Just woke up from a doozy:
I was George Washington, including tri-cornered hat. (I played him in our second-grade series of plays for the Bicentennial—what a disaster; perhaps more on that later). I was assembling the Continental Army for a march to Trenton to confront the Redcoats. Now, Trenton is approximately 30 miles from here; in reality, I'd be happy to be able to walk to the nearest Wawa. The odds against our rebel army were long, as evidenced by the fact that as I waited for their elevator to reach the ground floor, I could hear them whooping it up inside—not the sound of minds prepared for battle. I had ordered assembly at 8:00; now many minutes past that, I solemnly muttered, "I said eight o'clock..."—they didn't seem to feel any remorse. (Why was I, Commanding General of the Army, muttering?) Another potential problem with my army was that, when they stepped out of the elevator, they were donning red uniforms—the logistical headaches of which I need not elaborate on.
After the army came to attention (there were only about a dozen soldiers, including women, and although now magically dressed in uniforms other than red coats, they looked anything but soldiers), I brandished my sword and began a short but moving speech concerning the dangers of what we were about to undertake. My voice was not my own. At one point, I declared that if anyone wishes to now back out of this rebellion, "I will not think less of him." Instantly, the heavy-set soldier to the extreme right, next to the wall between the pair of elevator doors, passed out, sliding along the wall to the floor. Strange thing is, his quick demise much resembled that of portly, wheezing "Dr. Swanson," the hypnotherapist who falls over dead in Office Space, but he was dressed just like portly, wheezing "Dr. Philipse" from Sleepy Hollow. (Probably just as well—how would he have made a 30-mile march?) Anway, my baritone speech concluded with, "...then let us tell our enemy to get out of our land," and I began leading my troops through the lobby, at which point, I woke up.
Last night, I brought a bottle of wine to the hosts of a Chanukkah party I attended. I'd acquired the bottle at Crossing Vineyards and Winery, which is located in Washington Crossing, PA, approximately a mile from the spot where Washington led his men across the Delaware, en route to attacking the Hessians at Trenton. So that explains the scenario. At the party, we watched several "YouTube" videos, including a comically redone trailer of Office Space, which included the snippet of Dr. Swanson keeling over. Another video was "Ten Things I Hate About Commandments," a re-edited trailer of The Ten Commandments that combined the two films (from the makers of Must Love Jaws). I believe that was the source of my deep voice and final heroic line, much in the spirit of Charlton Heston's "Let my people go!"
What I can't figure out is, where do all of the latkes I ate last night fit in?
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8 comments:
You know, I once paraded myself to victory in a tri-cornered hat. Except the "victory" was passing out on a dorm room floor at Drexel University, and the "parade" was me marching humming "Yankee Doodle" down a hall and into the pantry area where a puzzled student making 4AM Mac'n'Cheese looked on with fear.
Pat parading himself to victory in a tri-cornered hat reminds me of another patriotic Pat in a tricorne -- a little man named Pat the Patriot who used to adorn the New England Patriots helmet. That Pat paraded himself right to Super Bowl XX, only to pass out on the Superdome floor from a 46-10 mauling at the paws of "Da Bears."
Legend has it the Patriots defensive line was eating Mac'n'Cheese in the French Quarter until 4 AM the night before the game. They never stood a chance come opening kickoff.
When the Patriots returned to Louisiana's "Big Cheesy" for Super Bowl XXXVI, Rams fans tried to push Mac'n'Cheese on New England players at every opportunity, but Bill Belichick's well-coached crew -- drilled endlessly during the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl to refuse all offerings of single-serving boxed pasta and processed cheese -- couldn't be tempted (even though Tom Brady confessed after the game that "it sure looked mouth-watering").
Thus, a dynasty was born.
I love the idea of a muttering General Washington.
George Washington could never tell a lie....but I'll bet he muttered a few.
Yeah. The Revolutionary War could have been all one big misunderstanding. Washington could have been muttering "I think we should run away like scared little girls" and the army heard "Forge a perimeter around Trenton and begin the attack on the State building on my mark!"
Considering how superstitious people were back then, it's amazing that the English Crown and the colonists settled on thirteen colonies. Even in our modern, enlightened world, some elevators "skip" the 13th floor. I'm surprised that the Crown didn't skip a 13th colony and make Georgia the 14th, when it was chartered in 1732.
Then again, Horatio Gates defiantly marched his men under a series of ladders set up by General Burgoyne and still whipped the British at Saratoga.
True, but they weren't a very inventive bunch. Even when they put all their heads together, 90% of the time the only names they could come up with were "New" versions of places in England.
I'm just glad that among those early settlers from England weren't the ancestors of Robert Englund. Imagine had they founded New Englund. There'd now be millions of Englush-speaking Freddy Kruegers running around the Northeast.
On second thought, that might not be such a bad thing -- attach small shovel blades to those millions of metal claws, and the Big Dig would be dug by now...
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