Dire straights

Mega props to Geoff for pointing out my old fogey-ness. Very timely, actually. Though, to be fair, I kept saying "friggin" because I am, in a move that is somewhat out of character, trying to keep the rating on this blog a shade above an R. That's not easy to do, especially considering the number of F bombs I tend to drop on a daily (well, hourly) basis. I have a horribly foul mouth.

Anyway.

Two points come of this.

First, now that my week is over, I can look back and comment on last weekend. I went up to Chapel Hill and got to meet Sarah's brothers, both of whom were awesome. This was a good time. Seriously. It was great to finally get to meet them and hang out. We have a lot of the same interests and we got along very well. I had a great time all weekend.

Second, I learned a sad truth about myself.

For much of my life, I have used the term "rockin", or, more formally, "rocking" to describe a state of mind or being. It's also a handy verb, e.g. "So and so ROCKS!" I frequently part company with those I care for with an earnest encouragement to "Keep on Rocking in the Free World." Also, I like rock music. A lot. And, in a way, I have always, at least in some sense, believed that I, in fact, "rock" to a certain degree.

Well, bad news. I don't rock. ...as much, or at all.

This falls in line with the old fogey nature of my last post. I had never looked at the world from a "damn kids and their rock music" perspective before. Well, all that ended when I first played Guitar Hero I and II this past weekend.

I was terrible. Really, I'm, seriously you guys, terrible. God awful. It was lame to the extreme.

For someone who played a fucking (there, I said it) stringed instrument (for seven fucking years, I might add), and also considers himself a legitimate gamer, it was perhaps the most wretchedly pathetic performance imaginable. Fortunately, it was just Matt, Mark, and myself (though it was a little embarrassing to flop like that in front of two people I barely know), or I might have shamed myself beyond all reason.

I still shiver at the memory.

So, ultimately, I am not a Guitar Hero.

I hope and pray that this does not, however, hurt my chances of becoming a Jukebox Hero...and anyone who's been to The Pub with me will know that I can drop quarters into a jukebox with the best of them (and play the same three songs every time...Panama, Rock n' Roll, and When the Levee Breaks).

Still, my feeling about my own "rockin" nature has, yes, turned Cold as Ice. Though I'm not really willing to sacrifice anything.

Hot Blooded? Not so much, it would seem.

And furthermore, I promise NOT to threaten to take Jeff Prisoner of Love, especially not at his wedding.