The Key to My Heart

So far, I've spent this blog relating stuff that basically makes me feel crappy. Today, I'm going to mix it up a little and talk about something that makes me feel good. This post shall be about my favorite pastime, my one true passion, and--in my opinion--the most powerful expressive medium humanity has yet devised.

I speak, of course, of Video Games.

Despite Andrew's misgivings, I have decided to use the tried-and-true format of a Top 5 List, counting down from #5. So here we have:

David's All Time Top Five Video Game Picks

5) Castlevania: Symphony of the Night.
SotN is simply an excellent game. It represents the pinnacle of both the "side-scroller" genre and the Castlevania series. It smoothly mixes the intense combat of an action game with the strategic character development of a role-playing game while presenting a multitude of unique opponents and resources that can be pitted against each other in infinitely entertaining ways. The game does have its flaws, but these are mostly cosmetic. The story is fairly standard, despite an interesting twist and multiple endings, but the dialogue and especially the voice acting are simply atrocious. Fortunately, the plot scenes in the game are few and far between, and once you've beaten the game, you never have to sit through them again. Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow could be considered a better game in this regard, since it actually has an excellent story, but because of the more limited graphics engine and the fact that AoS's gameplay was heavily modeled after SotN, I ultimately consider the latter game the better.

4) Half-Life
Just as C:SotN represents the pinnacle of the side-scroller genre, Half-Life represents the pinnacle of the first-person-shooter genre. It was the first of its kind to feature a plot which could be considered more than "cursory" and it was the first of its kind to feature character interactions more complex than "kill every monster you see." There were, for example, people who would help you out, as well as computer opponents who fought against each other. Few FPS games have produced more satisfying encounters than witnessing a contingent of marines bust into a warehouse crawling with aliens, followed by a firefight which you may simply watch play out. Furthermore, Half-Life had perhaps the finest selection of weapons in a FPS, and this is a virtue that cannot be underestimated in this type of game. Every weapon in the game was useful in some way (except for the stupid beetles) as every weapon had its distinct advantages and disadvantages. Now I'll admit the possibility that better FPS games have been made since the original Half-Life, but if so they were only made in emulation of Half-Life. And there certainly were no better FPS games made before Half-Life.

3) Civilization
I want to stipulate right off the bat that this rank goes to the Civilization series itself, rather than any particular game in the series. This is because I consider each game to be an improved version of the same concept. While Civilization II certainly improved upon its predecessor in many ways, I don't feel that this in any way diminishes the greatness of the original. Likewise, the improvements of Civ4 do not make Civ2 any less of a great game (I didn't play enough of Civ3 to make any judgments of it.) What makes Civilization so great is that it takes a relatively simple idea--you are the ruler of your own nation--and combines it with such a refined execution to provide an open-ended experience within a manageable framework. In other words, there are just a few definitive goals, but an infinite variety of ways to achieve them. Plus you can take over the entire world. You just can't beat that.

2) Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas
San Andreas is great for much the same reason that Civilization is great; it provides an open-ended experience within a manageable framework. What makes San Andreas surpass Civilization, however, is the inclusion of a compelling storyline and more spectacular gameplay. I mean, sure, it's one kind of epic to send an army of tanks to attack infantry defending a city, but it's a considerably more intense experience to actually be the guy those tanks are coming after. Plus, in Civilization, you can't steal a jumbo jet, compete in a triathlon, or clear a traffic jam with a minigun; in San Andreas, you can.

1) Final Fantasy Tactics
Final Fantasy Tactics is simply my favorite game of all time, for two reasons. Firstly, the game features a depth and variety of play that I have not seen matched in any game before or since. Secondly, the game features a powerful, epic story that I have not seen matched in ANY medium. Additionally, Ramza Beoulve is the only video game hero I know of with the strength of character to walk into a seedy tavern and order a glass of milk. For that, man, I salute you. Now, granted, the game has its flaws: there's no way to avoid or flee random battles, combat is often drawn-out and frustrating, and much of the dialogue is poorly translated. But the game's virtues far outweigh its flaws. If you have never played through this game, then I daresay you lack the commitment to call yourself a true video game fan.

So that's it, there are my Top 5 Video Game Picks. These are my personal favorites; I don't expect anyone else's list to match mine, but still I think there are a few general conclusions we can draw from this list:

1) Video games based on sports are stupid.

2) Miniguns rule.

3) If you don't like FFT then you don't like video games.

That's it for me. Feel free to post your own Top 5 in the comments (or your "top-tier" list, if that's more your thing. Andrew.) Next time will be more depressing stuff, I promise. Until then, warm sandwiches and cool sheets.

Dr. N and the Women, Episode IV

Well, I've kept everyone waiting nearly a week now, but finally it's time to continue revealing to the entire world the forbidden secrets of my love life, or lack thereof.

There is, of course, a reason I've been putting off this post. I had to wait until the time was right for this. I couldn't do it during the week; I've been feeling bad enough lately, and I needed to get at least some sleep for work. I have tomorrow off, however, so if I stay awake all night tonight pondering over events I cannot change, no one will notice in the morning.

The reason I needed to wait for the right time to write this post is that this episode is "the Big One." This is the one that counts for anything and everything. This is the tale of the woman who broke me.

Tonight
I shall tell you
of Kristen.

[insert ominous thunderclap]

As I'm sure it was for many people, my freshman year of college represents some of the best and some of the very worst times of my life. For me, both sides of that coin as well as the dichotomy itself can be traced back to two young women. Their names were Becky and Kristen. They were roommates. When I moved into the dorm, they lived in a room right down the hall.

The first time I saw Kristen was from some distance in the hallway of the dorm. This was a couple days before classes began, so there was a lot of activity with people moving in and whatnot. Still, she caught my attention through the bustle, even if briefly, and struck me as a quite attractive specimen. This wasn't a momentous occasion, just a sort of "Wow, she's pretty. Well, moving on," sort of moment. I certainly would not have guessed at the time where things would end up from there.

Shortly thereafter--it may even have been the very same night--there was a community meeting for the section of the dorm I was living in, and lo and behold, there she was again. The meeting started by having everyone introduce themselves, and when it was Becky and Kristen's turn, they announced that they had cookies and offered a general invitation for people to come by and have some. After the meeting, my roommate told me he was going to go get some cookies from those girls and asked if I intended to come along. Well, it was my first time out in the wider world on my own, so I figured I might as well give it a shot.

I guess somebody made an impression on someone then, because the four of us wound up spending a fair bit of time together after that. This is where a lot of those "best times" I mentioned earlier came from. We went bowling once, caught a double feature of "Swingers" and "Fight Club" another time, got dinner at the dining hall pretty often, and just kinda hung out. They even took me to the only dance I've ever attended.

But despite the generally good times, they were tainted by the ever-present pain of being so close to such an attractive woman and not being able to let her know how I felt. I couldn't make a move right away because she was still attached to her boyfriend from high school, and as I've mentioned previously, I'm very proprietary when it comes to relationships. Of course that didn't last much longer, but I could never seem to catch her when she wasn't involved with someone. I'd end up not getting together with her or Becky for a week or two, and in that time apparently she'd break up with the last boyfriend I knew about and begin dating someone else already. The worst was the time when I came by their room and Kristen told me all about how she had decided to get back together with her high school boyfriend. She showed me this framed... picture... thing she'd made or something with both their names and some flowery prose printed on a background of fluffy clouds. I smiled, and nodded, and then went out into the hall... and somehow managed to avoid crying or screaming or punching a hole in the wall with my skull. A true miracle.

I suppose if I'd had any balls, I'd have taken that opportunity to say "Hey, you don't need him, I'm right here!" or something along those lines. Well, hindsight is 20/20, I guess.

There was another time when I stopped by their room to... well, unload, I guess. I'd just found out that someone I knew in high school had died in a fire, and I guess it was weighing on my mind. Becky wasn't there, but I wound up having a nice long conversation with Kristen. She wound up telling me about how she couldn't run any more because of her shin splints, and showed me her calves to illustrate. She said I could go ahead and feel her shins, but I guess I poked her too hard in the wrong spot. Hmm... she let me touch her and I wound up hurting her. I'm sure that's significant somehow, but I'm too lazy to figure out the symbolism now. That will be your homework assignment for the week.

And then there was the dance I mentioned earlier. That was an unforgettable night, no matter how hard I try. I spent most of the time sitting at a table, not because no one would dance with me so much as because the DJ played mostly obnoxious rap or disco music. Becky managed to drag me out onto the floor for a couple of songs that were at least tolerable. This included the song "Smooth," which they requested after I told them I would be willing to dance to that, and "Crash Into Me" by the Dave Matthews Band, which, despite its soft, quiet tone, is a filthy, filthy song if you ever listen to the lyrics. I didn't get to dance with Kristen, though she certainly made a valiant effort to get me on the floor at one point. This is what she did: as she went toward the dance floor, she walked behind the chair I was sitting in and put her hand on my waist, dragging her arm across my back as she moved past. She didn't exert any force, but she nearly ripped me right out of my seat. If only the music hadn't been SO terrible. I guess, ultimately, it's my own damn fault I didn't get to dance with her that night, but I was still bitter about it. To this day have trouble listening to "Smooth" for the frustrating memories of that night it stirs.

I suppose by this point you're thinking, "Well, that's all well-and-good, but I don't see how any of that makes this 'the Big One.'" Patience, though; you'll understand shortly.

During the second semester that year, I took a fiction writing class. One of our assignments in the class was to write a monologue. In response, I produced "Confession of a Thing," which technically wasn't a work of fiction, but actually more of a... well, I guess you could call it a love letter, really. After getting my grade on it, I decided to go ahead and present the monologue to its addressee. Not so unusual, really; I'd presented Becky and Kristen with my previous writings for the class, and they seemed to enjoy reading my work. So, I went down to their room, handed the monologue to Becky, told them to let me know what they thought, and took my leave. A short while later, Becky showed up at my door all choked up and saying how great it was. Shit! It misfired!

Augh! The roommate? You gave it to the ROOMMATE?! You stupid, stupid fool! What the hell is WRONG with you?! G'ah!

I guess I had assumed Becky knew about my infatuation with Kristen and would understand that it was intended for her. I guess that was a poor assumption to make. The irony of the whole situation is that, even before the love letter fiasco, I was closer to Becky than I ever was to Kristen. I suppose that was in part due to me having to distance myself from Kristen lest my feelings for her be exposed. I suppose it was also partly due to the fact that whenever I came around looking for someone to go to dinner with and Becky wasn't there, Kristen always seemed to have other plans. Right. Whatever. But things never went anywhere with Becky. She had always been more attracted to my first roommate, so even if we had hooked up, we'd both be with our second choice at best, so it's probably better that we didn't.

Anyway, that happened. But I wasn't done making a fool out of myself. No sir, not by a long shot.

Really, that was just one more frustrating incident on top of an ever-increasing pile of frustrating incidents. At some point near the end of the school year, that pile reached critical mass and collapsed. I broke. I decided to take action. I had to let her know. So I arranged to meet with her on ICQ, and I poured my heart out. I told her I was attracted to her the first time I saw her, I'd been attracted to her all that time, and I needed to know if there was any possibility that we would ever go out. Yes or no, I needed a definitive answer.

I will never forget her response.

"Not right now."

Not
Right
Now

Hmm... can't get much less definitive than that, can you? Apparently she was involved with someone else at the time.

Hold on... that sounds familiar... ah, yes. CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT, I remember you well.

Well, that was about a month or so before the end of the school year, so I did see Kristen again a couple of times before the summer, but she seemed content to act like the whole thing never happened. Hmm... maybe that's why she said she was glad I'd done my little spiel over ICQ instead of in person. Easier to pretend it never happened that way.

Whatever. Once again, the school year came and went, and things never got any further than that.

Now, that may seem like a perfectly good place for this story to end. But for some unfathomable reason, there is, in fact, more.

I went home for the summer, and my computer went into mothballs, which meant I had no access to ICQ. Since I never got any contact info from Becky or Kristen, I wasn't able to get in touch with either of them until school started up again. Once I got back on ICQ, I tried to arrange a meeting with Kristen, but she basically blew me off. She said she had mono or something and wouldn't be able to do anything for a couple weeks. I guess that's a valid excuse, but at the same time, "a couple weeks" is just about the perfect amount of time for us both to forget about contacting the other. Which, apparently, is exactly what happened. Oh well.

Then when my birthday came around in April, completely out of the blue she sends me a happy birthday message. That's all it was, just "Happy birthday" in an instant message. Well, okay, that's easy enough to figure out: ICQ's set up to send out reminders to everyone on my birthday, so she just never got around to taking me off her friends list, and sent a generic response to the birthday reminder she got. Fine, whatever.

Not quite a year later, just before the Chr--sorry, Winter Break, once again, right out of the ever-loving blue, I get a message from Kristen. Just kind of a "hey, how you doing" sort of thing, and I play along, and we have a nice little chat. And at the end of it, she gives me her cell phone number, tells me to give her a call over break "if I feel like it." I mull it over for a while, and finally come to the conclusion that yes, I do indeed feel like it. So I call her over break, and we had a nice chat, pretty much the same one we'd already had on ICQ. Then I don't hear from her again for like another month. She tells me she'd been in and out of the hospital for a while, so I guess it's forgivable. We chat a couple more times on ICQ, and she tells me she bought this "Illuminati" card game, because she remembered how I used to go on about the Illuminati. Well, I take that as an opening, so I get my cards from home and let her know I'm up for a game whenever she likes. And can you guess what happened then? That's right.

Absolutely nothing. Never heard from her again.

I suppose it's probably a good thing I switched over to AIM not long after, otherwise she might still be stringing me along. Then again, for all I know she might have wound up back in the hospital and I'm the callous one for thinking she was just being malicious. Whatever. That's where the story ends. For real, this time.

So now we come to the part of the post where we try to determine what we've learned today. Well, I'll tell you what I took away from it all, and unfortunately, it's not really anything new:

1) NEVER EVER TELL ANYONE HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT THEM EVER. EVER!!!

Tonight I shall bid you a warm sandwich of you between cool sheets.

The Incredible Shrinking David and the Enormous Women from Outer Space, Episode III

Forgive me if tonight's post is perfunctory and not very entertaining. It's Friday evening, and I'd like to spend the bulk of it playing Dragon Quest 8. Besides which, now that I think about it, I don't seem to remember much in the way of catastrophic feminine encounters between fourth grade and high school. I'm sure I had my fair share of unrequited infatuations during that time, but apparently none of them had enough psychological impact to be memorable.

A few incidents from high school do stick out in my memory, perhaps only because the experiences are more recent. I'd like to share two such incidents with you, the two I think are the most interesting.

First off, there was Lisa. This was during my sophomore year. I remember Lisa for several reasons, certainly not the least of which was her physique. Lisa was... I don't know how else to say it; she was a big girl. I don't mean that she was fat, I mean she was tall, and not muscular, not plump, but that perfect center between the two. Think Sally from "Third Rock from the Sun." The point is, I found her very attractive. And by some stupid fluke of fate, I wound up seated right next to her in my literature class for an entire semester. Now, some might think this would be a dream come true. But consider the two most memorable experiences I'd had with women at that point, and I think you can understand why it would seem more like a nightmare to me. Nevertheless, over the course of the semester I managed to develop a rather amicable relationship with Lisa, and there were a couple times where... this is what she would do: She would kiss her fingers, and then ever-so-gently she would touch my arm with the fingers she had just kissed.

This only happened maybe three or four times, but God help me, if I could only have figured out what I did to inspire that action, well, I'm sure I'd be in a much better spot now than I am. As it was, the semester came and went and things never got any further than that.

I did see her again one time. I ran into Lisa in the hallway while she was helping a friend out with a photography project or something and Lisa asked me to pose with her for a picture. I don't know whatever happened to the photograph that was taken, but if you could find it what you would see on my face is absolutely the most genuine smile I have ever produced in front of a camera.

So that's my story of Lisa. Next we shall hear of an even stranger case.

Namely, we shall hear the case of Nikki. Nikki struck me as the sort of girl who didn't care much about grades or school, the sort of girl who really only cared about having as much fun as she could manage. Or maybe it was just that the way she talked made it sound like she was drunk in class half the time. In any case, she was the sort of girl who it wouldn't make any sense at all to have any interest in me whatsoever.

And yet, that was the impression I got.

It was just little things, for the most part. She just seemed to pay a little more attention to me that most girls, laugh a little too hard at my jokes, that sort of thing. And yet, on more than one occasion she made very clear mention of her boyfriend and how they would inevitably marry. I say "inevitably" because the way she spoke of this made it sound more like a prison sentence than a joyous union. Still, I've always been very proprietary when it comes to relatioships, so the mention of a boyfriend was enough for me to dismiss any notion that she might be at all interested in me.

Except for this one incident. If not for this one incident I probably wouldn't remember Nikki at all. I believe it was... no, it WAS the day before Spring Break. Also known as "Senior Skip Day." I was a junior at the time and most of the rest of the class were seniors, so the class was pretty empty, despite the fact that we were supposed to give presentations that day. Surprisingly--considering that Nikki had probably been taking advantage of Senior Skip Day since before she even entered high school--Nikki (a senior) was one of the few people in attendance. Well, considering the low attendance, the atmosphere in the classroom was pretty casual, so I felt no discomfort about sitting on a desk--"on" as opposed to "in" the desk, as they are meant to be used--to listen to one of the other groups' presentations. This is where it starts to get weird. Nikki comes over and sits right next to me on the very same desk. Now, I'm talking about a high school desk, here: basically a chair with a board across the seat for you to write on. And we're both sitting on the board part. Now, I've never been much for physical contact; anyone who knows me can tell you I don't like to hug, or sit on the same couch, or accidentally brush up against other people. So naturally, I scoot over a bit to make room for Nikki. In response, Nikki grabs my shirt, pulls me back over, and makes some comment to the effect of "You don't need to go anywhere."

Wow. Awkward.

So I spent the rest of the period not quite sure what to make of the situation, followed by an excruciating Spring Break wondering what the Hell it was all about. But, again, the semester came and went and things never got any further than that.

Well, it's almost 8:00 now and I STILL haven't played any DQ8, so I'd better wrap this up now. So, what have we learned today?

1) Women do strange, inexplicable things.

2) A semester is never enough time to figure out why they do these things.

That's it for me. For you, I bid warm sandwiches and cool sheets.

David vs. Women, Episode II

Today has been pretty good so far. I worked for like 3 hours this morning, went to the company's holiday luncheon, and got the rest of the day off. Plus, it gave me an excuse to wear a sport coat, which always makes me feel powerful, important, and good-looking. This, of course, is the exact opposite of how talking about my experience with women makes me feel. So now I find myself in the midst of a dilemma.

Do I ruin the fine mood I'm in and continue relating my misadventures with the fairer sex, or do I break continuity with my previous post for the sake of my own mental health?

This leads me to further question the whole point of this exercise. Why, exactly, would I want this information to be publicly accessible in the first place? What drives me to chronicle the most embarassing aspect of my life and put myself in a right-nasty funk as I do so? What makes me think anyone else might be the least bit interested in reading about it, anyway?

I don't know the answers to these questions, but I do know that I'm not wearing my sport coat anymore, so I'm sure to be in a rotten mood by the end of the evening anyway. Which means more melancholy reflection and self-loathing diatribe for everyone! Hooray!

When we left off, a young David had just been rejected quite hard in the family jewels by the first girl he ever "liked." About a month into the very next school year, however, my family moved and I wound up attending a different school. As such, everything that had happened the year before became basically irrelevant to my social standing. I was still a nerd, of course, but a nerd armed with the knowledge that letting a girl know that you like her is a simply bad idea.

Oddly enough, however, my Great Failure in fourth grade was something quite different from my Great Failure of the year before. Actually, I failed in two ways that year, but I'll cover them both in a bit.

First, I'd like to tell you a little bit about my organizational skills at the time, specifically, the intricate manner in which I maintained the contents of my desk. My technique for organizing my desk throughout elementary school was as follows:

1) Pile up every piece of paper I received inside the desk until it no longer closes all the way.

2) Only clean the desk out when the teacher makes you because it no longer closes all the way.

To illustrate the effectiveness of this strategy, I will tell you that at one point during my primary education I actually discovered a quite rotten egg in my desk when cleaning it. Honest to God, a rotten egg.

So this was the state of things when, not long after starting at this new school, the girl sitting in front of me tucked a note into my desk. She made some comment so that I'd be sure to notice the note being dropped, but for whatever reason, I decided to ignore it at the time. This, of course, meant that I did not see the note again for months, when I was finally forced to tidy things up a bit. I finished emptying my desk shortly before lunch, and decided to give it a read after everyone had already left the classroom. The note was folded several times, and unfolding it once revealed the words "To David, From Jodi," surrounded by little hearts. That was as far as I got before a friend came back and urged me to hurry up to the lunchroom. I dropped the note on the floor, ate, and upon returning to the classroom, promptly dropped the note into the wastebin.

I know. I know.

I don't really understand what made me think that was the appropriate thing to do, but there you have it. Consider, though, that the note was already months old by that point; for all I know she'd already gotten over me by then anyway. Hell, considering that Jodi wasn't even the one who dropped the note in my desk, I don't really even know if she's the one who actually wrote the note in the first place.

This was the first of my great failures that year, though not the worse. No; the worse mistake was telling my parents.

For eight years after that--all through high school, even--I could not talk to, look at, approach, think about this girl or even hear the name "Jodi" without going beet red in the face. And my parents NEVER failed to take advantage of that. "Joooodiiiii," my father would croon, and then they would point, and laugh, and say "Ha ha, look at his face turn red!" I so resented it. I still do.

Well, I think that's a good spot to wrap up this episode. Now, what did we learn today? Two things:

1) Always open and respond to your mail in a timely fashion.

2) Never, ever let your parents know how you feel about anyone. Ever.

Until next time, I bid you warm sandwiches, and cool sheets.

David's History with Women, Episode I

Welcome back. As promised, today I shall provide for you a graphic description of my various encounters with the opposite sex over the past 15 years or so. But first, I'd like to establish a convention for this blog.

First and foremost, I want D.Levine Industries to be a place of learning--for you, for me, for everyone. After all, what good is it to stockpile ridiculous amounts of trivial information if we cannot glean at least some wisdom from it? To that end, at the conclusion of each post, I'd like to reflect back on my inane ramblings and petty whining for the day and try to determine what truth may have been revealed therein. Since I didn't get to do this for my first post, I'd like to take some space here to go back over it.

So, what did we learn from "The World is a Safe Place?" I believe there are two very important lessons to be found in this modern parable:

1) Reality can never live up to the expectations of the imagination.

2) Trying to help others leads only to embarassment.

Not exactly spiritually uplifting, I suppose, but very important lessons, nonetheless.

Okay, enough of this sentimental crap, let's get on to the hardcore stuff!

I've decided to begin telling this history from when I was in third grade. I suppose this somewhat diminishes the completeness of this chronicle, since certainly I have memories of females before this period. It was in third grade, however, when a particular series of events... how shall I say... set the tone, for basically every intergender relationship I've had since.

Her name was Katie, as I recall. She had brown hair and olive skin. At some point during the school year, I came to the conclusion that I liked this girl, which is to say, I found her attractive. This was significant, because it was the first time in my memory that I was willing to admit to myself that I thought a girl was pretty. After taking this momentous step in my emotional development, I decided to take things another step forward and let her know that I liked her. I was, at that point, still too shy to tell her myself, but a friend offered to tell her for me, and I consented.

Katie's reaction to this information was... perhaps "revulsion" is a bit too strong a word.

Perhaps not.

Hold on... do you hear that? I do believe it's the sound of CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT. And if I'm not mistaken, it is the chord which has been the unifying theme of every experience I've had with women since.

Remember, now, this was in the third grade--the age at which "girl germs" were the most terrifying threat imaginable, and the worst fate one could endure was having one's name included in the song "So-and-so and the-other-one, sitting in a tree..." So, not only was I faced with the disappointment of liking a girl who wanted nothing to do with me, but that information was OUT THERE, for anyone to know and use against me. I don't specifically remember if anyone ever actually made fun of me for it, but it was an embarassment, nonetheless.

Suffice it to say, things never went anywhere with Katie. In fact, she even punched me in the groin once. For no better reason than the fact that I was sitting on my desk with my legs spread, kicking them out and making weird noises. I guess I can't really blame her for it; it must have seemed like such an easy target, and I'm sure the sight of me was more than a little offensive. But still.

So that's the story of Me and Katie. I was hoping to include a little more in this episode, but I think I've gone on long enough for now. I know, I know; you were expecting some hardcore pr0n. Patience, patience: it only gets better from here.

Before I wrap this up, though, let's consider what we've learned today. The single most valuable lesson in tonight's story is quite obvious:

1) Never, ever let anyone know how you feel about them. Ever.

If only I'd remembered that when... no, no; we'll get to that part. In the meantime, sandwiches and cool sheets.

The World is a Safe Place

Welcome, one and all, to the grand opening of D.Levine Industries. If you've come here looking to make a purchse, you're SoL, because this is a blog, not a business website. That said, let's clear up a few things before we get started.

Firstly, the reason I have decided to start this blog is because Chris said I should. I had thought about starting a blog when I found out about his blog, but decided against it, since I would only have been copying him. He told me, however, that he himself was just copying his brother, so now I don't feel so bad about it.

Secondly, a little bit about myself, for those of you who don't know, or for those who do, but always wanted to see it in print. My name is David, I live in a suburb of Minneapolis with my three darling children: Playstation, XBox, and L'il Compy. I am what many would call a "shut-in," as evidenced by the fact that I refer to my various electronic entertainment systems as children. The rest I'm sure you can figure out on your own.

Okay, now that the setup is out of the way, let's get down to the actual content.

Today, I'd like to tell you a story. It's a true story, one that occurred just yesterday, in fact. The reason I'd like to tell you this particular story is because it is a fine illustration of why I have chosen the shut-in lifestyle. Though I, myself, am a shut-in, I know a number of people who are not. These people often encourage me to "get out more," "be more social," and that sort of thing. My usual response to these suggestions is a noncommital shrug and a glazed look which (accurately) suggests that I'd rather be at home alone than listening to this nonsense. Today, however, I have a more substantial response. And it goes like this:

I was at the bank yesterday to cash a check. When I walked into the bank I saw a young woman at the counter where one fills out deposit slips and such. She was just finishing up and moved away to get in line for the cashier. I noticed, however, that she left a pair of gloves at the counter. Now, being the considerate sort of fellow that I am, I feel inclined to bring this to her attention, but the line quickly filled up behind her, and I had my own deposit slip to fill out. So, I let it go for the time being and proceeded to complete all the necessary paperwork for my desired transaction. Still, though, I hate to imagine that this young woman would step back out into the cold with unprotected hands when I could have done something about it. Plus, it was an opportunity to try out some of that advice from all those non-shut-in types. So, before getting in line for the cashier myself, I pick up the gloves and take them over to the young woman. In my imagination, the conversation goes something like this:

David: "Excuse me, did you leave these gloves over at the counter?"
Young Woman: "Oh, yes, I did. I hadn't even noticed, thank you! You're so considerate. And handsome. Here's my phone number."

And they lived happily ever after.

Now let's see the same scene again, only this time set in the REAL world:

David: "Excuse me, did you leave these gloves over at the counter."
Young Woman: "Nope. Thanks, though."
David: "Oh. Okay."

At which point I put the gloves back on the counter, got in line for the cashier, and never saw the young woman again.

Yet people wonder why I don't get out more.


Next time: My complete and unabridged sexual history! Saucy!