Monday, December 14, 2009

The self proclaimed dirt on Larry

Greetings All! Welcome to a glimpse of my world, if you dare…

On the planet Earth, my English surname is Davied, with Larry as my first. From where I hail, I’m at least 29 years old (things turn a lot slower out there around my home star).

Where to start … Well, first, I’m a self nominated appointee to a super top secret government witness protection program; in fact it’s so secret that no other Earth planetoid is aware that it even exists. I trust that you will keep this information on the “down low”, on a need-to-know basis only.

On a personal level, I was a semi-successful hieroglyphic calligrapher in a former life. Things were ginning along just dandy until the technology boom that brought about the development of the alphabet. Suddenly, the developed skills of articulating a story every decade or so was destined for ruins. Also, in a future life, I will be a struggling rodeo clown, traveling the circuit, attracted to the profession by the smart attire that they get to wear. Bringing it down to current tense, I was briefly employed as a budding rabbit wrangler, but was forced into early retirement due to a messy and very public incident involving an unsanctioned pursuit of a Guinness Book world record and a giant pot of “lucky leg” stew. I’ve also recently been exposed to the sordid yet thrilling world of cross dressing, but I think this is mostly an art of self expression that should be reserved for special occasions.

Since we’ve recently gotten so chummy, I feel comfortable sharing with you one of my hidden talents. In the category of don’t try this alone, and after years of practice, I’ve honed the ability to hold my breath under water, albeit for very short durations. The secret, if anyone desires and dares to mimic this talent is to stay focused on the critical sequence of inhale, immerse, exhale, bring head quickly above water line, and repeat for crowd delight. Although exhaling either below or above the water line can be varied for effect, the other steps pretty much need to be followed in order.

I also am very prideful of the multiple accomplishments that I have not achieved – in many cases representing talents that I don’t choose to possess, such as playing competitive ice hockey, sky diving from a tornado launched barn, and blindfolded wrestling with crocodiles.

Things get a little more interesting closer to home, where my darling wife of 27 years and two adoring daughters routinely refer to me as “the yard man”. When their friends come around, they claim that I’m adopted. They’re so cute and funny – Oh how we laugh – after the chores are done of course. Truthfully, I think they keep me around for the sake of amusement when they witness another one of my painful “ouchies” associated with falling from trees, hurting myself, or committing some other act of embarrassment – kind of the way that people are drawn to watch a train wreck, moths to a flame, or America’s Funniest Home Video.

When it comes to running, I couldn’t be more honored than to be one of the RW Run Leaders. The moral to the story is that it doesn’t always pay to move to the shorter line. Regardless, I’m here now, and you’re kind of stuck unless you can somehow finagle a “transfer” that requires 6 forms of identification and a deceased next of kin’s court sanctioned testament of authenticity. So, rather than dwell on the negative, let’s collectively agree to not focus on what could have been. I assuredly promise to the entire DOM-N-8RZ – 9:51 flock that I will spray nothing but the truth, as I choose to remember the facts, in my various attempts of instruction, not so subtle jabs, and self ridicule. Teaching each other the finer aspects of rapidly transferring jiggling masses of glistening and appropriately tailored flesh, with all the fixings, from a trailing to a leading sneaker bottomed limb in rapid and continuously repeating “left – right – left – right” patterns, while resisting the guttural urges of striking blows and inflicting pain upon run leaders will truly be a test of survival instincts. Just remember that a group that willingly runs together, shares in its pains and gains, and slowly gets to know one another on a week by week basis, really has a pretty pathetic excuse for a life. That may have come out a little harsh, so feel free to change it into something that is not nearly as offensive if you like.

We all know folks who irritatingly expose that they know everything about everything, and are driven by the insatiable desire to force their will and seemingly knowledge edge of superiority on everyone in their path. I, on the other hand, have grown quite comfortable with the time proven truth that I know next to nothing about nearly every topic. I’m not trying to come off as conceited, but it is a self actualized fact that I don’t have many peers when it comes to my cellar of wisdom. Further, as you will certainly come to appreciate (appreciate may be a slight overstatement – loathe might possibly be the next closest descriptor) over time, I strive to never allow the old KV (knowledge vacuum) get in the way of dispensing opinions and garnishing advice to the unsuspecting.

So, now that you’ve had a glimpse of things to be, I suggest that we bite that lower lip just a little harder, push in those ear buds a little tighter while cranking up the volume, and let’s get down to the business of bustin’ a runnin’ move (plus, enrollment for that little running store on South Yale is closed, and this is all you’ve got).

As they say in the majors: “We Dom’d It!”


1 comment:

Bobby said...

That was a workout reading that. Does that count as cross training?