The Book of Awesome (17 page)

The Price Is Right
is one massive climax of games, prizes, and tuna fish ads. But you find yourself cheering along and guessing the price of that leather ottoman, yelling for the big wheel to stop on $1.00, and crossing your fingers for the announcer to unveil a game of Plinko or, yes . . . a new car!

And yeah, I know it’s different now, but come on, for how many years did
The Price Is Right
represent some solid, rock-like consistency in this mad, mad, mad, mad world? There was Rod Roddy’s sequined blazer, the wildly panning camera looking for the next contestant, Bob Barker’s
skinny microphone
, and shots of the family in the audience madly screaming advice to help our hapless contestant win a four-piece bedroom set.

It just never changed.

And so whether you were six with the chicken pox, nine with the flu, twelve with a broken arm, or fifteen with menstrual cramps, you could count on sixty solid minutes with the company of that old seventies set,
lots of one
-
dollar bets
, and advice to neuter your pet, all crunched into the best sick-day game show yet!

AWESOME!

Oh, you know the one.

It’s full to the brim with a melty smear of butter and drenched in a puddle of thick syrup.

Good move saving it for last.

AWESOME!

You know when you get caught in the rain and your fabulous hairdo turns into a wet, frizzy mess? Well, I say that’s a good thing. Because hear me out.

Let’s talk about how much time, money, and effort we put into the managing and upkeep of our golden locks of
dead skin cells
. How about a lot? Now, don’t get me wrong, I play the game too. I wash my hair, condition it up, gel it up, shake it up. I prepare it for the day and check in periodically to see how it’s doing. Any rogue locks, fallen bangs? What’s new in the slowly-going-bald corners? How’s that
back-of-the-neck beard
coming in this month? I spend too much time on it and my hair still looks like a squirrel that’s been run over on the highway for a few weeks.

Our pals over at Wikipedia make hair sound like
the sun
or
fresh water
, saying in their snooty tone that head hair has “gained an important significance in nearly all present societies as well as any given historical period throughout the world.” But then again, those lovable eggheads can make anything sound pretty serious. It’s just hair, after all.

I say maybe the army got it right when they instituted crew cuts after World War I trench warfare gave everyone
lice and fleas
. Maybe there’s something to be said about the no-maintenance plan, the low-maintenance plan, or the no plan at all. Because whenever I walk by someone with hair just flying everywhere, all unkempt and full of knots, dirty dreads, and
dead leaves
, I get jealous for a second. Think of the free time they have! I mean sure, they stick out, but what if we all got in the game? Then maybe everyone’s garden would look immaculate, gyms would get really crowded, and libraries would run out of books. We’d just have to put up with all these shaggy, scraggly Sasquatches walking around, that’s all.

And that’s what I kind of like about rain hair. It’s a temporary escape from the
Hair Prison
we live in. When everyone shows up at the movies or mall with wet and frizzy flyaways, hair matted to their foreheads, and
hair spray dripping and stinging their eyes
, it’s like, yeah, we all look like a mess.

But that rain sure does wash away expectations too.

AWESOME!

Hey there, neighbor. Thanks a lot for paying for that massive, expensive pool! Great job installing it, heating it, chlorinating it, vacuuming it, and skimming it. You sure it’s cool if I take you up on that offer to swing by for a quick dip?

AWESOME!

I have a problem.

Within seconds of meeting somebody I completely forget their name.

Sure, I introduce myself,
shake hands
, and jump right into conversation, but I can’t fully concentrate because I realize their name has immediately disappeared from my memory. Cursing myself, I silently scan my frontal lobe, but my pink and lumpy mush is
bright white
and empty.

So I smile and nod along, but inside I’m frustrated. And it’s even worse when they use my name right away. “So Neil, where you from?” they’ll ask innocently, but I’m too busy combing through cobweb-covered spare parts in
Skull Factory
to properly answer them. My eye contact drifts and I get distracted and fidgety.

It’s at these desperate times that I try one of the three
Name-Teasing Techniques
I’ve learned over the years:

Sure, these techniques look easy, but the truth is that they’re awkward and embarrassing to use with no guaranteed results. Let’s be honest, it’s much more satisfying to actually remember and drop their name right at the beginning of a sentence with confidence, like you’ve been old friends for years.

Then they’ll look back at you with beaming eyes and a bright smile that shows you two are getting to know each other. Hey, maybe you’ll see each other again, maybe you’ll become friends, maybe you’ll do business, maybe you’ll start dating.

All because you remembered their name at the party.

Nice move, you.

AWESOME!

Tired and groggy, you’re driving late at night, whipping down side streets and back paths to get home a bit faster, your eyelids drooping, your body achy and sore. Occasionally there are headlights in the opposite direction,
blurry whiz-by streaks
of bright white—shift workers, truck drivers, and party animals all riding the lonely roads, trying to get somewhere quick.

Then suddenly an approaching car
flashes its high beams
at you. Blinded, you sit up, awake and alert, checking all your mirrors, slowing the car down. What’s going on, you wonder, until a few seconds later when you pass a cop car with its lights off, sitting on the side of the road, a patient and silent predator waiting for its prey.

“Thank you,” you whisper under your breath as you drive by under the speed limit. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Part of what makes this great is the fact that
the flasher
is going the opposite way and can’t really get the favor returned. You don’t know him or her, him or her don’t know you, but they sort of threw the favor out there, a warm passing smile on a dark drive, no payback required or expected. It’s just
The Late-Night Driver’s Pact
, a rebellious fight-thapolice stance that helps everyone out in the pocketbook a bit.

So you smile as you drive on, and when you see another car heading in the opposite direction, you know what to do.

Flash them high beams, sister. Flash them bright and light up the night.

AWESOME!

The Man Couch is any couch
conveniently located near the change rooms in a women’s clothing store
.

You can tell which one’s The Man Couch because it’s generally covered in man. Most are either text messaging,
illegally napping
, or staring straight ahead, jaws dropped, pupils dilated, completely zoned out, their arms full of purses and bags from other stores.

Now, The Man Couch really is good for everybody:

For
women
, it gives them a convenient place to find their male shopping companion. There they are, right outside the change room! This is much better than having to track them down in the
magazine section
of the bookstore or in the line for fries at the food court. Also, it’s great knowing your purse is safe and there’s an opinion available if you want it.

For guys, The Man Couch is a place of solace and comfort. Its giving cushions provide a quiet reprieve from the unrelenting
Day of Shopping
. Surrounding guys are fellow travelers with worn-weary eyes telling cautionary tales of
Seven-Sweater Fashion Shows
and
Lineups for Hemming
. Yeah, it’s a tired, quiet gang sitting there in the couch hostel at the back of the store.

So thank you, Man Couch. Without you our calves would be burning
even more
, our boyfriends would be at the
record store
, and we’d all be
sitting on the floor
.

The Man Couch, ladies and gentlemen!

AWESOME!

Close your eyes, dip your head in the sink, and relax as that warm shower gets sprayed all over your scalp. Then just smile softly as the hairdresser tenderly rubs and massages your head with shampoo and conditioner. Relax, unwind, and detensify as you slowly climax toward
Total Scalp Actualization
.

AWESOME!

Look, there it is, wedged way down in the couch cushions this whole time.

AWESOME!

Did you know you have two yellow
nine-volt-battery-sized
adrenal glands in your body, just chilling out, maxin’ and relaxin’ all cool on top of your kidneys? Someone told me this and I checked it out. Turns out it’s true.

It seems as though your adrenal glands are kind of like those
British Royal Guards
with the big black fuzzy hats who stand like statues in front of Buckingham Palace. They just stand there quietly, not doing much really, just enjoying the
brown slippery beach
that is your kidneys.

However, if anything startling should happen that requires your attention—like you’re about to give a speech at a wedding,
a twig cracks outside your tent
, or your doorbell rings in the middle of the night—then they leap into action, jumping out of their peaceful slumber to squeeze a big dose of adrenaline right into your body, pumping you up and turning you into a primal warrior-like version of yourself.

When tension runs high and adrenaline is secreted into your body, some crazy things can happen, which is sometimes called the
fight-or-flight
response:

What’s also great about adrenaline is that you don’t have to control it. It kicks into high gear when it figures you need a boost. I think it’s kind of cool knowing that your body will help you out when you need it most.
Punch me in the face
and suddenly my internal British Royal Guard tosses away his fuzzy black cap, cracks his neck, and rolls up his sleeves.

And really, isn’t it that little dose of adrenaline that helps you do a better job when you need it most? It’s a
natural upper
, helping you nail the big speech, ace the final exam, or perhaps flee both of those scenes.