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Wednesday, September 26, 2012

A Day in The Life

I may have had to give up on my childhood dreams of becoming a door-banging-downer law enforcement official, but that doesn't mean that I threw away all the tools I amassed as a tweener. Looking back, those days spent perusing counter-intelligence mags and shadowing my small town's elite police force weren't for naught. They've come in mighty handy over the years, either because I needed to handcuff my children to safe toys or because I needed to billy club an especially pesky woodchuck.

Now, my wire-tapping and video-surveillance equipment has proven to be a real asset. As has my friendship with Robert Downy, Jr. Because Monday night, after that great game between Green Bay and the Seahawks that ended with the exact right result, I took the Iron Man capsule to Santa Monica, CA, snuck into the home of replacement referee Lance Easley (a/k/a "Easy There, Easley - That's Not A Touchdown"), and got my constitutional-infringement on.

I booby-trapped that dude's place with all manner of audio and visual capture. I even got a mic and a camera affixed behind the man's ear (to be fair, he'd had an exhausting evening). Why did I do all this?  For YOU.  My readers. So that you can get a peek into the life that is defining yours.

This was Lance's Tuesday, September 25th.

Scene: Lance's bathroom. Lance is sleeping on his toilet, with his stomach hanging into the bowl and his arms and legs draped in a rainbow-like crescent to the floor. He is dressed in a suit and tie. My sources tell me this is how he sleeps every night.

Lance is awoken at 6AM by a fire alarm. My sources tell me that he has rigged his oven so that the crumbs from the previous night's frozen pizza catch fire every morning at this time. Because when someone mentioned an alarm clock to him once, this is what he thought they meant.

Lance startles, runs to his kitchen, and destroys the fire detector above his stove with a fairy wand he stole from his niece. When quiet is restored, Lance looks outside and sees that it is still dark. Frustrated, he growls at the now-shredded fire detector for waking him up when it is still nighttime. He waddles back to his toilet and goes back to sleep.

Two hours later, Lance's tie is so sogging wet from dangling in the toilet bowl that it starts to pull him, from the neck, into the water. This wakes him. He startles, races to the window, notices the daylight, and strips down naked. He puts his tie in a bowl of water to dry and heads to laundry room for his first meal.

Scene: Lance's laundry room. It houses a bike and a large bowl of dog food. My sources tell me he has been eating dog food ever since he told a friend about some hot lady friend who let him brush her hair, and the friend shoulder-shoved him and said "You dawwwwgggggg!"

Lance pounces on the dog food. He's starving.

Now that Lance is fully undressed and fully fed, he is ready to get on with his day. He leaves his house by climbing up the chimney, just like Santa Claus. He shimmies down the rain spout and slips two large Tupperware containers onto his bare feet. He skates to the office, backwards.

Scene: Lance's office. There is a footstool, an abacus, and a Fathead of Barry Manilow. Lance is a banker.

Because Lance insists on working in the buff, he is a solo practitioner. That does not stop him from screaming instructions and demanding that someone make a copy of a document for him using that crayon-shading thing you do with leaves in nursery school.

He spends the day patting himself on the back for inventing mortgage-backed securities and writing "CDOs are good.  CDOs are good.  CDOs are good" on the wall. Not as a form of punishment, but just as an alternative way to express his pride and excitement over doomed investment vehicles.

Around lunchtime, he feels some pangs in his stomach. He assumes he is going into labor. He Tupperware-skates to the hospital.

Scene: the hospital. Lance creates something of a kerfuffle when he demands that the hospital pay HIM at check-in. He creates further disturbances when he insists on wearing the hospital gown as a kerchief. He is promptly escorted to the psych ward.

Lance does an impressive series of back-bends and split-jumps. He believes he is in the "psych ward" because the hospital administration wants to capitalize on his spirit-building techniques. He is thrilled his years in Glee Club are paying off.

The staff allows him one call to a close friend or relative. He is confused when the phone handed to him looks nothing like a can of soup.

Finally, a next of kin is located. His step-cousin begrudgingly retrieves him and drives him home. Lance sits astride the roof of the car and chats with his step-cousin through the open sunroof. His step-cousin spends a lot of the time complaining about Lane Kiffin and USC's disappointing loss to Stanford. Lance has absolutely no idea what his step-cousin is talking about, but takes momentary delight in the fact that "Lane" is just like "Lance" except without the "c."

Scene: Back at Lance's house.

Lance thanks his step-cousin for the ride home and smashes out a window to let himself back inside home-sweet-home. It has been a long day. Lance decides to unwind by practicing mixed martial arts with a Bengal tiger in his bathtub. After a soothing spoonful of chili garlic sauce, he decides to call it a day. He puts his suit and tie back on and looks longingly at his toilet.

Before he can let himself end his day, though, he remembers what Mr. Roger told him he needs to do. He needs to get ready for next weekend. He needs to review the tape. He needs to study the rules book. He needs to practice counting.

So he gathers up all the Scotch tape in his house and unravels it, yard by yard, until he's got a big sticky wade of tape. He eyes it closely. Check.

He thumbs through his well-worn copy of "The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing The Heart of Mr. Right," by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider. Check.

He finds a bag of peas, cuts it open, and throws it up in the air. He eyeballs the spilled peas, takes a guess as to how many he sees, and write that number down on a piece of paper. He sticks the paper in a glass jar, to be opened on Easter. If he's within 100 peas of guessing correctly, he will award himself a marshmallow peep. Check.

Good morning!

Clearly, this is a touchdown.

1 comment:

  1. Talk about a pass interference. Half the distance to never reffing again for that guy.