16. When I was sixteen I slide-tackled Chevy Chase, after he joined a group of us teenage extras, playing soccer, on the set of the movie Funny Farm.
In fact, I had been a huge fan for years, practicing his pratfalls throughout grade school, and seeing movies like Foul Play and Caddyshack when they originally came out. This, however, did not stop me from acting like a little snot and trying to one-up the professional funnyman as he rose and brushed himself off:
“Sorry, Mr. Chase. I guess I just had some subconscious hostility left over from having to shell out 5 bucks to see European Vacation.”
“Subconscious? Or Unconscious?”
“Um. I don’t know.”
“Look it up.”
Well Chevy. You won that round.
17. I call my father and mother, Michael and Sharon, by their first names. People have always found this to be strange behavior, and commented on it, ever since I began doing it, all on my own– reportedly at around age 3.
I also call my stepfather and stepmother by their first names. People question this a lot less– but this reduced demand for explanation certainly doesn’t mean that I love Kevin or Linda any less.
18. I would have difficult time being First Lady of the United States. Why? Well, because unlike Michelle, for me, watching Barack Obama during the 2008 primaries truly was the first time in my adult life that I felt proud of my country.
19. When I was 8 years old, I asked George H. W. Bush a question about his stance on gun control. This took place at a 1980 presidential primary event at Flat Street in Brattleboro, at a time when Flat Street was still considered a disco.
20. In fact, earlier that same year, I had attended an all-ages, afternoon disco party at Flat Street. My poor parents had been tolerating my lapse in musical taste for at least 2 years at this point, reluctantly providing me with Bee Gees and Donna Summers albums, with the hope that my fever for disco would someday pass.
Well, one thing is certain, it all sure paid off that day. When I put forth my best moves (think John Travolta with a touch of Steve Martin), all of the other kids at the event– who were each older than me by at least 4 years– they made a circle around me, clapping and cheering-on my dancefloor disco-mania.
It would have taken nothing less than a cataclysmic event to undo residual glow and movie-moment-high of that afternoon. And thus, 3rd grade was a good year.