Nineteen years later, Ahmed Best has divulged that he considered suicide after the backlash against his character Jar Jar Binks. This should be a wake-up call to people to stop being douchebags. It makes me grateful that I was never a part of the backlash. I loved Jar Jar Binks. He was the funniest person, so to speak, that six year old me had ever seen. I still don't think he's even as annoying as C-3PO in "The Empire Strikes Back", aka still the best Star Wars movie ever. But that's just my opinion.
Amazon sent me a new Legend of Zelda Encyclopedia to replace the damaged one, so I forgive them. Though I'm only about halfway through this dense tome, I really cannot recommend it highly enough to anyone who is interested in this franchise. And why wouldn't you be? It's not only the greatest video game franchise, but the greatest franchise of any kind in the history of ever. The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Michael Moore's documentaries don't even come close. But that's just my opinion.
On that note, I was wondering recently why Japanese people make most of the characters in their cartoons and comics and video games look Caucasian. And I looked it up and the main answer I found, which sounds legit enough for me to accept, is that they don't. Caucasians think of the default person as Caucasian while Japanese think of the default person as Japanese, so they perceive the cartoon people, who aren't meant to look strictly true to life anyway, differently. This blows my mind and makes perfect sense. But that's just my opinion.
I had another adventure on Independence Day, which no longer means much to me now that the leaders of this country are hell-bent on wiping themselves with the principles this country was founded on. I have mentioned before my attempts to befriend a recovering drug addict. At this point, my persistence has gotten her to respond to my texts more consistently when she isn't in jail or with whooping cough, but my attempts to hang out with her have fallen through time and again because she acts spontaneously and can't keep plans. So I spontaneously dropped by her carcinogen-ridden apartment Wednesday morning to invite her to the free breakfast that the Boy Scouts put on. I knocked, and there was no answer, and then I knocked harder and a muffled voice that didn't quite sound like her asked what I wanted and said it was a holiday. I wondered how that could possibly be relevant when she doesn't have a job. But I explained why I was here and she said to come back later.
So I got breakfast and came back an hour later. This time, the owner of the voice invited me in. The owner of the voice was not my friend. The owner of the voice was an upper middle-aged woman with two teeth who was sleeping in the front room next to my friend, who was still sleeping. I never got her name so I'll call her Shirley. Shirley shook my friend and talked to her, but she just groaned and rolled over a couple times. So Shirley asked if she could come with me instead. I didn't know how to say no. So we left and she offered me a Mountain Dew from the stash hidden under a pile of garbage outside, and I guess that was worth it. I'm more of a Dr. Pepper guy but Mountain Dew is cool too. It always reminds me of the time my friend, a different friend back in New York ten years ago now, was with us on a road trip to Youth Conference and we stopped at my dad's friends' house and hung out in their basement, and he chugged a can and a half of Mountain Dew and then remarked, "You guys know I'm diabetic, right?" We did now. Then he had a breakdown and laughed hysterically at nothing for half an hour. Ah, memories. Anyway...
"Where is it?" she asked. I said it was at the LDS Church at such-and-such address. Shirley said that was too far; wasn't it way on the other side of McDonald's? No, it wasn't. I tried to explain where it actually was, but I think she was drunk or high and I didn't think it would be much use. So I spinelessly went along with her as she suggested going to a closer church building instead. She said there would probably be food there too, as "There's always something going on at the LDS Church, right?" I knew there wouldn't be, so I suggested that if there wasn't I could give her the mostly intact pancake I was still carrying around. She said she would like that. I didn't offer so much out of generosity as a worry that she would start freaking out when we got there and there was no food.
We got there and there was no food. So we sat down on the grass and Shirley ate my pancake. As I patiently waited, she continued telling me her life story. How she met my friend in prison, and is turning 51 in a month, and is becoming a grandmother shortly after that, and wants to quit smoking, and is LDS but hasn't been to church in many years. She asked what music I was listening to on my phone. I felt a little awkward saying "Barenaked Ladies" out loud, but I did and she said "Let's hear it" so I took out the headphones and pressed play. It was their 2006 album "Barenaked Ladies Are Me", a really mellow and beautiful and soothing album. She really got into it and started dancing. Then she was finished with the pancake, and she wanted to flag somebody down for a ride back, but I didn't want to deal with that so I changed the subject and we walked.
My friend was still asleep. As Shirley went to lie back down, she remarked, "Maybe you don't even know her." That possibility didn't seem to disturb her in the slightest, though. She said thanks and I said it was nice to meet her and I left. I probably doomed myself to cancer with the time I spent standing in that hallway, if my grossly inconsiderate neighbors haven't already done it. The landlord should be in jail for allowing such conditions to exist. But that's just my opinion.
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About the Author
C. Randall Nicholson is a white cisgender male and a Latter-day Saint, so you can hate him without guilt, but he's also autistic, so you can't. Unless you're an anti-vaxxer, in which case the feeling is mutual. This blog is where he periodically rants about life, the universe, and/or everything.