Tag is Weird, Philosophically

I got tagged by the very lovely Sandy. Sadly, everyone who has ever played tag with me knows that if I'm ever tagged, the game is pretty much over. I stink at tag. I never tag anyone else. By definition, I'm "it". I will spend eternity being "it" which isn't really a compliment, is it. I mean people run away from being "it". That's the game. Funny how opposite things are in the real world.

Anyway, I'm not sure why I'm bad at tag; if it's because I don't want to actually decide who to tag next for fear that he/she might hate me later, or if it's because me running is more like watching any dance move by Martin Short - awkward, and too much like the pee pee dance under a very tiny sombrero.

Anyway, I got tagged which means you guys get to endure six random things about me:

1. John Lennon and I share a birthday.

2. I worked security at the Atlanta Olympics. I wore kelly green pants, a starched white shirt, and a pith helmet. My job was to “wand” the folks who failed the initial security metal detector test. I had to actually say to the person… er ..failure? customer? field hockey venue attendee? Random man in line whose penis stud would soon set off the alarm, embarrassing both him and me, but more me because I was young and far less snarky at the time? (sigh) Anyway, as I was saying, correct procedure according to the Olympic committee per the instructions on my official Olympic volunteer security video was to say to that person before the wanding commenced, and I quote:

“Excuse me sir. May I wand you?”

Pith helmet and security wand aside, I felt pretty bad ass since I had a birds’ nest of army snipers at my beck and call. All I had to do was point and nod, then step aside.

3. I attended the 50th anniversary of the alien landing event in Roswell. This event happened while I was in college, aka the years of stupidity spent in academia. Several of my friends stuffed ourselves into a minivan and drove from Lubbock , TX to Roswell, NM, a three hour, spur of the moment trip down a highway that’s best and only good quality is that it is a straight shot. We arrived at the International UFO Museum and Research Center , and found ourselves in the midst of a serious convention. Among the tourists were ..uh.. others who were listening to the walls near displayed “artifact’s” and taking notes. There were some that were promoting their conspiracy agendas via handouts and shouting, and of course there were panel discussions of those who had been abducted and, I assume, probed. All in all it was a fascinating experience. We bought our alien fridge magnets and headed back.

4. I was recently assaulted by a two man conga line. Yet another karmic consequence of irrationally hating Gloria Estefan.

5. “Janet Reno’s Dance Party” still freaking cracks me up, but it still comes in second to “More Cowbell!” Though we have to give Reno props for actually showing up for the awkward last sketch, the weirdness quotient is always compounded where Christopher Walken’s face and Will Farrell’s belly are involved. Add in enthusiastic cowbell thwacking, and it’s TKO – “More Cowbell” wins. Hands down.

6. Things that everyone else can do but me include:
* Hula-hoop. Never could. It gives me cramps.
* Float on my back in a pool. I sink right to the bottom.
* Be hypnotized. I'm too controlling.
* Write a G in cursive. Dude! I know!
* Dribble a basketball without looking at it.
* Stand up straight.
* PLAY TAG.

And now, in a free-for-all tag attempt (so that no one is excluded), imagine me (like Martin Short dancing), running behind you, yelling "TUWANDAAAAA!"

Tag. You're it.