During the last few months I’ve been carefully mulling over ‘my angle.’ Some throw around qualifiers like being detail-oriented or working well with others. Others are driven by cutting-edge work — you know, to offset those who prefer mundanity. No matter what words are placed in front of employers like a chocolate on a pillow, it shares a common ancestor: it’s played out. Oh so played out.
That’s why I want to break away with an ability no one has considered exploiting before: Severe ineptitude.
I remember it well. Me, with sopping wet bath hair cascading onto my oversized T-shirt-turned-nightgown like a college girl at a spring break contest, running to the TV to watch the latest episode of Blossom. I couldn’t tell you much about the actual show, however. I remember Blossom as a homely girl who had a habit of wearing fishing hats and neon-colored leggings and frequently finding herself disgusted.
Then there was her brother Joey, the spiritual precursor to the Friends version, who filled the role of dumb jock admirably. I’m not sure what drew me to to the show, but the bar was set rather low, as Bob Saget commentating dudes getting hit in the unit repeatedly on America’s Funniest Home Videos was the pinnacle of my television existence.
Joey Lawrence’s memorable character jettisoned him to a family spin-off show and the chance to earn some gold-plated diapers in the music biz. His self-titled album came out in 1993 and, in a word — Whoa!
Originally written and published for ETHOS magazine, “Welcome to the Steamhouse” is a story about my trek to Marrakech, Morocco, in the spring of 2007. What started off as an innocent everyman journey into a foreign land transpired just like you think it would: disturbingly awkward and underwear-less. Since its publication I’ve cleaned up the text and made some clarifications. You can now read it in its entirety below.
“Sleeping, sleeping…” softly cooed a middle-aged and mustachioed Arab man into my ear, deep inside a labyrinth of tile along the outskirts of Marrakech, Morocco. I was far away from home and painfully, unapologetically white.
It was the sort of thing they warn you about in the study abroad pre-departure material, illustrated with clunky stick figures that narrowly avoid being raped or murdered. My gut feeling and masterful grasp of D.A.R.E. principles determined I was en route toward one of those outcomes, the latter seeming like a welcome respite. If you can believe it, though, I didn’t thrust myself into what became one of the most awkward, surreal experiences of my young adult life. You could say I just invited it in for a cup of tea. And a back rub.
When I first laid eyes upon the 1984 motivational video classic by a one Mr. Laurence Tureaud, I must say, I was confounded with joy. I couldn’t believe everything I thought was awesome about the 80’s was put together into one epic 50-minute video.
Cheese-dripping feel-good synth pop? Check. Horrible, horrible fashions and dancing? Yep. A young Bobby Brown singing about peer pressure? Oh hell yes. And then to throw Mr. T in there … well, my mind nearly shattered at the thought. But it’s real. So, so real.
Not only does “Cop Killer” Ice T share writing credits for the music (many are unaware Ice T is Mr. T’s brother twice-removed), but many of the songs have Mr. T lending his golden pipes along with his chains. And believe me, they’re golden. Let’s take a gander at the bounty of riches Mr. T’s video has to offer:
The moustache is more than just a frivolty that adorns a man’s (or very handsome woman’s) face. No, it is a lifestyle.
And as such there are unique attributes that can be gained and lost from growing your fledgling follicles into a full-out, testorone-dripping manstache. For your introductory look into the world of the moustache, I’ve kindly listed the myriad of skills acquired for saying “Hey, I just don’t give a shit anymore. Let’s do this.”
Without further adieu, the ’staches:
The Colonel Cletus T. Burnsides
Skills acquired:
+12 Improper hygiene
+7 Fish market employability
+3 Muzzleloader expertise
+1 Salt-curing talents
