For the last couple of years, I have used the pen name or nom de plum, Rain Delay, to write on this blog, while playing Halo, or generally whenever, I do not feel like using my real name for something. I believe that the name provides me with a degree of entertaining mystery as the character that is Rain Delay has a level of freedom that I lack in my real life. Also, it is a nifty way to prevent my parents from ever finding this blog. Once again, I repeat that anyone who tells them that I write this thing will be asked to pack up their things and report to the principal's office where you will be fitted for a new pair of shoes to help you swim when we drop you in the East River. (get it, I am going to make sure you drown.)Anyway, while I have used the name frequently, I have never officially explained what the name means and why if you know me, the name is completely appropriate. (Note: I do not count the numerous times that I have told this story to my friends while intoxicated. Nothing is ever official when the booze is involved.)
It all started back in law school when my buddy, who we will call Tito, described my inability to get ready to go out or basically to do anything that required leaving my apartment in a timely fashion as a Human Rain Delay.
For those that do not know, rain delays happen in baseball and other sports when it rains too much, your team does not have a dome or atleast a retractable roof, and thus the game is appropriately delayed for the rain to pass. You can usually tell if the game that your team is supposed to be playing in is experiencing a rain delay because:
A. There will be a notation on your television that there is a rain delay.
B. Thurmon Munson will be at bat against Bill Lee; or
C. If you are at the game, there is a massive tarp on the field, and it is raining.
(I cannot believe I just explained that.)
As for Tito's observation, I cannot disagree with him and would like to formally apologize to him for forcing him to endure this little quirk of mine for three years of law school. It is not so much that I am high maintenance or that I take a long time to get ready. (My friends will disagree with that last sentence as there are stories out there of me spending a solid half an hour or more to find the perfect t-shirt for the evening. Of course, those stories are nothing more than rumors or hearsay, and I will deny that they ever happened.) Rather, I have the inexplicable talent of creating numerous little tasks that I must complete before I am able to leave my residence. These tasks and their completion, of course, seems totally rational and mandatory to me while being utterly nonsensical to anyone who is involved in getting me out of the house. I guess I am a little obsessive compulsive, but I can promise you that I will not enjoy my brunch or my evening out if I do not clean up all the clothes in my room, wash the dishes, pick up all the red fuzzy carpet droppings, or do whatever other task that comes to mind before I leave the house. They just have to be done, this is not negotiable.
So there it is, as Tito so aptly once noted, I am the human rain delay, a character that is not so much a super hero put on this earth to save the world, but rather, a source of endless frustration for all who I consider to be my friends. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go make sure that I turned off my space heater for the thirteenth time today.
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4 comments:
While the nickname Rain Delay has its roots in real world behavior, how I got the nickname Tito is, in fact, rooted in absolutely nothing.
Back in college, I ran with a crew of about 15 guys. We had a Chowder, a Deebs, a Cloochmere, a Fowle, a PC, a VA, an MP, a Jimbo, and on and on. Not me. I was the only one called by their given name. My mom was happy. I was not. I felt left out. I made the monumental error in judgment of pointing out my lack of a nickname to my boys in early 2002. It was then decided, over numerous libations, that we always wanted to add two things to the crew: 1. a jolly fat man; and 2. a guy named Tito. Since I was unquestionably unable to fulfill Option 1 (I'm getting fatter but not jollier), Option 2 was left to me. From that night on, I'm known as Tito. I am Irish. I have freckles. Notwithstanding same, I am now, and will forever be, Tito. Funny thing is: as nonsensical as it may be, it grows on you.
Hey, Tito! Do you have a blog, and if so, why don't I know about it? Rain Delay -- very glad you're posting again.
Nope. No blog. Just felt compelled to comment since I received such a big shout out on this one.
Cool. Hope you're doing well, Tito. You're the reclusive Jackson, after all.
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