Operation 51st Birthday: The Morning After

As this morning I reflect back upon the Culture and Cuisine-a-thon to which, with such gleeful abandon, my wife and I last night gave ourselves over, I cannot help but be cognizant of the fact that herein and at this moment I have adapted as mine own the prose style of an 18th-century fop.

Why would that be? I’m drinking out of a four-gallon coffee cup I bought at a thrift-store that has a huge chip out of its lip, and is adorned with an illustration that only a spastic could have painted, of what appears to be a cat-pig wearing a toupee and getting crushed by a fence.

Who am I to suddenly become Robespierre?

Then again, last night I did go out to a mighty fancy dinner (at this place) and to see this production of “Working” by Studs “Nya-Nya, My Name’s Better Than Yours” Terkel. (Warning: both links lead to oddly boring web pages.) So perhaps I’m just feeling all culturey.

I am!

Ah, the meal. What gastronomical gas astronomy food! As I merrily masticated through the masterpieces set before me, I couldn’t help but think that our smiling, super-helpful waiter was continuously staring at my bald spot. The nerve! I showed him, though. When he was off daring to help someone else, I went to the hostess station, asked for a Sharpie, and then went in the bathroom and wrote “STOP STARING!” on my bald spot. The problem, I realized later, was that I’d written it while looking in the mirror, so that it came out “!GNIRATS POTS!” And I’m sure he was too stupid to realize that I would have written that in the bathroom mirror. Serves him right. I was glad to see that look of confusion on his face.

The play was fantastic. There was lots of singing in it. At first this confused me, but eventually I figured out that it was a musical. Sweet! I love to sing along with musicals. I didn’t know the words to all the songs in this one—in fact, I didn’t know any of them. But I sure didn’t let that stop me from robustly trying to sing along anyway. Actors in musicals love it when members of the audience do that. It helps them feel like the audience is really into the show. Awfully enough, last night’s audience wasn’t into the show at all, I guess. I was the only one at least trying to sing along. Everyone else just sat there like a lump. Losers. I sang all the louder for their silence—but, alas, there was only so much I could do.

Hey! Wife awakens! Good-bye for now!

About John Shore

John Shore (who, fwiw, is straight) is the author of UNFAIR: Christians and the LGBT Question, and three other great books. He is founder of Unfundamentalist Christians (on Facebook here), and executive editor of the Unfundamentalist Christians group blog.  (In total John's two blogs receive some 250,000 views per month.) John is also co-founder of The NALT Christians Project, which was written about by TIME,  The Washington Post, and others. His website is JohnShore.com. You're invited to like John's Facebook page. Don't forget to sign up for his mucho-awesome newsletter. If you shop at Amazon, help support John by entering the site through this link right here--Amazon will then send John 3-4% of the cost of anything you buy before exiting the site again.

 

  • sunny

    Well "Studs," HAPPY FRICKIN BIRTHDAY..ish…hopefully your accumulated wisdom by obnosis of the finer gender has shown you the art of extending your birthDAY into a birthWEEK or even for those of us more skilled at it, birthMONTH! Feel totally shameless in your efforts to enlighten those still in darkness of the day you burst out and upon the scene of this misshapen and unfunny planet. What the world needs is Love, Sweet Love and Clowns, Wonderful Clowns!! Loved reading of your evening with the dear lady who obviously gains a jewel in her crown daily by living with you..(smiles)…and ever so glad you had a wonderful night! I sent a love gift..not much..just to let you know I so appreciate your tireless efforts to keep me looking forward to your next writ..Big Hugs, Studs…

  • Mona

    Happy Birthday you little whipper snapper.

    (don't ask me what that means- to me it means you're still younger than I am)


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