The vlog that wasn't…
So, I tried to make a little video post last night. But, my old webcam was being an asshole.
It’s kind of sad because I felt pretty yesterday.
Instead, I am going to write about what I was going to talk about.
Yeah, a bunch more rambling text from me.
If you have seen any of my vlogs before, you may be thinking how unrehearsed they look. Soooo natural.
Maybe you should sit down for this part…
I generally outline what I am going to talk about. I sometimes even use notes.
I’m like a 14 year old boy calling a girl for the first time. Voice cracking. Reading over cue cards that I spent hours preparing, before finally saying…
“So… don’t you just hate mean people?”
That was, of course, a hypothetical situation.
However, the tics and obnoxious facial expressions in my vlogs… all ad libbed! For real!
This is what I was going to talk about in my vlog:
I was going to start by mentioning that I realized how crappy the resolution is on my cam. Then I was going to make some joke about not thinking that my mug could stand up to the scrutiny of a hi-deffer webcam.
This was going to segue into me pointing out various scars and telling their stories.
Middle of forehead — When I was 4, my grandparents lived next door. It was after 8 one stormy winter night. I was with my grandparents watching the Peanuts Christmas special (“Mrs. Claus is a Whore, Charlie Brown”) and, if history is any indication, being treated like the boy king of Nova Scotia.
Explaining just how spoiled I was would take a whole series of blog posts.
At some point my parents decided that they could again put up with my annoying little ass and called for me to come home. I’m assuming that my grandmother bundled me up like a 3 foot mummy and pointed me in the direction of my house. Again, it was 50-100 feet across a lawn to my back door. I don’t actually remember any of this, but from family legends I have been able to piece together the main points of the story.
My father was watching for me out the back door. As my little legs got to the top of the steps, he opened the door — just as a huge gust of wind blew up. The door swung out of his hand and the handle hit me in the middle of the forehead and sent me flying through the air. I landed flat on my back in the driveway.
Cut open forehead. Stitches.
And for years I believed that story. But now… thinking and writing about it… My Dad was — and still is, really — a big burly dude. It would have taken quite a gust of wind to tear the door out of his hand.
Is it too late to call child services on that one?
Back of ear — I’ve watched a good number of different sports played with balls. But, I have never seen one that involved trying to kick the ball out of a dude’s hands AFTER he is tackled. And, if such a sport did exist, I am relatively sure that it wouldn’t involve missing said ball and practically tearing off his ear. This is what my friend did to me.
I was twelve. My ear was smaller then. 7 stitches covered a lot of ground. Ears are not supposed to come away from the rest of the head like that, I’m pretty sure.
Of course you wouldn’t see this scar unless we were being a little closer than a vlog. You know what I’m sayin’? You KNOW.
Top of noggin — (Peter points to it.) This one I got playing basketball in high school. I took an elbow. Which I probably deserved, since one of my favourite things was throwing elbows. Get a rebound. Swing elbows wildly to clear space. You could legally crack people. It was way more fun than I should admit.
The referee checked me for a concussion and stuff. I think I played the rest of the game, because I only got stitched up when I got back to my town. I really don’t remember this very well at all. Perhaps he should have checked more closely for that concussion.
Bottom lip — When I was… 14? Maybe. Something in that area. I was playing street hockey near my house with my cousin and a friend. I was being all Wayne Gretzky behind the net. I passed the ball out to my cousin and he took a hard slap shot. Which, of course, missed the net and smashed me in the mouth.
Most of you have never seen an orange hockey ball, much less been hammered in the pie hole with one. Let me tell you… not very pleasant. Plus it was very cold out. So, the ball was half frozen and even harder than usual.
I spit out a little piece of tooth and was surprised by all the blood that joined it.
I’m still missing the little piece. I think it looks badass!
So, yeah, stitches in my bottom lip.
I should mention that I had only recently gotten my braces off. My mother lost her mind and bought me a mouth guard the very next day. She went all GOB Bluth on me.
“You think I spent $3000 on braces just to have you lose your teeth playing street hockey? Come on!”
She demanded that I wear it when playing basketball.
“You think I spent $4000 on braces just to have you lose your teeth to an elbow? Come on!”
She was everywhere.
“That girl you are dating looks a little loose. Wear your mouth guard. Come on!”
So, that was going to be my vlog post.
I hope that you read it in an (alleged) Canadian accent.