The Bros Ceremony

As much of the country braves the continuing cold and snow, this past weekend many hearts were warmed by the happiest, lovey doviest, most cuddly date of all - February 14th, Valentine's Day. That is, of course, if they weren't spending it with their emotions on a seemingly never ending Giant Drop of lonely sadness.

To this I say, "shake it off, towel -- you'll be alright." To copy with my single status in life, I spent most of Valentine's daydreaming (see what I did there?) about the perfect date. I went over the main criteria: face, smarts, family, booty, and monaaaay. What's that? How dare you call me Kiddy Pool Shallow Jones! We all do it! .... But anyway, the thinking led me to an interesting place.

I eventually found myself in a "The Bachelor" type scenario, with the final two contestants squaring off. I thought to myself, who in the world would I want to spend the rest of my days with? It was obvious: Will Smith or Larry David.

WWF: St. Valentine's Day Massacre 1998

On the one hand, you have a strong black man whose perennial box office championships come as the result of being charming, witty, and oh-so-mean to Carlton. On the other, you have the embodiment of everything that has ever been considered hilarious, donned in beige slacks, a uni-colored V Neck sweater, and a white undershirt. Both of them are very hard to say no to.

As the daydream continued, I immersed myself further into the world of a potential playoff, at the end of which one of them would be crowned my soul mate. In the interest of the few women reading this - yes, I have absolutely stolen this format from all of your favorite dating shows, but no, I will not give my contestants street walker nicknames.

It's basically Blacker Vance versus the Bald Buster.

For Prince, my daydream carried on as such. We went to a Philly Cheesesteak place in his hometown, and he was initially treated like Norm walking into Cheers. (Anyone reading this, that kind of reception is a lifelong dream of mine, and if you wanted to make it a reality, you too could be on this shortlist). Anyway, as the dinner went on, and my vegetarianism gave way to a French meal where little potato sticks were fried just so, the owner of the establishment started giving Hancock a hard time. Turns out there was another man. One who apparently spun him around during the opening credits. Another man with whom he'd shared a dance? I can understand Kevin James -- who could resist that piece of work -- but this? I was about ready to head back to L.A. for the rose ceremony.

More like the King of Hearts

As the thought raced through my mind, something happened. In a classic Hitch move, Will told the owner that he only conversed with civilized people not on Burn Notice, defended my honor, and apologized for the embarrassing display. Along with introducing me to Uncle Phil and both Aunt Viv's, he had redeemed himself.

Alas, there was another contender in this race. Not to be outdone, Larry picked me up at my doorstep in his Prius, and proceeded to curse every schmohawk on the road who was getting in the way of our plans. His aggressive nature and poor manners were winning me over. Anyway, after the dinner, where he got into a staring contest with the waiter - to the tune of flute music - over the Cobb salad, we went to a mutual place of interest - the driving range. We laughed as one of the balls struck Funkhouser, went home and kicked it with Leon, and decided to call it an evening.

After hours of deliberation, and countless Netflix rentals, my daydream came to a conclusion. If I can't have both, I don't want either, and I decided to return back to my first television based love - Sloan.

So the next time you feel lonely and down, observe and replicate my thought process. If you wanted to leave a comment about who your ideal candidates would be, that would be dandy like valentines' candy.

Keep dreamin' kids,

Tapan Jones

p.s. On February 9th we celebrated the One Year Anniversary of The Chicago Sometimes. Thanks for reading guys, and here's to one..no that doesn't work..five? more!

Disingenuously Disenfranchised..?

Sure, having both your legs blown off comes with its fair share of disadvantages. The searing pain, the years of rehab, not being able to walk, who am I kidding? You know the drill. But you people aren't looking big picture here. You're not shifting paradigms, you're not filling up your water glasses, hell, I don't even see one lemon juicer in this entire room. Come on, haven't you guys ever seen Murderball? Didn't you learn anything from Radio?

YOU can do it!

We gotta look on the bright side here. You know, like they say, the grass is always greener on the other side. And I bet some of you think that's because the other side is the bright side, and it gets more sunlight. But then you'd be missing the point. The point is, I bet you guys are wishing you had some legs right now, and I can't blame ya. It's pretty nice. But I'll tell you what--and you won't believe this--I'm jealous of you. That's right, the able-bodied man who can drive the lane and throw down a two-handed slam with ease is envious of the guys in the wheelchairs who can probably only pull off roll-away jumpers. And I'll tell you why:

1. Sympathy.

No one feels worse than when they accidentally close the door on a guy in a wheelchair. You think anyone feels bad about forgetting to hold the door for me? Well think again. The wheelchair-bound have a monopoly on sympathy in this country, and you guys need to tap into that resource as quickly as possible. Play it up a little, put on a show for the people, but definitely don't go for war veteran or mentally handicapped. People don't like that.

2. People will think you're brave.

This one is similar to sympathy. You'll instantly get credit for being brave, even if you're really a coward. It's sort of like how the casual basketball fan might think Allen Iverson is still a great player because he's starting for the East in the All-Star game, when in reality he's washed-up and he's stealing a potential starting spot form DRose.

Even YOU can wear a pinky ring this large, because you still have arms.

3. A great excuse to be really lazy.

Be honest, how many of you were pretty lazy around the house before your accidents? Don't be shy, now, let me see those hands. That's right, all of you had a honey-do list that was probably longer than both of your legs combined. Now, no one will expect you to paint the house or install new tile flooring. You're on the gravy train to Lazytown, and it's tasting delicious.

This is the actual first result for the Google image search "gravy train." On second thought, maybe you want to take the Amtrak.

4. It's actually pretty fun to be wheeled around.

Think back to your fondest childhood memories. If one of them wasn't getting to ride in the shopping cart at the grocery store, then I'm sorry, but you must have had a pretty crappy childhood. Imagine how excited you would have been if you got to ride in that shopping cart all day, every day--even at home! Now that dream has become a reality.

5. You're slightly more likely to be a successful panhandler.

This one, again, goes back to sympathy. If ever you should fall on hard times, people are slightly more likely to help out a person with no legs than they are fully-endowed folk. It's just a basic fact of human existence. Obviously, the art of panhandling can only be perfected through experience, but having no legs will give you a leg up on the crazy competition out there.

6. You're an extremely likely candidate for becoming a cyborg.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, they don't make robotic limbs for people who already have perfectly fine normal ones. None of the top cybernetic research companies out there are targeting healthy people as their key demographic, man. They're all about empowering the disenfranchised. Plus, robotic limbs are way more badass than real ones. Please tell me you guys have seen Robocop. You can have like guns and shit attached to your kneecaps, or they can make your legs shoot out really far to grab stuff across the room, because your feet could also be like hands, like a monkey. The possibilities are endless, and quite frankly, I'll never get to experience any of them. And that really sucks.

Yours in Christ,
Mike