Then & Now
I've been seeing lots of visitors to this blog from locations that I've never been, where I don't think I know anybody. And I know I've received comments from people I don't know. So to help y'all understand who I am, I've decided to relate two stories - one from my past and one from the present. This will let you all get a glimpse into the twisted wasteland I call my psyche. But remember: once you enter the mind of Montgomery, you may never get out.
Li'l Montgomery
This is a story my mom likes to tell, so I figure it's a good one.
I was in the 6-8 year old range, and out to dinner with my family. The disciples gathered around my table were: my mom, my aunt, my uncle and my brother who shall be referred to as Wolverine.
A quick aside about Wolverine: we're Irish Twins† and he's almost a year older than me. He's much smarter than me and everybody loves him. Literally. Everybody who meets him wants to be his friend. He is currently employed at a company which is disturbingly similar to the company/companies from Office Space. I don't remember fighting with him as a kid but I do remember random petty squabbles, which kids are always doing. Back to the story:
All the adults were talking amongst themselves, whilst Wolverine and I chatted. At some point, for whatever reason, I started pointing at him. A classic sibling-annoying-sibling move. He the complained to our mom, a classic sibling response. She turned from her conversation, snapped at me to stop pointing, snapped at him to stop whining, and went back to her conversation.
Realizing that finger pointing was now forbidden, I needed to come up with an alternative approach. So slowly and subtly, I started pointing everything on the table towards him. I twisted forks to point in his direction. I pulled straws out of cups, then placed them on the rim pointing at him. I knocked over salt and pepper shakers, then aimed the top at him. Anything which could possibly be used as a pointing implement was aligned to Wolverine, like compasses toward a magnet.
When he noticed, he flipped out. He told our mother again (rightfully so), and she was once again forced to pay attention to her kids. She saw what happened and chastised me, but nowadays she claims that all the adults had a tough time holding in the laughter.
I'm proud of young me.
Big Montgomery
If I study a subject before a lecture (commonly referred to as "pre-reading" or "getting your nerd on"), I usually can't focus during lecture. It even happens in lab. I can find pictures of pathology slides online, so when we look at slides in lab I start getting bored. This is always bad.
I usually end up taking off the latex gloves and playing with them as I observe the slides on the monitors. You see, I've got Restless Hand Syndrome. I'm always fiddling with something as I try to sit still or focus on something. I do it without even thinking.
One day I decided to inflate a glove. I took it off inside out (so specimen goo is on the inside), blew it up and tied it off. Well now what? I can't very well play Glovolleyball in the middle of class. So I passed it around the table for my posse to sign. Each finger had a different name: D-Rock, Bees, Ah Jota, Kevin, and Jimmy Legs. I signed the palm.
Well now what? I can't very well hold on to an inflated, autographed glove. That's a treasure that needs to be shared. So I decided to make it a gift to another student who seems to tolerate my antics - I'll call him Chimichanga. While he was looking away, I unzipped his bag, placed it gingerly within, then sealed it off again.
It was quite fun and we all had a good laugh. So I decided to do it again. Repeatedly. For the next few weeks, I'd randomly put inflated, signed gloves in his bag. He'd laugh and take it light-heartedly. He's usually hide them on top of the room lights when he found them. He started making it more difficult for me to do: moving the bag, keeping an eye out. It was fun.
Then when day he said, "You know I don't care? I won't even try to stop you." He then placed the bag, wide open, on the back of his seat. Your reverse psychology won't work on me, Chimichanga! That day I put about 14 gloves into every compartment of his bag. It was glorious.
He responded by putting a banana peel, wrapped and sealed in a bag, on my microscope. Good times...
I would feel like I'm a jerk or like I'm bugging him, but he usually laughs as much as us. And he has retaliated, so he's fair game. Maybe today I'll confirm that I'm not getting on his nerves, just in case.
I need to come up with a way to take it to the next level...
Analysis
I haven't changed much these last 15ish years. I care more about not upsetting people, but I still enjoy the same shenanigans. I'm okay with that. I don't want to grow up. I'm a Toys "R" Us Kid.
†for more info on Irish Twins, go to this Wikipedia page, which I'm 80% sure was created by Senator George Allen
Li'l Montgomery
This is a story my mom likes to tell, so I figure it's a good one.
I was in the 6-8 year old range, and out to dinner with my family. The disciples gathered around my table were: my mom, my aunt, my uncle and my brother who shall be referred to as Wolverine.
A quick aside about Wolverine: we're Irish Twins† and he's almost a year older than me. He's much smarter than me and everybody loves him. Literally. Everybody who meets him wants to be his friend. He is currently employed at a company which is disturbingly similar to the company/companies from Office Space. I don't remember fighting with him as a kid but I do remember random petty squabbles, which kids are always doing. Back to the story:
All the adults were talking amongst themselves, whilst Wolverine and I chatted. At some point, for whatever reason, I started pointing at him. A classic sibling-annoying-sibling move. He the complained to our mom, a classic sibling response. She turned from her conversation, snapped at me to stop pointing, snapped at him to stop whining, and went back to her conversation.
Realizing that finger pointing was now forbidden, I needed to come up with an alternative approach. So slowly and subtly, I started pointing everything on the table towards him. I twisted forks to point in his direction. I pulled straws out of cups, then placed them on the rim pointing at him. I knocked over salt and pepper shakers, then aimed the top at him. Anything which could possibly be used as a pointing implement was aligned to Wolverine, like compasses toward a magnet.
When he noticed, he flipped out. He told our mother again (rightfully so), and she was once again forced to pay attention to her kids. She saw what happened and chastised me, but nowadays she claims that all the adults had a tough time holding in the laughter.
I'm proud of young me.
Big Montgomery
If I study a subject before a lecture (commonly referred to as "pre-reading" or "getting your nerd on"), I usually can't focus during lecture. It even happens in lab. I can find pictures of pathology slides online, so when we look at slides in lab I start getting bored. This is always bad.
I usually end up taking off the latex gloves and playing with them as I observe the slides on the monitors. You see, I've got Restless Hand Syndrome. I'm always fiddling with something as I try to sit still or focus on something. I do it without even thinking.
One day I decided to inflate a glove. I took it off inside out (so specimen goo is on the inside), blew it up and tied it off. Well now what? I can't very well play Glovolleyball in the middle of class. So I passed it around the table for my posse to sign. Each finger had a different name: D-Rock, Bees, Ah Jota, Kevin, and Jimmy Legs. I signed the palm.
Well now what? I can't very well hold on to an inflated, autographed glove. That's a treasure that needs to be shared. So I decided to make it a gift to another student who seems to tolerate my antics - I'll call him Chimichanga. While he was looking away, I unzipped his bag, placed it gingerly within, then sealed it off again.
It was quite fun and we all had a good laugh. So I decided to do it again. Repeatedly. For the next few weeks, I'd randomly put inflated, signed gloves in his bag. He'd laugh and take it light-heartedly. He's usually hide them on top of the room lights when he found them. He started making it more difficult for me to do: moving the bag, keeping an eye out. It was fun.
Then when day he said, "You know I don't care? I won't even try to stop you." He then placed the bag, wide open, on the back of his seat. Your reverse psychology won't work on me, Chimichanga! That day I put about 14 gloves into every compartment of his bag. It was glorious.
He responded by putting a banana peel, wrapped and sealed in a bag, on my microscope. Good times...
I would feel like I'm a jerk or like I'm bugging him, but he usually laughs as much as us. And he has retaliated, so he's fair game. Maybe today I'll confirm that I'm not getting on his nerves, just in case.
I need to come up with a way to take it to the next level...
Analysis
I haven't changed much these last 15ish years. I care more about not upsetting people, but I still enjoy the same shenanigans. I'm okay with that. I don't want to grow up. I'm a Toys "R" Us Kid.
†for more info on Irish Twins, go to this Wikipedia page, which I'm 80% sure was created by Senator George Allen
posted by Montgomery at 8:08 AM
4 Comments:
We, your loyal readers, are spreading the "Good Word" of Monty. I personally have converted a plethora of individuals ready to recieve your blessings and guidance. I am in training now, and plan to go on my mission shortly.
I hope they send me to Bountiful, Canada or Colorado City, Arizona.
Hey Monty---
you better be careful!! I think you can be fined for using the word "Chimichanga" now. If its not fined then its certainly beheading...or maybe you'll have to help build a 10-foot wall just south of "nogales". Instead of "Chimichanga" you could try "american meatloaf". now doesn't that sound better??
Kate: thanks for spreading the gospel!
Peasley: I like to call them "liberty logs."
oooh! liberty logs!!! i like it
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