Complete and utter decimation
Okay, I guess there were a few funny stories from the weekend.
On Friday Frank and I hit the Gaslite with Nell, Brooke, Whitney and some guy I was never actually introduced to. Or if I was introduced, I immediately forgot his name. Those that know me will guess that the latter actually occurred. I can offer no opinion.
Anyway, after the bar we went back to the gals apartment, and while Whitney went to bed and the unknown fellow left, the rest of us engaged in a friendly game of Charades. While there weren't official teams, and no score was kept, some cold, hard truths became apparent after only a few short rounds.
1) Brooke and I are some sort of hive-mind charade decimation machine, able to discern what the other is thinking with the slightest glance or guesture.
2) Nell and Frank can't play a decent round of charades to save their lives.
Seriously, it was embarassing. We were playing so that whoever guessed the answer would go up next, and the first several rounds were Brooke, me, Brooke, me, Brooke, me, and on and on. It's not that Nell and Frank aren't bright people, it's just that each has a specific weakness that makes them particularly poor at charades. Frank, for example, is extremely poor at processing physical guestures into concrete spoken language. In short, he's a shitty guesser.
Nell's problem is in the actual charading itself. She will make logical leaps in her own mind as to the best method of conveying the answer to us, only we will be incapable of making those leaps with her. For example, she was trying to do the song "Lola", and wanted to convey the final syllable of "la." How did she go about doing this, you may ask? She suddenly starts acting out the song "Layla", thinking that they both end in "la," so if we get "Layla," "Lola" is sure to follow. Well, sure. Obviously. So you can imagine our confusion when Nell has spent several minutes pantomiming "you got my on my knees" and the actual answer is "Lola." She went down a path we could not follow.
In short, I think Frank and Nell should be glad there was no formal score-keeping, because to express the ridiculous beat-down Brooke and I delivered to them in pure numerical form would most likely prove so embarassing that they probably couldn't show their faces around this city again anytime soon.
On Friday Frank and I hit the Gaslite with Nell, Brooke, Whitney and some guy I was never actually introduced to. Or if I was introduced, I immediately forgot his name. Those that know me will guess that the latter actually occurred. I can offer no opinion.
Anyway, after the bar we went back to the gals apartment, and while Whitney went to bed and the unknown fellow left, the rest of us engaged in a friendly game of Charades. While there weren't official teams, and no score was kept, some cold, hard truths became apparent after only a few short rounds.
1) Brooke and I are some sort of hive-mind charade decimation machine, able to discern what the other is thinking with the slightest glance or guesture.
2) Nell and Frank can't play a decent round of charades to save their lives.
Seriously, it was embarassing. We were playing so that whoever guessed the answer would go up next, and the first several rounds were Brooke, me, Brooke, me, Brooke, me, and on and on. It's not that Nell and Frank aren't bright people, it's just that each has a specific weakness that makes them particularly poor at charades. Frank, for example, is extremely poor at processing physical guestures into concrete spoken language. In short, he's a shitty guesser.
Nell's problem is in the actual charading itself. She will make logical leaps in her own mind as to the best method of conveying the answer to us, only we will be incapable of making those leaps with her. For example, she was trying to do the song "Lola", and wanted to convey the final syllable of "la." How did she go about doing this, you may ask? She suddenly starts acting out the song "Layla", thinking that they both end in "la," so if we get "Layla," "Lola" is sure to follow. Well, sure. Obviously. So you can imagine our confusion when Nell has spent several minutes pantomiming "you got my on my knees" and the actual answer is "Lola." She went down a path we could not follow.
In short, I think Frank and Nell should be glad there was no formal score-keeping, because to express the ridiculous beat-down Brooke and I delivered to them in pure numerical form would most likely prove so embarassing that they probably couldn't show their faces around this city again anytime soon.
posted by Jeff at 11:47 AM
2 Comments:
Whatever! I was tired.
You can't remember that guy's name because you were drunk by the time he and Whitney were admitted to that surprisingly exclusive crummy bar.
Listen. There's no shame at being shitty at charades. You're good at lots of other things. Rest assured, I do not like Brooke better than you. Remember, the Celebrity hive-mind is still intact!
I was drunk at that point, I think. You're right. Why is that bar so busy? It's tiny and crap. We could totally open a karaoke bar in Santa Monica and CLEAN UP.
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