Author: Brian

All through the day, I wondered about the details of the task that had been set out for me. Do I set aside a specific time for the three hours? Is it just the ones I notice, or do I have to make a special effort to look at everyone in sight?

I knew Kevin wouldn’t be picky, in fact, he’d be interested in how I processed the instructions as much as he would be intrigued by the results.

In the morning on the bus, I forgot about my task until I saw someone wearing red and black together. But then I decided that I didn’t want to start the clock on first noticing. I wanted to start a timer and then notice.

At work I spent most of the day in a basement with, at most, four or five other people. Not a good test. I did make a run outside to take our work van in for a quick service, but there wasn’t a lot of opportunities for people-watching while I drove back and forth. So that was out.

I did go out for lunch – but that’s only one hour, at most. Not enough time. Wait – maybe Kevin meant three hours total, not three consecutive hours? But that seemed too much of a reach.

Slowly the day drained away. And that evening I was planning on spending with Kevin, the man who had set the task out for me. It seemed almost unfair to perform the task while trying to enjoy the evening with my friend.

And on the other hand, it was perfect.

So he picked me up shortly after 4:00 PM, and I told him that I had not yet done the red-and-black-observing. I told him it would start at 5:00 PM and run until 8:00 PM.

At dinner, I had to keep interrupting my story to make a notation on my iPhone (the only thing I had handy to make notes on, lacking a pen and paper – no way could I keep track of the totals for red-wearers, black-wearers and both-red-and-black-wearers for three whole hours), which caused Kevin to smile, every time.

He manfully tried to not direct my attention, although he slipped once or twice. But he was a good sport about it. And it caused many light moments.

At one point, as we were walking through a park, we were approached by a woman walking three dogs. In the fading daylight, I tried to determine if she had red or black on, or both, and I was surprised when she looked our direction, appeared to look at me, and smile and said “Hi!” as if she knew me. Um, actually, she knew Kevin, had once worked with him, and they stopped to exchange pleasantries while I secretly put her down in the “both” category.

And, damn, navy blue is hard to tell from black at a distance. Just sayin’.

In the end, the final tallies are:

Red: 4
Black: 20
Both: 10

Kevin, what does a coffee table say?

I don’t really buy things online. I’ve sold things online, and I remember buying a GPS unit from eBay once, but it arrived broken and I had to return it.

But one thing I do do, a lot, is online dating. More in the past than lately. But yeah.

So the best thing I ever got through craigslist would have to be… Making out with a ballerina on my couch.

I’ll always treasure that memory.

Kevin, write about the cover story on the 12 November 2008 Willamette Week and offer your opinion about the topic.

There was the time I and my sister brushed Kevin’s teeth.

Sadly, many details have been lost in the mists of time.

Kevin was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 years old, which would make me around 8 to 8 1/2 years old, since Kevin and I were born exactly 6 years apart, to the day. That would make my sister 9 to 9 1/2 years old, which seems kinda young to be babysitting a 2-year-old, so maybe we were older, because I’m almost positive that there were no adults around and my sister and I were in charge of Kevin.

I remember being there in the bathroom and helping Kevin get ready for bed, and my sister getting his toothbrush and looking for toothpaste.

Maybe the parents were busy and elsewhere in the house, or apartment. Yeah, it was more of an apartment. When I first started thinking about this memory, I was sure we were in our apartment, by which I mean Lisa and mine, but it’s possible that we were in his, by which I mean his and his parents, apartment. Because why else would Kevin’s toothbrush be there?

But perhaps he was staying the night and my sister found the toothbrush in some kind of bag or kit, a travel kit. Because next she pulled out a pale yellow tube and applied some of the paste inside to the toothbrush.

I remember the look on Kevin’s young face, sitting on the edge of the counter in his footed pajamas, and looking at me and my sister in silence as she asked him to open up, and then proceeded to brush his teeth for him. He did not appear to enjoy the experience. I was almost eye level with him, his head only a little higher than mine, even though I was standing and he was sitting on the high bathroom basin.

And I’m pretty sure that I was the one who read the yellow tube and discovered that this “toothpaste” was manufactured by a company called “Desitin”. Which I announced to my sister.

Who reacted in shock and laughter!

Desitin doesn’t make toothpaste. It makes diaper rash ointment. Which was now in Kevin’s mouth.

It was a simple mistake.

I mean, really, why would such young kids have responsibility for an even younger child? There’s bound to be mistakes made. It might’ve been so much worse, but now it’s just funny.

At least, I think it’s funny.

Kevin, relate your earliest memory.

Bal • a • cast (BAL • uh • kast): 1. verb, tr.The specific act of throwing a pamphlet, esp. a ballot for voting, against a wall or through a window, as if in anger, disgust, or chagrin at the options displayed thereon. 2. verb, intr. A metaphoric way of describing anger, disgust or chagrin at the available options for voting.

“If I go through one more primary season holding my nose and voting for the least of two evils, I swear I will balacast so hard I will never get my cleaning deposit back.”

Kevin, write about the top, front page headline on today’s Oregonian and give your personal perspective on the topic.

Tracy and I were walking back to our hotel from the concert late last night, dark streets in an unfamiliar downtown. A white sedan, maybe a decade old, pulled up alongside us and I heard a man’s voice call out. “Excuse me, can you tell us how to get to–” I stepped towards the sidewalk, between Tracy and the car, and yelled, my voice cracking and hoarse from yelling lyrics I knew well. “I’m sorry, we’re not from here!” As the car drove off I turned to Tracy and laughed, “Why am I always getting asked directions?”

Jack and Ben were lost in an unfamiliar city, driving in circles among tall buildings that blocked the gray sky. Jack, piloting their battered sedan, implored Ben to ask for help but so far Ben had refused. Jack, impatient, decided to pull near a man in red and black with a snappy hat walking with a redheaded woman in a sky blue shirt. Ben sullenly rolled down the window and started to ask directions, but the man lurched towards the car and yelled out menacingly, “You’re not from around here!” Jack, startled, accelerated away as Ben rolled up the window against the cold night air. A full five minutes passed before Ben finally glared at his friend and grumbled, “I told you we shouldn’t have bothered the natives!”

Kevin, write a post as if you were an animal, but without explaining which animal. Give enough information for the reader to guess.

My apologies for this one being late. Yesterday Tracy and I drove to Seattle to see one of our favorite bands, Harvey Danger, play their 10th anniversary show. I’ll have a separate post on that later.

Also, I did not finish the nonsense poem, or “amphigoury”, that Kevin challenged me to. So to keep moving, I’m posting what I had, incomplete.

Mr. McBlogger
lived with a logger
on Stark, in a 10th story condo.

Said the young logger
to his roommate Mcblogger
“I crave a burrito, mas mondo.”

Kevin, Google your name, click “I’m feeling lucky”, and blog about the result.