I met new my hometeaching companion yesterday. Brother Wolf is his name. I think we may have started our companionship off on the wrong foot. Retrospectively, I can see that the blame for our initial awkwardness could be attributed to the combination of my obsession with grammar and my overactive curiosity gland. Here’s how it went down:
Bro. Wolf: “Hey are you Brother Hardison?”
Me: “Sure am.”
Bro Wolf: “Great. I’m Dave Wolf. I guess we’re home teaching companions.”
Me: “Oh, awesome.”
Bro Wolf: “Yeah, so do you think you’d be available to go home teaching tonight?”
Me: “Yeah. Tonight would be good. Hey, I have a question about your last name . . .”
Bro. Wolf: “Yeah . . .”
Me: “How do you pluralize it? Because when I refer to my family I just throw an ‘s’ on the end of our name and keep right on rolling with my sentence. You know, ‘We’re the Hardisons.’ Boom. Done and done. But that wouldn’t work for your family ‘cus that would make you guys ‘the Wolfs’ and that’s downright offensive (grammatically speaking, of course).”
Bro. Wolf: “Umm . . .”
Me: “So, I suppose if you want to tread the grammatically traditional route you could swap the ‘f’ for a ‘v’ and then attach ‘es.’ That’d make you guys ‘the Wolves.’ And not only does that appease the grammar gods, but it makes your family seem pretty darn tough.”
Bro. Wolf: [blank stare]
Me: “But then again, if it’s toughness you’re after, maybe just avoid the whole mess and call yourselves “the Pack.” I tried to implement that in our family, but ‘the Hardison Pack’ just doesn’t roll off the tongue like ‘the Wolf Pack”, you know?”
Bro. Wolf: “So you think 7:30 would work for you?”
Me: “Umm, 7:30 should be fine.”
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
the big bopper
Very much to my own amusement, some recent hard drive tidying lead to my discovery of this smattering of nonsense that I penned well over two years ago. Enjoy:
the most forgotten sign of a way cool fellow is the leather jacket. nobody rocks the leather jacket anymore. see, if it were 1955 and i wanted to put myself on the local map of greaser big whigs, all i would need is a slick leather jacket and a huge black comb. if i had the whole get-up i could lean against my car outside the drive-in burger joint and girls would flock to me like sheep to a shepherd in a hot leather jacket. no matter what my name was, i would have it replaced with some stellar nickname like "the bopper" or "the big bopper". why can't it be that way? you know, i noticed that sonic is really supposed to be like a throw back to the fifties. in fact, it's real name is sonic drive-in. but it's not a very good throw back to the fifties because if it was, then when i went there the other night in my hot leather jacket the girls would've died to get with me. but that's not how it went. all the fellers with their tricked out cars hogged the limelight. i leaned against the side of my car for like 45 minutes. not one bite. dang. i wish i was fonzie. then when my cell phone rang i would have cool lines like "hey baby, fonzie's got to get the phonzie, then we'll go to inspiration point". little would she know that inspiration point is a really good fishing spot i used to go to with my grandmother when i was eight. man, we would catch the most hardcore large mouth bass.
the most forgotten sign of a way cool fellow is the leather jacket. nobody rocks the leather jacket anymore. see, if it were 1955 and i wanted to put myself on the local map of greaser big whigs, all i would need is a slick leather jacket and a huge black comb. if i had the whole get-up i could lean against my car outside the drive-in burger joint and girls would flock to me like sheep to a shepherd in a hot leather jacket. no matter what my name was, i would have it replaced with some stellar nickname like "the bopper" or "the big bopper". why can't it be that way? you know, i noticed that sonic is really supposed to be like a throw back to the fifties. in fact, it's real name is sonic drive-in. but it's not a very good throw back to the fifties because if it was, then when i went there the other night in my hot leather jacket the girls would've died to get with me. but that's not how it went. all the fellers with their tricked out cars hogged the limelight. i leaned against the side of my car for like 45 minutes. not one bite. dang. i wish i was fonzie. then when my cell phone rang i would have cool lines like "hey baby, fonzie's got to get the phonzie, then we'll go to inspiration point". little would she know that inspiration point is a really good fishing spot i used to go to with my grandmother when i was eight. man, we would catch the most hardcore large mouth bass.
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