogs soundtrack (Hooked on a feeling by Bue Suede). For the most part people were to busy laughing to actually see me dance, but I've heard rumor of a tape, though I've never seen it.
The next tape is of a very drunken Rich driving a lawnmower. Each year Lewistown Illinois (birth place of Edgar Lee Masters the Author of the Spoon River Anthology) hosts a lawn mower poker run. A friend of mine called that town his home, and decided that not only was he going home for the poker run weekend, but he would bring half a dozen hardcore drunks and stoners with em (I was one of the drunks). Now I'm deathly afraid of driving, even something as simple as a driving lawnmower, but with the help of a beer and cherry bombs (marachino cherries soaked in everclear) I was able to overcome my fear to drive one of the three lawnmowers my friend had acquired for the event. The following year strict rules were passed about many of the problems we created by invading this towns community affair. Now this video is bad in several ways. First I have a mullet. I'm talking shoulder length curly hair in the back with the top front trimmed pretty short. Next I am beyond hammered. The video was shot in the evening after a long hard day of drunken lawn mower driving. Between the sun and the booze It's a miracle I was awake or even alive. Then there is the fact that I was at the peak of my no exercise chain smoking regime. This is perhaps the most unattractive video of me in existence, and I have no Idea where it is. Last I knew it was in possession of a woman who was living in Macomb, Illinois. She moved at some point and tried to get in touch with me, but my brother couldn't be bothered to right down a phone number, because it didn't concern em, so I have on idea where she is at (and its a common name like smith so no help with the google). This video could already be destroyed, or it could turn up any day.
The last video I know to exist is probably the most damaging. I had drank the better part of a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey. Then the strippers arrived. I've never been to a strip club, as I'm basically a shy guy and those are attractive nekkid women (very intimidating). So anyway the strippers put on a show and then I get dragged into the middle of the room and to make this a short story, everyone who later saw the tape said, "Hey Rich, Nice Ass." Not was there a video, but there were polaroids. I have on idea who has the video. I had acquired on of the polaroids, but I think my sister in law may have gone through my belongings and taken it when she was still living with us. I'm not exactly sure why anyone would want that picture though. It's just me with on shirt on and a stripper on either arm. I could probably get elected president with a picture like that. Sure the moral majority would make a fuss, but secretly every man would be completely impressed with the two nekkid woman. (we can't help it).
So those are my skeletons, not particularly spooky, but disturbing none the less.
More Laters
Whenever a person tries to run for a political office, or starts to get ahead in a very public sort of way (television, fortune 500 big wig, global domination) it seems like all the stupid things he or she has ever done suddenly comes to light.
For a lot of these very stupid things, denial works (unless there is DNA evidence on the clothing). I did not sleep with that woman. I have no knowledge of any stock transactions. I was out of town at the time. I don't take drugs and I'll pee in a cup to prove it. The glove didn't fit.
Increasingly, however, people feel the need to video document every single aspect of their lives. It is as if they are saving up the memories against the day the brain starts failing and they need to remind themselves of all the things they witnessed in their lives (witnessed, because they were to busy taping to participate). This sort of thing can totally hamper the denial thing. Hard to claim one was sober when there is high quality footage of one doing a keg stand.
So I've decided that now is the time to come out ahead of a few of these digitally preserved moments.
First there may or may not be a video of me as an adult in a makeshift diaper dancing like the dancing baby. Each year at the summer camp where I worked, the staff would have a banquet to kick off the summer, and another at the close of the season. There were, of course, skits and songs performed at these banquets. By the end of the summer we were pretty well and truly crazy, so the closing performances tended towards the oddly and creepily funny. Our skit consisted primarily of me dancing while the people I worked with sang a parody version of Track 4 of the Reservoir dogs soundtrack (Hooked on a feeling by Bue Suede). For the most part people were to busy laughing to actually see me dance, but I've heard rumor of a tape, though I've never seen it.
The next tape is of a very drunken Rich driving a lawnmower. Each year Lewistown Illinois (birth place of Edgar Lee Masters the Author of the Spoon River Anthology) hosts a lawn mower poker run. A friend of mine called that town his home, and decided that not only was he going home for the poker run weekend, but he would bring half a dozen hardcore drunks and stoners with em (I was one of the drunks). Now I'm deathly afraid of driving, even something as simple as a driving lawnmower, but with the help of a beer and cherry bombs (marachino cherries soaked in everclear) I was able to overcome my fear to drive one of the three lawnmowers my friend had acquired for the event. The following year strict rules were passed about many of the problems we created by invading this towns community affair. Now this video is bad in several ways. First I have a mullet. I'm talking shoulder length curly hair in the back with the top front trimmed pretty short. Next I am beyond hammered. The video was shot in the evening after a long hard day of drunken lawn mower driving. Between the sun and the booze It's a miracle I was awake or even alive. Then there is the fact that I was at the peak of my no exercise chain smoking regime. This is perhaps the most unattractive video of me in existence, and I have no Idea where it is. Last I knew it was in possession of a woman who was living in Macomb, Illinois. She moved at some point and tried to get in touch with me, but my brother couldn't be bothered to right down a phone number, because it didn't concern em, so I have on idea where she is at (and its a common name like smith so no help with the google). This video could already be destroyed, or it could turn up any day.
The last video I know to exist is probably the most damaging. I had drank the better part of a bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey. Then the strippers arrived. I've never been to a strip club, as I'm basically a shy guy and those are attractive nekkid women (very intimidating). So anyway the strippers put on a show and then I get dragged into the middle of the room and to make this a short story, everyone who later saw the tape said, "Hey Rich, Nice Ass." Not was there a video, but there were polaroids. I have on idea who has the video. I had acquired on of the polaroids, but I think my sister in law may have gone through my belongings and taken it when she was still living with us. I'm not exactly sure why anyone would want that picture though. It's just me with on shirt on and a stripper on either arm. I could probably get elected president with a picture like that. Sure the moral majority would make a fuss, but secretly every man would be completely impressed with the two nekkid woman. (we can't help it).
So those are my skeletons, not particularly spooky, but disturbing none the less.
More Laters
posted by Rich Rosenthal II at 9:43 PM
3 Comments:
You're exactly right - home video cameras should be banned. My dad got his first when I was 15, and it was before we moved out of the hills. Every time I hear myself speak in that first tape, I want to crawl under the sofa. I swear, I don't know how I ever managed to make the word "Dad" have 4 syllables.
(and that's the worst video of me out there, you'll just have to trust me on that - :) )
I feel cheated. you didn't drive the year i was there. *sniffle*
Diva -- I just remembered the christmas tapes from when I was a kid! I believe my brother and I are singing on it. shudder.
Shy -- You were cheated. The second time through, while enjoyable, wasn't quite as hedonistic. (and everyone accused me of peeing the sleeping bag / tent and I swear it wasn't wet inside the sleeping bag!
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