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Thank you, Chris Fuller

Posted by Mick on February 14, 2010 – 1:36 am

How did I get here
Where will I go
Why am I so haunted
By anything that I don’t know

I said I was going to write.  I spent 20 minutes on Facebook.

Some might see that as procrastination.  Some might see that as a downright waste of valuable time.  I see that as fishing.  The activities and musings of the people I follow are an endless source of inspiration.  I’m surrounded by so many interesting people with interesting thoughts.  And what you must realize is that inspiration comes from the strangest of places.

EXAMPLE:  Tonight, I was going down my news feed, seeing what had happened in the world, and I read Chris Fuller’s status update: Aaaah, the glory days, when John Oates busted out the mullet and the stache! That reminded me of this:  15 or so years ago (let’s go with 15, but I could be off a bit, my memory she is not so good and my desire to life mathematics is only slightly higher than my desire to have a root canal) I was at a wedding reception in New Jersey.  I don’t know how many of you have been to a wedding reception in New Jersey, but trust me, it was straight out of a movie.  If that movie featured a wedding reception in New Jersey.  Except it was most likely paid for with Irish mob money instead of Italian mob money.  Even so, there was much Sinatra, and of course, we danced that Jewish dance where they put the bride and groom on chairs and lift them in the air whilst singing Hava Nagila.  The Hora, I believe.  There was an incredible amount of food; Hors d’œuvres were served for the first hour, and I’m not talking about cheese and crackers.  I don’t remember everything, but the escargot was superb.  Then later there was a full dinner.  Throughout, there was an open bar.  Top shelf, mind you.  And the open bar is where our story gets interesting, because one of the stations was manned by John Oates.  Or his identical twin.

Was it really John Oates?  I don’t know.  I can’t swear it was.   But it could have been.  It looked like John Oates.  He wasn’t exactly popular at the time, and I believe Hall was trying the whole solo thing at the time.  It’s quite possible John Oates needed a job.  Lots of musicians are broke from time to time.  I guarantee you, Hall kept most of the money.  He probably taunted Oates constantly.  You’re lucky I keep you around, munchkin.  Yeah, that’s right, I called you a munchkin.  What are you gonna do about it?  I’m Daryl fucking Hall! He says that with an English accent.  I know he’s actually from Pennsylvania.  He just uses the fake English accent when he’s insulting Oates because he thinks it’s funny.  He’s kind of a dick.

The obvious question at this point is “Why didn’t you just ask him if he was John Oates?”  And I’ve got an answer for that.  I’ve asked myself that question many times over the years.  This I’ve learned:  If you ask yourself a question often enough, you will come up with an answer eventually, just to shut yourself up.  At the time, on a conscious level, I didn’t ask him because if he’s not John Oates I sound like a dick at a wedding reception going hey you know who you look like and he probably gets that enough to make him sick, and if he is John Oates he’s probably happier not to get recognized and have people ask him why he’s a bartender and he can’t scream at them Because Daryl Hall is a dick! because his only hope of not being a bartender anymore is to get Daryl to do another album with him.  Or maybe a reunion tour.  But when he lays in bed at night, unable to sleep, he wonders.  He wonders if it’s better to be a poor New Jersey wedding reception bartender.  Money and fame are nice, but at what price?  Every moment spent with Daryl Hall feeling like a giant leech is attached to your lower back, feeding on your very soul.

Or maybe I was just shy.  I don’t know, I don’t remember and I was drinking gin at the time.  Lots of gin.  And dancing every Sinatra song with a different 80 year old woman because I’m a nice guy and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

On reflection, I’m glad I didn’t ask him.  If I ask him, and he’s not John Oates, I’ve got no story.  If I ask him, and he is John Oates, I’ve got a story that I got a gin and tonic from John Oates.  Nobody cares about that story.  I think I got a drink from John Oates?  Evidently, that’s a story.

Did I actually say that I was looking at Facebook to see what happened in the world.  Yes I did.  If you follow a few staunch conservatives, a few bleeding heart liberals, sprinkle in some random activists, and anything important will get mentioned in a status update because someone is going to bitch about it.  That’s pretty much my rule for life.  Surround yourself with people who care about things.  Learn from them.  Eat bacon as necessary.

I had a wonderful day today.  There was some work involved, but it was worthwhile because had I not gone in today I would have had a huge surprise Monday, and not a good surprise.  I saved myself a huge headache.  This class is going to be hard enough, I don’t need any additional problems.  And after the work was done, I spent a magical evening with my lovely wife.  I’m going to trust her to share the details, so if you care about that (and you should) you need to go check out her version of the story.  No, I can’t link you to it, it hasn’t happened yet.  By the time you read this, it most likely has happened.  I may or may not come back later and put a link in, if I do it will be here.  Is the word here a link?  If it is, you should click it.  If it is not, you should just go to Tara’s blog and read the entry for February 14th.  I can’t believe I have to explain this to you.

As I was saying… it was a magical evening.  It’s probably a bit cliche to reflect on this the night before Valentine’s Day, but I refuse to censor myself just because someone might misinterpret it for sentimentality.  It’s nice to have someone special on Valentine’s Day.  It’s even nicer when the things you do because it’s Valentine’s Day are the same things you do when it’s not Valentine’s Day.  I’m deeply and madly in love with my best friend.  I’m married to a woman who understands me, almost as well as I understand myself.  Life is good.

Be good to each other.  And be good to John Oates.  Now, more than ever, he needs your prayers.

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