“That Guy”

Have you ever heard the phrase, “There’s no such thing as a stupid question”? Sounds like a reasonable claim does it not? I even used to believe it. But that was before I had a linguistics class with Scott…

Nearly every class has one, and in this class Scott is “That Guy.” You know who I’m talking about. They’re the ones who feel the irresistible urge to comment on absolutely every point the teacher makes. Now I’m generally a pretty patient guy; there are very few people that get under my skin. On this particular day Scott made the short-list.

In class last week, my professor explained the lexical categories of nouns (don’t know what those are? That’s ok, neither do I!). The example sentence was, “The child tried to impress the chocolate.” She then explained why chocolate belongs to an incorrect lexical category, making it inappropriate for the given context. Self-explanatory, right? Apparently not…

I winced as Scott’s hand shot into the air. “Professor Wung,” he said in his matter-o-factual tone, “what...

Prison Break

Trapped! Four sinister walls enforced my imprisonment. I furtively eyed the door, but her eyes were stuck on me. All around my fellow classmates were likewise slaving away under carful observation of Mrs. Shepherd. Then it happened! Turning her head –I realized my opportunity! Taking a deep breath, “We have nothing to lose but our chains!” I spirited out the door, down the hall, and into the fresh air of freedom! Thus begin my life as a first grade drop-out…or maybe homeschooler! No more rock-hard desks! No more stiff color-coordinated outfits cruelly forced upon me by my mother! Instead I spent my glorious afternoon how I pleased, prancing around in Spiderman-briefs and beating Super Mario Bros! Surely this is how life should be! However, the adventure came to an abrupt end as I was dragged back to school the following morning, accompanied by a stern warning from my father, and I quote, “If you run home again you will get the biggest spanking of your life” (a thought-provoking statement considering some of...

Tiger Woods Ain’t Got Nothing…

As I approached the first tee, an aura of greatness overwhelmed the hushed crowd. Coolly I retrieved my driver, spinning it expertly between my fingers to a chorus of “oooooo’s” from star-struck female spectators. Passers-by froze to witness the commotion; the birth of a legend. Step aside Tiger Woods. In a gloriously fluid motion I brought my club towards the ball.

What drew me to the game of golf? A love for the game? Or maybe oodles of raw, untapped talent and the irrepressible desire to excel? Or perhaps I simply wished to inspire others, less fortunate than I. Well that, and my buddy Rob had just invited me to shoot 18-holes with two pretty girls. Man…I love golf. Putting on my best Johnnie Cochran impersonation, I convinced my parents of this new-found love, and was rewarded with a Premium membership card at the local Clubhouse. I then strutted into the golfing goods store, “I need new clubs.” I pulled out a wad of bound cash, “Oh…and these fingers only touch the best.”

The day arrived, and Rob...

I’ll Have That to Go Please…

Her eyes enflamed with steely determination, her left eye twitching slightly in anticipation. “This is no drill soldier,” she said through gritted teeth. “This is as real as it gets.” Without another word we tightly fastened our seatbelts. We both knew what was at stake. It was the calm before the storm; I took a deep breath…ZOOM! The mini-van screeched out from the garage, sparks flying from the spinning tires. Flinging around in a 180 degree pivot, she kicked it into fourth gear and we were off–just another day of errands with my mother.

She had been cruelly deceived into becoming a stay-at-home-mom by my brother. He had been so cute! However, two years later marked the end of an era; the age of down-time and freedom was over. As I charged out of the womb crying and needy, I ushered in the age of driving and stress. She was like the Energizer Bunny, her mammoth to-do lists requiring bookmarks, and on this particular trip, she had around thirty-eight stops to make, and approximately twelve minutes to...

Meet the neighbors?

Say goodbye to the icy chill of a Canadian winter breeze. Say hello to the warmth and beach infested Hawaiian horizon. Thoughts of snorkelling, sunbathing, and chilled lemonade pervaded my mind as my family pulled into our resort condo. My siblings and I had set aside our constant bickering and conflict of the seven-hour flight and agreed on one thing…the beach wasn’t going to swim in itself. Bring it on! Dashing into the condo, we chucked our bags into our rooms and in a fluid, unbroken stream of movement pivoted and exited out the back door. Without a single glance backwards to see if my family were in pursuit I made the five-minute sprint towards the watery oasis. Seven hours of airplane daydreaming paled in comparison to the reality of this moment. Tropical fish of all colors zipped around me as the warm waves splashed against me. Twenty minutes passed in the blink of an eye; my joy-filled trance was only brought to an end by the rumbling in my stomach. The gourmet dinner of stale pretzels, generously...

Another Game…Another Heart-Attack

Sniffing the air, the sweet aroma gently caressed my nostrils, Aw, if ‘Perfect’ had a scent, surely it would be thee! Few smells can stir such emotion, or command such passion as the glorious fragrance of–a hockey bag. Each piece of equipment uniquely perfuming the air: the odor of sweaty shoulder-pads bringing back my first childhood game, the scent of moldy shin pads rekindling thoughts of glorious goals. The time has come after four-year hibernation from hockey, I would return to the ice–and recapture my former glory.

Having recently migrated from hockey-crazed western Canada to if-its-not-football-its-not-a-sport South Carolina, I vowed to educate these ‘Southerners’ on a thing-or-two about our “Canadian game.” Enrolling myself in a local adult hockey league (aka ‘washed-up-has-been-league’), I arrived at the rink for game one and marched into the dressing room. Today the prodigal son comes home, I thought to myself.

All eyes turned to me; the aura of my veteran presence reeked with authority....

If At First You Don’t Succeed…Maybe You Shouldn’t Drive

The piercing squeal of burning tires roared over top the rambunctious crowd. An entire lifetime boiled down to this. Swerving my car around the final turn I gazed towards the finish line. This is who I am; I was born to drive… Punching the car into fifth, I made cruel mockery of my fellow racers. Almost there! and I…heard a voice?? “Time to go!” I turned my Xbox off, “coming dad!” It was the big day. I had finally reached the wise-ol’ age of fourteen, thus making me eligible to receive my learners-license permit. Only thing blocking my path towards racing greatness was a measly twelve question exam …easy right?

Suddenly remembering the extensive study guide which the registrar’s office had mailed three months prior, I pulled it out from under my bed. Beginning to blow off the dust and remove the shrink wrap, I chuckled and tossed it back to the floor. Study? Me? They don’t call me Daniel “Dale Earnhardt Jr.” Blackaby for nothing!! I’ve seen dad drive; how hard can it be?

March 9: Bursting through the...

Now That I Have Your Attention…

I loathe airplanes. This in no way stems from a “fear of flying” or any other such thing, but rather to the inevitable massacre of my “personal bubble.” Without fail, I end up sitting in row 153, middle seat, between Buddha and Santa Claus (who might as well pay half of my seat ticket). Last summer, staring a nine-hour return flight from England in the face, I vowed to have an enjoyable and relaxing trip … but then my sister Carrie plopped down beside me.

The older modeled plane, yet to install personal TVs in the seat in front of each passenger, merely provided a large “community TV” mounted in front. I settled into my row one aisle seat. Reaching up, I adjusted my AC to gently bathe me in cool air. Life is good …

An hour later, while peacefully enjoying the in-flight movie, something happened. Without warning, Carrie’s arm burst through my “bubble,” entering enemy territory, and closed my AC. “I’m cold Dan; keep it off … ”Oh no she doesn’t! Refusing to be pushed around by my little sister, I...

Diet Coke Will Be the Death of Him…

My dad only spends money on the absolute, basic necessities for survival. For this reason, when I entered our basement and beheld a brand-new pool table, I was convinced he’d gone crazy. (I also discovered a pair of blue-flame rimmed sunglasses and a blown speaker in his car. I rest my case.) He adored his new purchase, and laws were quickly dictated:

GOLDEN RULE: Thou shall not have food/drink near pool table.

*amendment: Thou shall not bring food/drink into basement…period.

*amendment: Thou shall refrain from even looking at pool table if food/drink can still be smelt on your breath.

Unfortunately my cousin JP missed the memo.

Despite several warnings, JP allowed his Diet Coke to boldly go where no drink had gone before–the pool table’s lair! Initially the exiled beverage was restricted to safely rest upon a distant bookshelf. However, quickly tiring of hiking across the basement every time he was thirsty, the Diet Coke slowly began inching closer and closer into forbidden...

Too Late for Swimming Lessons?

My father once posed a troubling question, “Daniel, think it’s time to get a part-time job?” Shrugging lazily I responded, “I think I’ll just skip the menial work and head straight to upper management.” However, a previous childhood experience should have reminded me how unlikely that would be.

It was mid-August as I exited the plane onto Texas soil. My pre-deodorant-wearing four-year-old self quickly erupting into a mini waterfall of sweat. To make matters even more miserable, my family headed straight for my uncle’s marathon wedding rehearsal where I was plopped into a stuffy (but cute!) suit and tie. Whining and complaining the entire two-hour rehearsal, every ounce of fluid in my body gushed through my pores; my poor unfortunate Canadian body ill prepared to handle the furnace of a Texas summer. Stuffed into a tiny car with a broken AC afterwards, I asked myself, Will the misery ever end!?

Then I saw it! Arriving at the reception, a ray of hope at last! Like a heavenly oasis, was an icy cold pool!...