Who Do I Think I Am??

This one's about three rings and a DiMaggio.

30DBC PROMPT: "What's the worst present you've ever received, and what did you end up doing with it?"

Good afternoon friends, lovers and strangers. Let's see...I could've chosen the other option for today's prompt, which would include my feelings on gun control. I'll be totally honest...I like the bagging on bad gifts better than telling you how I feel about guns. My ammunition is much more severe than anything I could blast out of metal toward a target. So let's go have some fun, shall we?

I've received two gifts in the course of my gift-receiving days that would fall under the category "means well, but totally got it wrong". Ironically, they both came from the mothers of women I'm no longer dating. Note to future ex-girlfriends: pay attention, or wind up being revered as an enemy of the great state of Fivesixer .

It's widely known among my small circle of circles that I do not care to partake in the adventures of cinematography that require my presence at their initial runs in overhyped, overpriced palatial empires known commonly as "movie theaters". If I wanted to pay $12 to fall asleep, I'd buy a year's worth of Ambien with my prescription coverage and pray that it actually works the way it's supposed to, let alone $8 for a grocery bag full of popcorn, $4 for approximately eight Sour Patch Kids, and $9 for a 12-pack of Mountain Dew casually served in a pail that could've been used to mop the damn floor. And to think that some girls think "dinner and a movie" requires "dinner" and "a movie" to be held in separate venues. That doesn't exactly scream "economical" to this kid, but it does explain the stench of "single adult male" on me. See how I can put two and two together sometimes?

Well, one Christmas, after making it perfectly clear that I wasn't into the whole theater experience, one woman's generous mother gave me a large amount of movie theater passes in the form of gift certificates that were good for admission and admission only...roughly enough for us to see at least two movies apiece, without the added fee of concessions. I can't sit still long enough to pay attention to my own thoughts without some kind of beverage, let alone someone else's cinematic ideals. Needless to say, while being thankful, I was heartily non-plussed.

But the worst part? Because the passes came from her mother, I was informed that I was not really allowed to pick the movie that I was eventually cajoled into attending. That is why, to this very day, I still haven't seen the bio-pic Ali, and my dislike for all things Harry Potter rages on long after his freakishly wizardly weirdness has graduated from adolescence and into relative obscurity outside ABC's Family channel.

The other poorly planned gift? Allow me to premise this by saying that I am, since '85, a fan of the New York Mets. It's obvious to all I encounter when talking about baseball. Even more so than my love of all things Mr. Met is my utter hatred for that other team in New York, (maybe you've heard of them) the Yankees. It's likely that I hate the Yankees more than I love the Mets.

This is not entirely meant to slander anyone or their family, but let's just assume that their last name sounds an awful lot like "Mets". Let's picture being at a ballpark together where this team is actually playing. I've got on a jersey and a hat proclaiming my fanship. I have a vested interest beyond casual game-watching. Only had I painted my face orange and blue could I have worn my love more appropriately, but I don't need to go that far.

Fast-forward to a gift-giving occasion that I don't entirely recall. We had just moved into a house, and I was in the process of decorating my ManCave. I received a large, wrapped gift. I was stunned that the family would do something so nice for me! I unwrapped it...a beautifully framed picture of legendary Yankee Joe DiMaggio. I can only imagine the look on my face. It must've been something like watching someone giving birth and then realizing what you thought was your kid looked an awful lot like the mailman. I really don't think I could've seen that coming from a mile away.

And what became of the gifts? Told the first woman to have a girls' night with the remaining passes when she started treating me more like a roommate and less of a boyfriend. And the second? If it hasn't been sold, donated or burned with most of the rest of my belongings, I don't quite care...chalk it up to another of the many promises left forever unkept. And I'm not the least bitter anymore. Well, maybe a little with the latter.

BCF PROMPT: "If you ran away and joined the circus, what would your role be? Would you run a concession? Would you train elephants? Be a clown? Ringmaster? What and why?"

Imaginative idea, to say the least. I could argue that I haven't been to a circus in so long that I don't even remember what it's like or how it really goes down, other than general stereotypical circuses (or is it circusii...can we get a verification on the plural please?). I can also say I've worked in retail establishments for early morning, day-after-Thanksgiving ("Black Friday") sales events, which no matter how well-planned, always evolve into some bohemian three-ring circus executed more by the patrons than the poor souls trying to make a living by managing these affairs. That said, I would probably be the bumbling ringmaster of "The Greatest Show On Earth Gone Horribly Wrong".

See, the way things happen with my luck, the bearded lady would shave, the fire-eater would catch fire, the elephants would go on strike, I'd be forced to step in for the clown that called in sick, the trapeze artists would go up and not come down, the crowd would revolt and bumrush the fairways and stages, it'd be my fault as ringmaster and I'd get shit-canned, causing me to go on unemployment, my home would get foreclosed because nobody hires out-of-work ringmasters, I'd wind up living on the street under the half of a big top I could salvage from a screaming crowd wanting my head, get run over by a wheelchair-bound trapeze artist who came down beyond the net, and die lonely and miserable in a home for sad clowns. The only thing that wouldn't happen? I wouldn't catch a cold, because I forgot to take off the big red nose from the substitute clown part, which ensured most of the air I took in was warm.

Beats getting mauled by a tiger, or worse... http://www.usnews.com/news/offbeat/articles/2013/04/10/circus-elephant-shot-in-d...

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Sometimes I can't help but wonder where some things are.

VITAL STATS:

I'm not going to speak much about what happened in Boston yesterday, other than to say it's sad and senseless. It's just sadly humbling to know that I was typing the word "Boston" in yesterday's entry as it was happening, and I didn't even know it yet. I posted my entry, opened Facebook, and immediately everything hit me. It was an eerie feeling. I'm just going to copy the words of a local musician, whose status I shared as well: "If you think that NOW is an appropriate time to advance any political view you hold dear to your cold little heart, you may want to reevaluate." Consider that to be all I'll say about it. Our thoughts are with you, Boston. And like all tragedy, we'll help you see greatness again.

And with that, I'll say no more. Just make sure you tell someone, anyone, near or far, that you love them. Peace, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!