Skip to main content

Woody Who??

For those of you (the 4 of you that normally read my blog) that thought yesterday's post about pee pee popsicles was in bad taste, I have 2 things to say to you.

1. It was false. I made some stuff up. I do NOT in fact have a 72 oz. Big Gulp cup at work. The largest fluid vessel I have is 20 oz. (not nearly enough for making a decent batch of popsicles).

2. It was done to cheer up a co-worker. If you have never gone to a customer site...in another state away from your family and run in to less than stellar problems whilst installing or updating software...well..then you just don't know. Is it like fighting insurgents? Um...no. Don't be stupid. But it can be mentally taxing and sometimes just knowing that your co-workers back in the office thought of you enough to freeze up a fresh batch of peepopsicles is enough to get you through the next next next install.

And sadly, I fear that today's post isn't going to be much better. Whilst I will stay away from the topic of bodily fluids, I will post about something that struck me today.

And it's this....

I know how you can pick a fight at any bar on OSU campus...any time of the year.
WHY this particular piece of knowledge is useful, I have no idea. Maybe you're a psych. major or a soche major and need to explore the depths of mass legend worship and its effects on modern day culture.

Or maybe you're just bored.

Either way. Here's what you're going to need. appropriate attire. Clothing with fraternity letters of any kind are out. That introduces a whole new variable that can skew your results. But you should dress in either OSU Football fan attire...or like that Carson Daily dude. To break it down..you either need to look like a jock (but not a frat-boy) or you need to look like a homo (or metro)sexual. Take your pick.

The second thing that's absolutely vital is a wing man. For two reasons...you have to start this experiment as a conversation. In techy terms...the wing man is your control. You know how they are going to act (pretty much as you tell them). The other reason for having a wing man is that you need someone that's going to tell the cop that the other person threw the first punch. To establish your witness, your wingman should arrive 23 minutes before you and have already had a couple of beers and be sitting near a group of people (2 or more).

Once you get there, you order up a brew (something middle class--bud light or MGD. Too froo froo on the brew brew and you could blow your cover). Next sit near your wingman.

And then, at the next awkward lull (which ALL bars have at some point), your wingman needs to say (loudly as though trying to be heard over the music which has suddenly stopped).

"Are you crazy?? Woody Hayes was NOT gay. I don't care what you've heard. The man was married...had a family and was one of the greatest college football coaches EVER. There's no way he could have been batting for the other team!"

And from there you'll have to improv. Gauge the crowd. See if you've gotten anyone's attention....have your wingman go over to someone that is trying to listen (but trying even harder to look like they're not listening) and say , "look buddy. Help me out here. Is there any way that Woody Hayes could have been a butt pirate? (feel free to insert 'ass blaster', 'fruity', 'queer bait' or the socially acceptable slur of your choice here)."

If it goes according to hypothesis...at some point, your assertion against Woody Hayes' masculinity will incite someone to physical violence. If so...consider your little social experiment a success....and then quietly weep in the holding cell for humanity's near-sightedness.

I've given you the construct...it's up to you to figure out why calling someone...a dead, iconic legend....gay would cause someone to come to blows (and I'm almost positive it would have that result). Given your particular geographical location, feel free to substitute Woody Hayes with the icon of your choice (preferrably a beloved sports coach/figure that's dead now).

Folks, the challenge is not to get the fight to ensue (that's the easiest part)...the real challenge is to get some insight as to why people turn to violence when their mental images of an icon are challenged.

And why does being gay or accusing someone of being gay affect people that way? I don't know. Fundamentally a gay person is absolutely indiscernible from a straight person (in most situations...excluding shopping....or interior design stores).

Just like a vegetarian and meat eater. It's a facet of who a person is...but you can put a vegan right next to a steak and potatoes guy and not be able to tell the difference (provided, of course, you don't try this little side by side at ComFest or Hookahville).

But accusing Woody of being a vegan....well, it's just not going to have the same reaction.

It's an interesting and slighty depressing observation of our society and it's level of (or lack of)willingness to accept the unknown.

Alright, I'm done with it now (well, hell, what did you think--that i was going to write your dissertation for you?? Pishaah. As if!...get back to work).

Half-priced thrift tomorrow y'all!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Marriage Material??

I had a friend call me today, fuming. I consider myself a good listener on most days. Considering that I was out of town on a work trip and doing absolutely nothing in my hotel room, my listening game was on-point.

She recounted the exchange that sent her off. I will spare you some of the more personal details, but the gist was, at one point, the dude-bro she was talking to flat out told her that she wasn’t marriage material.

Torn between wanting to be a supportive friend and being completely gobsmacked, I felt her frustration. No. That’s not quite right. I didn’t feel the same frustration she felt. I’m approaching what some consider middle age. I’m white. I’m primarily interested in women. Oh, and I have a penis. So...no, I can never truly feel the same frustration she was feeling. Or an anger that comes from the same place her anger came from. No matter how in touch I am witn my feminine side (whatever the fuck that actually means).

Instead, the frustration and anger I was feeling w…

Post Con-Fusion

It's 5:40 AM on a Wednesday. I have been up for an hour. I have an outline for a work in progress that I intended to work on this morning. I was in the middle of a chapter that I started at lunch and had every intention of continuing this morning. But, much like me, it seems the characters wanted to sleep in today. They wanted to just hunker under the covers as the rain danced its hypnotic melody on my roof. The swoosh swoosh swoosh of the ceiling fan keeping time with the rest of the nocturnal orchestra.

So, I shifted gears. I am taking  a course on getting more words on the page. Something that I want to do need to do if I am to get all of these books that are floating around in my head out in to the world. It's not so much that I think the whole world will love and adore them, although I certainly hope that is the case. No, it's more the fact that it's getting crowded up there. I need to get these words on the page for my own sanity as much as anything else.

Sanity,…

The Kindness of Strangers

This post is going to be a little bit all over the place. If you know me, you are probably used to that by now. If you don't know me, welcome. My name is Todd. I'll be your slightly insecure author and docent on this tour of randomness we call Todd's Mind.

I am going to get a little real, and probably a little raw here today. I would normally be terrified of that. Of exposing myself to the world at large. But in looking at the stats for this blog in the 22weeks or so since I've left Facebook, the reality, I'm exposing myself to about 10 of you. Less if some of you come back and re-read some of the posts. So...yeah. Here goes.

I can count on 1 finger the number of times including today where I have run out of gas. Not talking about pulling into the gas station on vapors, but actually having the car die and coast to a stop because that life-giving dead dinosaur juice was no longer in the tank.

One time.

Today.

It's my own fault. I don't like to admit when I&#…