80's TV and Personal Revelations

My roommates, Ziggy and Marisa, and I were reminiscing the other night about TV shows we had watched as kids. Some memories we shared. The PBS show Today's Special was loved by all. Some we didn't. Ziggy didn't remember GoBots at all. Marisa a vague recollection. Ziggy had a foggy recollection of that early computer animated show Reboot. Marisa and I were both all about it. Marisa and I also big fans of The Great American Hero. Ziggy had no clue. Of course, since I didn't have cable, they went off on a tangent about Nick shows.

But through it, there began to emerge a theme for me. It became evident when Ziggy mentioned Scooby Doo.

"I never liked Scooby Doo," I said.

"Why not?"

"It was never a ghost. It was always a person." And then I realized something: I have never been satisfied in knowing the outcome of a show.

People will often ask me why I like the movies I like. "Can't you just like a movie?" Apparently I can't. Apparently I have never been able to. Apparently I have always wanted something that surprises and challenges me. I didn't like Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote because it was predestined what was going to happen. Same with the Tom and Jerry . Variations on a theme. Perfect Strangers. I gave up on the Hardy Boys. Everybody Loves Raymond. Law & Order. I've watched one episode of CSI. It holds no interest.

Why do I like the movies I like? The shows I like? They challenge my expectations. They go exactly where I want them to by going exactly where I don't expect them to. And if I know where we're going to end up, it better be a darn good ride.

So I guess that's the answer to the question. People, I've always been this way.

Gretchen S., don't read this!

Seriously Gretchen, don't read this.

Here we go.

Creed: I believe in projectile vomiting.

I had my doubts. I have never had any first or secondhand experience. The closest I came was sitting in the back of the car when my cousin Curtis was, as I was told, projectile vomiting in the front seat. He was an infant. This might sound like I was right there, but I was in the back seat of a station wagon. Essentailly, I was looking for Europe standing on the shores of New Jersey. And looking West. Oh, but I heard it all. And then my brother, some friends, and I were trying to drown out the sounds by laughing. Then my grandfather got mad and said, "You kids shut up!"

Memories.

Anyway, projectile vomiting. Fascinated. I wondered where the strength to propel vomit from your body came from. I began to think it might be an urban legend. I thought of going to Snopes.com. And then I ate Chipotle Monday afternoon. I learned all about projectile vomiting. You don't need to go to Snopes. I'll tell you right now.

Now, those who have been with me thus far, you may want to turn away now. This is going to get a little graphic.

I was home a little early from rehearsal Monday. I had started to have some diarrhea and apparently looked terrible. So I was lying on the couch, relatively close to the bathroom, getting up occasionally to use it. Still no sickness to my stomach. Then I felt like I should probably get up. It was going to happen. I moved.

Well, that did it. A little came up. "I can hold it," I thought. I broke for the bathroom. That's when it happened.

It was a surreal experience. Yes, I was sick. Perhaps the most sick I've ever felt. But as it happened, all I could think was, "I'm projectile vomiting! It happens!"

Yes, it certainly did happen. And I am not lying when I write it flew 6 feet. I heard it land. That was gross.

I promptly forgot all of this as I was in the midst of experiencing the most intense 5 minutes of vomiting I hope ever to experience. It was like my stomach developed a personality of its own. And it was pissed off. And done after 5 minutes.

That was Monday night. Today is Friday afternoon. My chest muscles still hurt. I'm not lying. It hurts to laugh and breathe deeply.

But I went through this so that you may know projectile vomiting is no urban legend. It's true. And it can happen to you.