In Other Words
Created | Updated Oct 10, 2003
After much deliberation, I have chosen a not-so common topic of discussion for
my column. I'm going to tell you all about one of my friends. We'll call him 'Nate', because
that is his name. Clever, huh.
Nate's one of those guys that everyone should meet at least once in their life. Now so far,
judging by that flowery compliment I gave, you may think that Nate is one of those saint-like
nice guys with a heart of gold. HA! Don't make me GIGGLE! He's quite the contrary; cynical,
pessimistic, waaaaaaay too cocky, has an unusually large soft spot for puppies, and is
absolutely the most hilarious guy you'll ever come in contact with. Nate's the type of guy that
could walk up to you after you've just been told that your dog was shot by the FBI and he
would have you cheered up in minutes. Unfortunately, he's also so completely sure of himself
that he'd end up taking an excruciatingly long time to properly fold a road map and would
ultimately blame it on the map. But that's just how he works.
Nate and I have had our quarrels1, but no
matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I keep reminding myself that I HATE this
kid, I cannot stay mad at him. It's like trying to stay mad at a lost homeless kitten with one
eye and a slight limp--you just can't do it.
One of Nate's defining characteristics is that he loves to hate things. I've taken the
liberty of compiling a condensed version of Nate's hate list from 2,947,863 items to 10.
- 8th graders
- Cats
- School
- School
- School
- Cats
- 8th graders
- Manual labour
- School
- Cats
Very little else occupies Nate's mind, or any of his topics of conversation. It's astounding
how one person who is so loved by all can hate so easily. Personally, I admire his
persistence.
Nate and I became acquainted on similarity terms; we were in a band, and LOVED Monty
Python2. Since
then a friendship has spawned that I cherish greatly. I don't feel whole without Nate around
to talk to (or merely look at; that in itself is a great source of entertainment). He's almost
like a drug; if I don't fulfil my weekly Nate requirements I'll start having withdrawals and get extremely grumpy3. I feel it is my duty to watch out for Nate; he may be eleven days
older than me, but he's still my little brother
.
Nate has a physical comedy sense of humour. He can't tell a story without acting it all out,
sometimes employing the use of various props like forks or steak knives, often putting his
listeners in either complete awe or great danger. His vocabulary consists mostly of
four-letter words and sound effects, but they get the message across.
Nate's a percussionist at heart; whereas one may not feel whole without their spouse,
children, best friend, or left lung, Nate doesn't feel whole without his drumsticks. Which he
uses to drum on things. All the freaking time
. If he weren't
extremely talented, we'd of all probably rammed them down his throat by now. He's pretty
ambitious; kind of going for the drummer/actor/comedian/playwright/cat-killer
profession.
It's tough to imagine life without Nate. I'd miss calling him up on the phone and being
greeted by a squeaky grunt or obscenity. I'd miss the stories he tells that he insists are
earth-shattering events whereas the rest of us pretend slightly to be interested. Yep, Nate's
going to rule the world. He'll attempt to purge the world of all stupidity, annoyance, and
seriousness and then back out at the last minute because he couldn't hurt a fly. (A moth,
maybe, but that's a different story.)
Oh, it was also Nate's birthday on the 18th, so we'll say this is my tribute to him. Here's to ol' Natie-boy. Master of all comedy, Keeper of all sharp pointy
objects, protector of all small defenceless puppies. I love ya, kid!
Your Little h2g2'er,
something.
