Countdown To The Police!
(Click on the link above! I know I will!)
What cracks me up about my last post is the very first sentence:
"Look, if I were to come into, say, hugging distance of Stewart Copeland (and I know there's not much chance of that happening; this is a hypothetical situation), I just want to state for the record that I know that there's a fine line between enthusiasm and assaulting someone."
I mean, I could've just stopped writing, right there, because it doesn't get much funnier than this: "Hugging" distance? What exactly is that? Less than 100 yards? Less than 100 feet? Will I run? Are you picturing the slo-mo replay of me dashing down the 5,000 stairs from my - seriously: nosebleed - seat in Dodger Stadium? By the time I got to the stage, AS IF THAT WERE EVEN POSSIBLE, I would probably have about 10 security guards all over me. I mean, I know I'm a dreamer, but a runner? Hell no.
To even use the word "assault" - It's like me saying, "Look, I know I'm a tad bit crazy. But you can understand, can't you? Give me a break, OK?"
And then I wrote these magical words:
"I know there's not much of a chance..." As if - as if there's a teeny, tiny, eensy weensy chance of anything remotely related to my meeting Stewart Copeland could ever happen! OK, so maybe I'll meet a lookalike. Or maybe, when they're playing "Message In a Bottle," I'll hit all the accents on the right beats while I'm air drumming [generally I don't air drum in public; why do you think I got the windows tinted on my car? Beer at Dodger Stadium will probably be $100 a glass; chances are I'm going to be stone-cold sober that night, with my little heart beating, driving Patrick insane. He might leave me that night: look for me, on the side of the road, trying to bum a ride home, because I will probably push each and every one of that wonderful man's buttons that night. Psycho Wife will be on the prowl, I can assure you]: I have a shot at that happening.
All I know is, I gotta get working on my "Copeland is God" t-shirt. Time is tick-tick-ticking away!
