So yesterday, I was picked up from school by my buddychum Henry's stepmom Jennie. We were going to Friendly's for his nine-year-old stepbrother Sam's birthday. We picked Sam up from his school and went on our way.
Shortly after picking Sam up, Jennie asked, "Would this technically qualify as a meeting of the Cheerful Charlies?" Henry and Sam were both unsure. I asked what a Cheerful Charlie was; Jennie told me to hold on for a minute while she got on the phone with the Grand Poobah.
We called the Grand Poobah (using a hands-free wireless device) and put him on speaker. He turned out to be Jennie's father. Jennie asked whether this would count as a meeting of the Cheerful Charlies even though it's not a Friday, and if so, could Greg be initiated, and if so, would you like to come by and initiate him, and if not, can you talk to him and give him a brief explanation of what this is all about. Thus came the Grand Poobah's response:
"Now, the Cheerful Charlies typically only meet on Fridays. That is in the bylaws. However, a Lodge Meeting may be held if there is some sort of special occasion, and as today is Sam's birthday, there is reason enough to hold a Lodge Meeting. The Grand Poobah of a Lodge is not needed for initiation, so you as the senior member would be in charge of initiating him, but really, anyone can. Now, put me on with him." (Clearly not recognizing that he was on speakerphone.)
After a brief introduction, the Grand Poobah continued: "The Cheerful Charlies are a society dedicated to the consumption of Friendly's ice cream. We are a non-denominational, multi-generational, multi... multi-everything group. The Greenwich Lodge is very small, but there is a Lodge over in Boston that's relatively active. Lodge Meetings only occur on Fridays or particularly special occasions. There is no limit to how much ice cream you eat, so long as you enjoy it. This is a very low-commitment group, and I wish you the best of luck with it."
We chatted a little, and he wished Sam a happy birthday and promised to sing to him later (much to Sam's dismay, as the Grand Poobah apparently sings a somewhat morbid rendition of the birthday song). One breath-holding contest later, we found ourselves at Friendly's.
Since it was still early in the day, we made the executive decision that we would be having lunch in addition to our ice cream. Upon sitting down and beginning an inevitable game of crayon-placemat-hangman, I was told that it was time to begin my initiation.
Jennie held up one of those tiny containers of half-and-half you get with your coffee, and told me that in order to be initiated, I had to create butter simply by turning my tiny half-and-half container over and back in my hand.
I worked steadily through my soft-pretzel bacon-burger (in related news don't attend Friendly's if you are at risk of heart disease), churning my milk all the while. I had it explained to me that active non-members of the Cheerful Charlies are called Grumpy Gretas - that is to say, those who are offered initiation but choose not to join. At one point, Sam, who had been bouncing around next to me throughout the entire meal (literally bouncing, because that would push my side of the booth upward and send me flying a little) bit into another half-and-half that he just wanted to drink, sending milk flying all over my face and jacket. I received official word from the standing senior Lodge member Jennie that this was the first time that that had ever happened during initiation.
By the end of the meal, I was coming to question whether this milk was actually churnable, or whether the entire initiation was but a playful ruse. I didn't want to open my container yet because it still sounded very liquidy, but Jennie gave it a shake, and officially decreed that I was making good progress and that I had the special situation of being milked upon, and that therefore my initiation was complete: I was a Cheerful Charlie.
I later returned to their house for some gaming, and discovered that my churning was ultimately successful. I had a healthy wad of half-and-half butter sitting in my tiny milk container.
Now, the year is just about over, and Friendly's is a bit of a hike from my house, but I just so happen to be going to college about fifteen miles from Boston, where there is reputedly an active Lodge of Cheerful Charlies. I plan on finding their Grand Poobah and requesting membership; moreover, I encourage all those reading this post to seek out a local Lodge, or if none exists, to create one , and thus be your own local Grand Poobah.
May 19, 2011
May 16, 2011
Brol Tenwyl, Sexy General
CAVEAT: The below is strikingly nerdy - more so than the rest of my blog. I have endeavored to keep it reader-friendly by not delving too far into detail and by explaining anything that's absolutely crucial, so you shouldn't feel left out of the party. END CAVEAT
I enjoy playing tabletop RPGs. That means Dungeons and Dragons and other games of that ilk. I haven't actually played D&D in the last several years; I instead run a campaign, as the Dungeon Master. (Occasionally. Rarely. Well, it's a nice thought.) More recently, however, I was a player in a similar tabletop game called Exalted.
The very very general gist of Exalted is that everyone is a superpowered superhuman with superpowerful superpowers. It's more based on creating a manly fancy cinematic story than it is on winning, so everyone needs to have a really cool character. And lo, I came up with Brol Tenwyl.
Brol was originally the general of a rather large city. He was amazingly buff, and AMAZINGLY good-looking. (The character sheet had an "Appearances" attribute, and a 5/5 equates to being the most attractive, desirable person anyone has ever met. You would have done the same.) He was rather stupid, but that was okay; he was buff enough and charming enough to do what needed to get done, and knew how to react to wartime situations.
One day, the princess of the city decided to marry Brol. Brol was ecstatic about this royal wedding - the incoming queen, married to the general? What could be better? Unfortunately for Gen. Tenwyl, he soon discovered that the princess had only wed him as a publicity stunt - favor from her constituents was down, and she knew that by marrying the handsomest general in the world, she would gain favor once more. In a fit of blind rage, Brol smashed the princess's head against a wall, killing her.
Brol fled town and was soon imbued with his Exalted powers. (Previously he was just really strong; this is where he became larger-than-life strong.) He was wanted for murder, and thus could never return. (Yes, he could probably have destroyed the city if he wanted to, but he was a nice guy - he just lacks in temperament, and killed the princess during a moment of weakness. (He reached his Limit Break of Berserk Anger, for the Exalted-literate among you.)) Some of the townfolk were still enamored by his awesome hot buffpants, and in fact made a cult of several hundred people worships him daily, allowing him to restore extra Essence (basically magic-power).
Oh and also, I dedicated a fair amount of my character to being able to use the Husband-Seducing Demon Dance. The name alone should be a tip-off that this is the bossest ability in the world, but basically, here's what happens. Everyone who can see Brol's dance has to roll a die and add some fancy numbers from their character sheets. If they roll too low, they instantly fall in love with Brol, regardless of gender or sexual preference.
And it's a pretty hard roll not to fail.
So our group only actually met for gameplay once, but so basically. After some ridiculous shenanigans with capturing some evil woman (on whom the Demon Dance did not in fact work), we were met by two desert-lions, one purple and one green. More accurately, they may have been Scorpiores or Manticores or something, but they looked sorta lionesque. They could also talk. When we began, our sorcerer tried to exert a powerful influence upon the lions. One of them was rapt with attention by his persuasive speech; the other couldn't care less.
So I whipped out the Demon Dance.
It worked splendidly, and both lions were totally enamored with Brol. They tried to lead us into a trap that meant certain death, but couldn't bring themselves to harm or even inconvenience such a beautiful stud of a man. Trap: avoided. Awe yeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
And to top it all off, apparently when I first created this character nearly a year ago, I wrote on the line marked "Concept" (supposed to be Explorer, Vendor, etc): Sexy General.
I enjoy playing tabletop RPGs. That means Dungeons and Dragons and other games of that ilk. I haven't actually played D&D in the last several years; I instead run a campaign, as the Dungeon Master. (Occasionally. Rarely. Well, it's a nice thought.) More recently, however, I was a player in a similar tabletop game called Exalted.
The very very general gist of Exalted is that everyone is a superpowered superhuman with superpowerful superpowers. It's more based on creating a manly fancy cinematic story than it is on winning, so everyone needs to have a really cool character. And lo, I came up with Brol Tenwyl.
Brol was originally the general of a rather large city. He was amazingly buff, and AMAZINGLY good-looking. (The character sheet had an "Appearances" attribute, and a 5/5 equates to being the most attractive, desirable person anyone has ever met. You would have done the same.) He was rather stupid, but that was okay; he was buff enough and charming enough to do what needed to get done, and knew how to react to wartime situations.
One day, the princess of the city decided to marry Brol. Brol was ecstatic about this royal wedding - the incoming queen, married to the general? What could be better? Unfortunately for Gen. Tenwyl, he soon discovered that the princess had only wed him as a publicity stunt - favor from her constituents was down, and she knew that by marrying the handsomest general in the world, she would gain favor once more. In a fit of blind rage, Brol smashed the princess's head against a wall, killing her.
Brol fled town and was soon imbued with his Exalted powers. (Previously he was just really strong; this is where he became larger-than-life strong.) He was wanted for murder, and thus could never return. (Yes, he could probably have destroyed the city if he wanted to, but he was a nice guy - he just lacks in temperament, and killed the princess during a moment of weakness. (He reached his Limit Break of Berserk Anger, for the Exalted-literate among you.)) Some of the townfolk were still enamored by his awesome hot buffpants, and in fact made a cult of several hundred people worships him daily, allowing him to restore extra Essence (basically magic-power).
Oh and also, I dedicated a fair amount of my character to being able to use the Husband-Seducing Demon Dance. The name alone should be a tip-off that this is the bossest ability in the world, but basically, here's what happens. Everyone who can see Brol's dance has to roll a die and add some fancy numbers from their character sheets. If they roll too low, they instantly fall in love with Brol, regardless of gender or sexual preference.
And it's a pretty hard roll not to fail.
So our group only actually met for gameplay once, but so basically. After some ridiculous shenanigans with capturing some evil woman (on whom the Demon Dance did not in fact work), we were met by two desert-lions, one purple and one green. More accurately, they may have been Scorpiores or Manticores or something, but they looked sorta lionesque. They could also talk. When we began, our sorcerer tried to exert a powerful influence upon the lions. One of them was rapt with attention by his persuasive speech; the other couldn't care less.
So I whipped out the Demon Dance.
It worked splendidly, and both lions were totally enamored with Brol. They tried to lead us into a trap that meant certain death, but couldn't bring themselves to harm or even inconvenience such a beautiful stud of a man. Trap: avoided. Awe yeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
And to top it all off, apparently when I first created this character nearly a year ago, I wrote on the line marked "Concept" (supposed to be Explorer, Vendor, etc): Sexy General.
Apr 27, 2011
The Y
Every Wednesday, I and my comrade-in-arms Jeff go to the YMCA, and he teaches me how to swim. We have a good thing going: right when school ends, we walk to his car, and drive to the Y, listening to the soothing ukulele music of Israel Kamikawiwo'ole along the way. Upon arriving, I make this pretty dumb joke about forgetting my goggles in the car, and then we swim from 3 to 4. We then relax in the sauna or the steam room for a while, at which point we depart and head over to the convenience store, where we get gummies, and he buys a $1 scratch card, and if he wins anything, he uses it to buy more $1 scratch cards. Finally, we head next door to meet his girlfriend at Starbucks, where we each get a panini, I get a tall hot chocolate, and he gets a venti iced skinny caramel macchiatto, and then he drives me home. Same deal every week. It's really cute.
The most noteworthy part of the trip, however, is in the locker room at the Y. Some people are concerned about the locker room in that they're uncomfortable with their body image or whatever. That's not my problem. My problem is the elderly gentlemen who are a bit too comfortable with their body image.
It's important to note that there are no teenagers, young adults, or even middle-aged gentlemen strutting around the locker room without a towel on. It's specifically the old men. I don't know what it is about old age that makes you think everyone wants to see what you have to show off, nor what the cutoff age is for wearing clothes in public places, but there's clearly some definite age at which you just stop caring altogether. My theory is that this was the standard seduction technique in the 1950s, and that these gentlemen never realized that times have changed, nor that there are no females in the men's locker room, nor that they're old. Whatever the reason, it's just a thing that happens.
Now, a gentleman walking from the shower to his locker is almost borderline understandable. He has a reason to be naked. There are, however, some men who seem to stand around solely to scar the poor children who wish to go for a swim. Today, however, I encountered the father of all inappropriate uses of no towels at all: a gentleman was shaving in the nude.
Now, I would like to inspect this man's thought process for a minute. First, he had to explicitly decide to bring his razor to the Y. For whatever reason, shaving at home was not an option. It had to be done here. His hair was completely dry, meaning that he hadn't yet gone swimming; in other words, he selected his locker, removed his pants, and before donning his swimming apparel, removed his razor and shaving cream from his pants pocket (or man-purse, or other peripheral carrying device), and moseyed over to the sink to shave.
I have no problem with men shaving at the Y. I have no problem with men shaving in the nude. I would do neither of those things, but hey, whatever floats old mens' boats. To do both at once, however, is outright objectionable.
To add onto this masterpiece of a shaving ritual, we proceeded to see this very same gentleman no more than half an hour later at Starbucks. Hair: dry. He didn't swim at all. He just went to the Y, got naked, shaved, and got dressed again.
I'm never growing old.
EDIT: OH GOD HIS FACE HIS FACE I NEVER CLARIFIED HE WAS SHAVING HIS FACE
EDIT: OH GOD HIS FACE HIS FACE I NEVER CLARIFIED HE WAS SHAVING HIS FACE
Apr 24, 2011
Bumper Cars
So a few weeks ago, my school's orchestra went on a trip to Virginia Beach. One day was spent at the Busch Gardens, an amusement park in the area. It was swell overall, but specifically, bumper cars were extra-swell. I and nine others pulled into the line at perhaps 6:00 in the evening, if not a hair later, and began waiting in line.
The queue took the form of an elongated S shape, such that you would pass by everyone twice in your wait. Logical solution when passing a few dozen strangers in relatively close quarters? High five them all.
So I did.
Most people were caught off-guard, and some refused to take their high fives, even when they clearly had several seconds of warning. Many people were quite happy to high five a stranger, though, and often smiled. I punctuated most high fives with a "YEAH!", and usually built up to it with some encouraging "Aww yeah, is this happening? I think so - whuh - whuh-oh - YEAH!" The rest of the group quickly caught on, and soon it was a high five train. Some others from outside of my group even joined in, and every time a family came through and was responsive to the high fiving, we all applauded them loudly.
Upon reaching the front of the line and high fiving the ride operator, we filed into our cars, and the ten of us just started driving an an oval. No traffic. No collisions. Just polite driving, obeying the rules of the road and signalling where appropriate. Others noticed and caught on, and joined in our train. There was a phenomenal sense of camaraderie.
After our three minutes of safe, controlled driving, the ride ended and we got back in line. Reinitiate the high five brigade. When we got near the front of the line, we began discussing our plan for next time. One suggestion was to create a barrier in the middle of the middle of the arena, dividing it in half, but we instead came up with a better idea. We walked past the attendant, high fived him, and loaded into our cars. He in fact started high fiving everyone else after us, which was pretty cool. And thus began our shenanigan.
The ride began. The first few seconds were totally natural. Then, this terrifying-looking guy from our group with piercings and tattoos abound lifted up his sunglasses and pointed at this one guy and said, "YOU!" The target was a 16-or-so-year-old with cheetah facepaint who was with several of his friends. They were basketball bros, and were going to do our driving-slowly thing. Well, not if we could help it.
After Cheetahface was singled out, we all rushed him. Everyone steered their cars straight in his direction, and we pushed him into a corner. And we just sat there. And that's it. That was the ride. We just sat and watched him.
Cheetahface was incredibly flustered, and didn't really know how to respond. He seemed resigned and disappointed by his immobilization as he realized he was powerless. When the ride ended, we all tried to shake his hand and thanked him for being such a good sport, but his hand was limp and he sort of awkwardly mad contact with our hands, and then walked on looking at the ground. We ran off into the night, proud of the greatest bumper cars ever.
The queue took the form of an elongated S shape, such that you would pass by everyone twice in your wait. Logical solution when passing a few dozen strangers in relatively close quarters? High five them all.
So I did.
Most people were caught off-guard, and some refused to take their high fives, even when they clearly had several seconds of warning. Many people were quite happy to high five a stranger, though, and often smiled. I punctuated most high fives with a "YEAH!", and usually built up to it with some encouraging "Aww yeah, is this happening? I think so - whuh - whuh-oh - YEAH!" The rest of the group quickly caught on, and soon it was a high five train. Some others from outside of my group even joined in, and every time a family came through and was responsive to the high fiving, we all applauded them loudly.
Upon reaching the front of the line and high fiving the ride operator, we filed into our cars, and the ten of us just started driving an an oval. No traffic. No collisions. Just polite driving, obeying the rules of the road and signalling where appropriate. Others noticed and caught on, and joined in our train. There was a phenomenal sense of camaraderie.
After our three minutes of safe, controlled driving, the ride ended and we got back in line. Reinitiate the high five brigade. When we got near the front of the line, we began discussing our plan for next time. One suggestion was to create a barrier in the middle of the middle of the arena, dividing it in half, but we instead came up with a better idea. We walked past the attendant, high fived him, and loaded into our cars. He in fact started high fiving everyone else after us, which was pretty cool. And thus began our shenanigan.
The ride began. The first few seconds were totally natural. Then, this terrifying-looking guy from our group with piercings and tattoos abound lifted up his sunglasses and pointed at this one guy and said, "YOU!" The target was a 16-or-so-year-old with cheetah facepaint who was with several of his friends. They were basketball bros, and were going to do our driving-slowly thing. Well, not if we could help it.
After Cheetahface was singled out, we all rushed him. Everyone steered their cars straight in his direction, and we pushed him into a corner. And we just sat there. And that's it. That was the ride. We just sat and watched him.
Cheetahface was incredibly flustered, and didn't really know how to respond. He seemed resigned and disappointed by his immobilization as he realized he was powerless. When the ride ended, we all tried to shake his hand and thanked him for being such a good sport, but his hand was limp and he sort of awkwardly mad contact with our hands, and then walked on looking at the ground. We ran off into the night, proud of the greatest bumper cars ever.
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