This ship may actually sail.
Key word: may.
Next week, after I finish my final column - and stay tuned for that friends, cause it's going to be the gravy on top of five years of hot, delicious column potatoes - I am going to be putting on a bathing suit, wetting down that slip and slide, and going headfirst into reality.
As I start pedaling on my ride to be the next amazing cyclist, I'd like to clue you in on some objectives I did not complete following the day I waltzed into SUNY Buffalo in my maroon Phish shirt and board shorts (Yes, I just admitted that I spent a good year in hippie jail. How's that for coming clean?)
A) Now, I can't be sure of this, but I don't think my masters degree in Ninja Hunting is going to come in handy, though my thesis, "Headbands Are Nature's Way," was recently picked up by FOX for their new documentary series, "When Morons Graduate."
B) Soccer is only marginally more popular in the United States than it was when I came here. It could be the fact that I'm not very good at soccer, but I feel like I could drink at least as many beers as most of those kids.
C) None of my major motion picture deals have come into fruition. Yes, that's true for many Hollywood hacks, and some may even know how to work a camera, but check out the veritable video goldmine coming out of the old Mendola cinema crank:
-"Lance Armstronger: The Nicholas Mendola story": This film was supposed to follow me around as I became the greatest cyclist in the history of the world. Trumping all kinds of adversity, including fifteen kinds of whooping cough, I would take my bike and burnt sienna bracelets to the top of pop-culture. This would've held no disrespect to Mr. Armstrong, who announced Monday that he'd retire after this year's Tour de France, but rather been a shining nod to his courage and skill.
This project failed to take flight when I found out those super-light bicycles professionals use cost over $2500. Yikes.
-"Scene: Dudes In Girlpants": Not nearly as pornographic as it sounds, but just as horrible. "Scene" was going to be the pinnacle of all rock 'n' roll movies, as it followed local teen bands around in their search to meet members of Everytime I Die.
This still has loads of potential.
First and foremost, you'd have your guitar player who refuses to admit he likes Everytime I Die, yet rips them off in all his riffs. You'd have kids trying on girls' jeans, trying to highlight their packages as best as possible.
There would be kids listening to people yelling against blasting drums and super fast guitars, talking about how much better their "taste in music" was compared to everyone else. You'd have kids being made fun of for being successes in life instead of just going to crappy, hole-in-the-wall bars every night, four girls sleeping with the same two dudes.
Essentially, it would be a film of Buffalo, and move our fair city's "underground scene" into the same mythic light as Amityville. Yeah, you thought that was fiction, didn't you?
I mean crap, everyone thought Napoleon Dynamite was the new Bible, right? Sure, it's fun to use a lame voice and say "heck" a lot, but I've been doing that for years, and not on purpose. Hand me some Oscars.
D) I never made good on my plan to fall down the stairs of one of the Knox Lecture Halls, one at a time, making a different noise on each step, in painfully slow motion.
There are more, but I need some ammunition for next week's "Final Countdown."
Da-da-da-da. Da-da-dant-dant-dah. Da-da-da-da. Da-da-dant-dant-dant-dant.
Before I get thigh-deep in my final exams, I'll tell what you objective I did accomplish in my 34 years here at SUNYAB: eating more burritos than anyone this side of Mexico. From Mighty Taco to Taco Bell to every small Mexican diner in the continental United States to the new Moe's Southwestern Grill in Orchard Park, I ate some serious beans. Which brings me to the most important question I've ever asked of all time:
Is guacamole a condiment?
Lastly, I just want to say that we would never rip on another publication after having Scrabble on our cover.
Photo: Meredith Forrest Kulwicki
