Anyone Seen The Keys To The Trophy Case?

 

You know how it goes; the Academy of Motion Pictures names its Oscar contenders, and you look over at your husband/wife/life-mate/favorite cat and shrug.  Neither one of you has even heard of these flicks, let alone ever considered going to see one.  If the Oscar nominees aren’t obscure enough, take a look at who’s nominated for Pulitzer Prizes – then you can really feel out-of-touch.

Mr. Parker: It's a Major Award! Swede: Shucks, I wouldn't know that. It looks like a lamp. Mr. Parker: What is a lamp, you nincompoop? It's a Major Award. I won it! Swede: Damn, hell, you say won it? Mr. Parker: Yeah, mind power, Swede; mind power.  (Image and dialogue from Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story")

(Image from Jean Shepherd’s “A Christmas Story”)

That’s all going to change right now.  Your days of being out of the loop as to who’s in and who’s out are officially over.  The winner of The Green Study’s “What’s on the B side of that 45?” contest is someone you’ve actually heard of.   That’s right, it’s yours truly.  My opus on middle age was so witty yet so poignant, so terse yet so wordy, so scratchy yet so smooth, that Michelle at The Green Study crowned it the winner.*

So now, just in time for the holiday cocktail party season, you’ll be able to confidently hold court and brag to friends and neighbors about your having been a long time reader, long before I was discovered by the masses.  Let’s face it, you’ll already look like something of a brainiac just for reading anything at all.  Being a loyal fan who knew my body of work** before I hit the big time will surely catapult you into the ranks of some sort of über-genius who borders on being an intellectual snob.

"I say, old man, I believe I've lost my favourite smoking jacket is at the tailor's shoppe.  Be a sport and toddle down to the wardrobe department and fetch me a new one, won't you?  Also, I'm simply parched, would you mind bringing me a glass of port as well?  Jolly good of you!" (Image from kued.com)
1 Point Perspective didn’t write a single one of the classic novels which sit beneath my wrinkled left hand.  That being said, many of his blog posts are considerably longer and more complex than Kim Kardashian’s latest Tweet.
(Image from kued.com)

If you’re like me, it’s not likely that you have much experience at looking like someone who’s “in the know” at holiday gatherings (or office meetings for that matter – pay attention Jenkins, and stop dawdling with your damn phone!).  With this in mind, I’ve come up with a few segues for you to drop into conversations about various topics.  You’re quite welcome.

“You know, I’d heard good things about that hunky trainer over at the gym.  My personal trainer is 1 Point Perspective.  You’ve probably heard of him, he’s an award winning blogger who wrote an epic treatise on exercise which is how I keep my upper arm fat just prominent enough to cover some of my back fat”

“Speaking of politicians, you simply have to reader 1PP’s exclusive interview with Anthony Weiner’s penis!  That little dick won’t shut up.  Plus, One Point’s illustration is quite tasteful, in a NSFW sort of way”

“Oh sure, ‘The Walking Dead’ is entertaining to a point, but it’s in hiatus – again!  I get my zombie fix over at 1PP’s Holiday Greetings from the Zombie Apocalypse.  Ho Ho Ho-ly crap!  The undead really make for some zany holiday hi-jinx!”

How exactly you’re supposed to fit links to blog posts into polite conversation is something you’ll have to figure out on your own.  I shouldn’t have to do everything for you people.  Take some initiative ferchrissakes!

In the meantime, I’m going to keep looking for the keys to the trophy case, I’ve got a new coffee mug coming and I’ll need to make space for it among the rest of my award swag.

Good luck at your holiday parties, if you’re going to be dropping my name when you visit The Green Study, try not to drink too much and end up making an ass of yourself.  I’m trying to build a brand here.

*Michelle has since revealed that during the contest judging she was battling a particularly nasty strain of flu-bug and may or may not have inadvertently over-medicated herself and/or suffered periods of delusion.  I took a quick look at the judging criteria and it clearly states that all decisions are final – no backsies.
** To be completely honest, my “body of work” includes interviews with The Easter Bunny, an infamous penis, and multiple essays on the human condition – most specifically, my frequent attempts at avoiding cleaning up dog dookie from the yard and generally whining about Facebook.

The 7 Deadly Sins Series: Nick Valenti – Swim Club Gigolo

Nicky V. hustled.  He went to community college and worked at the bowling alley.  He’d been there long enough to be able to run the whole show.  He sprayed disinfectant in the rental shoes when he had to, but where he really shined was shmoozing the moms who came in to have birthday parties for their little brats.  He’d make sure the bumpers were up and that they kept off the hardwood with the pizza and soda.  Nick couldn’t help but look at those moms with their shiny SUV’s and wish he had some better wheels.

In the summer months, business fell off at the alley and Nicky worked over at the Delcrest Swim Club.  His cousin Jimmy “One Thumb” Valenti was officially the manager, but Nicky did the work.  Jimmy just picked up a check – nine fingers or not, he had no problem with that skill.  Nicky should be so lucky.

Nick was a bit of a player with the lovely young ladies at the pool.  This summer was different.  Nicky was tired of the teenagers, he had his eye on bigger game.

Nicky figured the woman was in her 30’s, and she had him in some kind of trance.  She was built like a centerfold.  Strippers should have studied the way she moved.  Her name was Crystal Light, just like the diet drink mix.  Funny, because her old man looked like he’d never been within a mile of lo-cal anything.  Nicky looked at that fat slob and dreamed of having his life.  As if having a knockout like Crystal wasn’t enough, the round man owned a classic Caddy.  It drove Nicky crazy that this guy had it all, and more chins than a Chinese phonebook.

When Crystal started chatting with Nicky down by the diving well, he thought maybe she was going to hit him up to work on the Caddy.  The trunk lock had been popped and it was held closed with clothesline.  He couldn’t believe that tub of Beefaroni would drive a number like Crystal around a classic car rigged like that.  Where was the justice?

He was trying so hard to look cool that he wasn’t sure he heard her right.  She smiled, then turned and walked away to find her husband at the snack bar.  Nicky tried to recall her exact words, but the sight of her walking away wasn’t helping his thought process.  He was convinced that she wanted Mr. Light turned off for good.

Nick was no murderer, but he kept imagining driving the Caddy with Crystal snuggled up against him.  He pictured himself pulling into the driveway of the Light’s split level over on Belmont Terrace.  He deserved that life.  He’d do it.

That’s how he found himself crouching in a cluster of  rhododendrons at the edge of Light’s property, his fingers sweating as his grip tightened on the handle of the gun he’d lifted from One Thumb’s desk at the swim club.  That 500-pounder-with-cheese was bound to come out of his house eventually, and Nicky would be waiting, swatting mosquitoes.

Nick felt the presence but didn’t even have a chance to turn around before the bowling pin cracked across the back of his skull and knocked him into dreamland.

The man stood over Nick, wearing torn jeans and a badly scuffed leather jacket, scrapes on his hands and face.

He said, “Sorry kid, but there’s already a line formed for guys who want to kill that fat bastard.”

Willie Prader pulled out a Lucky and leaned back down into the shadows of the bushes to light it without being seen.