Thursday, October 30, 2008

Battle Ready

Last night my braided belt guy came over to watch the Obama Infomercial. Afterward, when even we had become nauseated by the post-analysis on MSNBC (i.e. Olbermann and Matthews taking turns drooling all over themselves) our conversation turned to my upcoming Halloween party, and more specifically, our costumes. Keep in mind, this guy has an above average committment to costumes (remember: movie accurate Indiana Jones garb), and it runs in his family. I've heard numerous stories over the past couple of months about family outings to Renaissance Fairs (his little brother made his own chain mail!) and his dad's penchant for dressing up like a pirate on down days. I was expressing concern that the costume I bought for five bucks in a stranger's stinky basement would fall far below his standards. He reassured me but went on to tell stories of his first boyhood longings for the Indy garb and how they were nurtured by his family. He even busted out his BlackBerry to show me a photo of him, his brothers and his dad dressed in kilts (the family tartan!) and toting $2500 "battle ready" swords.

Let me stop right here and say that what happened next, I asked for.

That is to say, I asked when exactly he expected to engage in a battle. From his reaction it became obvious I'd missed the point entirely, and before I knew it, I was receiving a full academic lecture in blacksmithing. This wasn't a re-telling of a Renaissance Fair craft booth experience. Oh no. We're talking the difference between Greek and British methods and the delicate balance of iron-to-carbon ratios. At that point it occurred to me that the braided belt is really the least of my problems (albeit an obvious accessory for a man with such serious appreciation for craftsmanship). I now fear future meals sitting around the table with a man-dressed-as-knight a la that scene in Garden State.

Despite having problems of her own, my friend Kate regularly doles out nuggets of dating wisdom and is a go-to for me when it comes to venting about dating dysfunction. Also a Columbus-to-DC transplant, I found myself recently seeking her validation for my memory of a decidedly more "normal" dating life in Columbus. This was her response:
Hate to be the one to impart bad news, but dating in Columbus was just as dysfunctional. Instead of the ego-tripping prats who hang out with their politico buddies, you got the pleated khaki wearing frat boys who hung out with their HS friends. Same problems, different pants.
(Or in some cases skirt)

And so I'm preparing for a battle of my own, it would seem. Wish me luck.