055: It's Official...

...I am a loser and perhaps a creepy freak as well.

***

Four years ago, while I was toiling away in Japan, I had the wonderful privilege to witness the IOC rightfully dismiss the candidature of Osaka in the first round of votes. (Beijing won, in the second round of votes, the right to host the 2008 Games.) Don't get me wrong, I heart Osaka. Osaka, the nearest metropolitan city from my suburban hell, Osaka, where all the good restaurants, bars, and clubs were, yes, Osaka was where I went to sow my wild oats, pissing many nights away. Ah... fond memories. But Osaka hosting the Olympics is like Atlanta hosting the games, a big mistake.

Anyways, the Osaka organization committee had set up this huge gathering inside a huge mall that overlooked Osaka Bay. Pretty much all the Japanese networks were covering the selection process, live, and had sent their crews to the mall to get the crowd's reactions to the eventual outcome. Obviously there were many disappointed people. Two hours later, all the networks were leading the broadcast with the sad news.

Station one: the anchor sets up the story and calls on the reporter on location in Osaka. The once crowded hall is empty and reporter stands alone. She begins her account of the day's event and of the crowd's reactions. Cut to the pre-recorded story. Return again to the reporter: she gives her closing remarks.

You get the picture. It's the standard news reporting one sees even in America. But remember I said that the hall is empty of people, and only the reporter stands alone. Well, that's not the case. Once the camera is back live, far behind the reporter stands a man. This man has on a blue baseball cap over his unkempt hair, thick glasses with a black rim, and a short sleeve shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar and tucked underneath his khakis shorts, which by the way are pulled up above his waist, a fashion sense that Urkle would have been green with envy. His style would have been comical if not but his intense look on his face, a look of a sociopath. One look at him, I assure you, you will think him a freak, so creepy that you would not want to be left alone with him even in broad daylight.

I flip the channel.

Station Two: the anchor sets up the story... Cut to the reporter. He begins to recount the news. Behind him the same creepy man from Station One's news report creeps into the shot. The freak has the same intense look, no smiles, no waiving hands, no mouthing the words, "hi, honey, I'm on TV." Just a look of a predator ready to strike his prey.

I flip again.

Station Three: the reporter faces a different part of the once crowded hall. What do we see but the freak once more. This time, he is much closer to the reporter. I fear for her life. The reporter starts moving away from the freak and the camera follows, so as not to broadcast to the public this weird man's antics. But he shuffles like a crab into the shot, forcing the reporter to move once more. Still the cat and mouse game continues until the reporter signs off.

***

I fear that I might have been like that freakazoid last night. I'm so socially awkward that I beg any of my twenty two readers to suggest a means to put me out of my misery. Graphic and horrible the deed the better.

You see, I went to last night's WYSIWYG event. All the bloggers who read were absolutely magnificent, especially Joe of Joe.My.God., who is by far one of favorite bloggers and whom I had mentioned here and here. I so wanted to introduce myself to him and all the rest of the bloggers of my idolatry. Like MAK and Dr. Faustus. (By the way, MAK shared an interesting tidbit about himself and a certain writer. Hot, hot, hot. And I would so love to have Dr. Faustus sing to me, naked.) Also, I have found new idols to place in my pantheon, like him, him, her, her, and her. Did I mention I saw a good handful of bloggers of my idolatry in the audience? I'm sure there were more of them in the audience, like those who haven't posted their pictures on their blogs. People! Post your pictures! So that when I see you at this kind of events I can be in awe of you/gape at you/ogle you from a far.

Did that make me seem like a stalker? Dammit, see, I am a freakazoid!

Anyways, it is quite intimidating when you are alone to go up to a group of people who seem to know each other quite well. No, let's just face it, yours truly is a chicken shit. A loser. A pathetic, chicken shit, gay-friend-less loser. So my two faithful readers, whoever you are, find me a way to end it all!

No?

Dammit. I just can't seem to get anything right, can I?