Lost in translation

This past week was Andrew’s first week of Policeman Boot Camp, otherwise known as … The Academy. The Academy, I’ve gathered, is a place where you wake up at 4 a.m. every day, you may only use your phone on Wednesdays, and you shine your shoes to perfection or you’ll have to do 1000 pushups. Also, you use The Academy’s code, rather than the English language.

When Andrew left this strange place on Friday, he came to my house for the night. My dad asked him about his week, and Andrew began babbling nonsense.

“We wake up at 4 a.m. every day for PT, and our PT instructors make us stop every half-mile for pushups. Shock Sunday was the worst though. It hasn’t been that bad since Shock Sunday…”

My dad nodded along like he understood, and I later defined these terms for him.

(PT means Physical Training – Andrew says everyone knows this, and maybe you, anonymous reader, did know this; but my dad and I did not, so Andrew, you are incorrect.)

(Oh, and Shock Sunday is their cute name for the first day at The Academy, which is supposedly very challenging and, I assume, somewhat shocking.)

Over dinner, I asked Andrew more about his week. He told me about the other guys going through training, and he told me they’ve been running around with fake guns catching fake robbers. He also told me that every morning after PT, they have Chow.

For some reason – probably because I am so cultured – I thought this was a foreign word, like ‘Ciao.’ I thought maybe it was their fancy name for yoga. (Because all police officers should know yoga before hitting the streets.)

Annoyed, I asked Andrew to define his terminology.

Andrew: Chow, you know, like food. When we go to the cafeteria to eat, we call it ‘Chow.’

Well, Andrew, allow me to remind you that we here in Normal People World call it breakfast.

After Andrew and I finished dinner – excuse me, Chow – we went back to my house and watched Will and Grace. Somewhere between the first and fifth episode we watched, Andrew’s exhaustion overtook him, and he lost his ability to move.

Andrew: Sam, will you get me some water?

Sam, making a big production over this (yes, sometimes I’m a diva): Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know you’ve had such a rough week with all your PT … and your Shock Sundays … and your chow.

These aren’t the only terms I’ve added to my vocabulary this week, however. My friend Liz called me the other day, and at some point in our riveting conversation, she mentioned that she was about to tag me in a Facebook status. I asked what the status was about, and she started rambling about Harry Potter … while I yawned and daydreamed about something more interesting.

She explained the Harry Potter status trend circulating Facebook. (I assume it’s circulating Facebook, although the only person I’ve seen participate is Liz.) The instructions are to look at your list of friends (under your profile picture) and assign these friends to Harry Potter characters according to this list provided by … Dumbledore himself, I guess.

Your first friend is, maybe, your Gryffindor pal. The second might be your Slytherin enemy. Your third friend is your Dark Lord.

Lucky me, I was assigned to be a follower of the Dark Lord. … But I plan to request a promotion to the Dark Lord after I get a few years of experience under my belt.

When Liz finished explaining, I rolled my eyes and made fun of her, resulting in the following conversation:

Liz: Sam, don’t be boojy.

Sam: … Liz, you can’t just make up words.

Liz: I’m not making up that word!

Sam: Yeah, okay.

Liz: It means, you know, like, don’t think you’re too good for something – in this case, Harry Potter character assignments.

Sam: Right. … I’m still not convinced that’s an actual word, but okay, I’ll try to refrain from being what you call ‘boojy.’

Liz: You know how, like, in the Middle Ages or something, they used to refer to the upper class as the bourgeoisie?

Sam: Oh, okay. Well, thanks for teaching me a new word. That’s wondy.

Confessions of a shopaholic

My family ordered Chinese food tonight. (Keep in mind my family includes two 17-year-old boys, and tonight the boys had another 17-year-old friend over.)

My dad calls the local Chinese place and carefully delivers our order: I’d like three orders of fried rice … four orders of wontons … yes, four … four crabmeat rangoons … two orders of chicken … two pork … and a whole bunch of fortune cookies, please.

I am the lucky one chosen to pick up our order. I walk in, and I am presented with a large cardboard box filled with food. In addition to this, there are two large bags of wontons. As I’m debating how I should approach all of this, a nice woman in a kimono takes the two bags of wontons. I grab the box and lead the way to the car.

You know, I’ve had a very cultural week, actually. Before our Chinese feast tonight, I had sushi last night with my friend Morgan. She’s about to start college – I AM OLD – so I shared with her all of the wisdom I’ve acquired over the last four years.

After sushi, we went to TJ Maxx, where I debated on buying the following: a journal with a cover that said, “Someday these words will make me famous;” an early Christmas present for my sister (she’s a Chi Omega, whose mascot is the owl; every time I see owls, I debate); a new planner; a cupcake cookbook, because I should probably learn to cook at some point, and what’s more fun than cupcakes; and another picture frame, to match the green couch in my room (I’m trying to make my room more color-coordinated.) I also tried to convince Morgan to buy “101 College Safety Tips.” Oh, and I thought about a green pillow, too.

In the end, we bought nothing, but then we went to Barnes and Noble, where I did succeed in convincing Morgan to buy “Confessions of a Shopaholic.” I also bought another LSAT prep book and “The Help,” to see what all the fuss is about.

(Confession: I might be a shopaholic.)

Today, I went to Wal Mart with my dad. While he did the boring shopping, I found my way to the pillow aisle, where I decided on two green decorative pillows. (My room looks so perfect now.) Dad and I also decided we should invest in a magazine: “100 Hottest Country Stars.” The magazine features a small bio about each of my heroes and even awkward high schools photos of Keith Urban, Kenny Chesney and others.

Anyway, speaking of shopping, my brothers just got back from Academy. Excited about his new purchase, Tyler walked into the living room, put his shoes on and made a loud announcement – so loud that Dad, who is already lying in bed watching the news, can hear him.

Tyler, in the living room: I decided to get a Size 14. They were really comfortable.

Dad, yelling from his room: A 14?! Tyler, are you sure you’re a 14?

Tyler: Yeah! Come feel my toe!

Dad: No, Tyler. I’m sure it’s fine.

Tyler: Just come feel my toe!

Dad: No, Tyler, I’m not coming to feel your toe!

We Schotts are weird.

Example: Trevor set up an elaborate fantasy football league, including friends of mine, friends of Kenzie and friends of the boys. It’s a big motley crew, and Trevor is the leader/texter of the pack.

He sent a mass text out to his fantasy leaguers yesterday, reminding them of the 11 a.m. draft today. The text read, “I just want to remind everyone that the draft is tomorrow. If you have any questions, please contact me in a timely fashion.”

Tyler then asked Trevor, “Why didn’t you just say, ‘Hey guys. Call me if you need help.’”

Because he’s more professional than that, Tyler, duh.

By the way, guess who stopped in Mandeville on Thursday to get fro yo with me? If you said Kyle, you’re right. We got fro yo and talked about how much we miss D.C. and all the ghosts we’ve seen lately. Then, when we got back to my house, I introduced Kyle to my brothers … who were both napping in the living room after their long day at school. Tyler was sound asleep on the couch and Trevor sound asleep on the floor. I tried to wake Tyler for a game of Salad Bowl, but after Tyler’s whining and Kyle’s insistence that I let Tyler sleep, I gave up.

Hours later, however, when Tyler was fully conscious, he said, “Wait, Sam, did Kyle come over earlier?” I said, “Yes … I asked you to play Salad Bowl, remember?” Bewildered, Tyler said, “No! I wanted to play! Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

Kyle’s probably the only one who will really appreciate that, considering Kyle witnessed me badger Tyler for five straight minutes, trying to convince him to play. Tyler seemed awake enough to make a decision, but apparently he was not. 

Almost famous

I was an extra in a movie today! A movie I know nothing about – not even the title. I thought I was going to be hanging out with Nicole Kidman all day, but instead, the star of our scenes was … some guy I’ve never heard of before. Yay!

The scene took place on a cool summer day in Ohio, at the Ohio State Fair. But considering all of the extras were drenched in sweat all day long, I’m not sure the “cool summer day” idea is going to come across. Although, I did get stuck wearing a frickin’ long sleeved shirt, so I hope, to justify my day of excessive sweating, at least one viewer will notice the scene's pathetic attempt at a “cool summer day.”

I woke up at 5:30 this morning. (Actually, that’s a lie. I woke up at 5:15, but I don’t want you to judge me for the time I spent on my appearance for the small chance that my face might appear on the big screen.) I took a shower, fixed my hair and then referred one more time to the email of vague instructions sent to me.

“You may wear – pants, skirt, dress, shirt.”

So ... anything? I put on the white shirt and blue skirt I’d decided on the night before. My aunt picked me up at 6:30, and I took for granted our nice air-conditioned car ride to the site – the calm before the storm.

We arrived at the site, and we signed in. Wardrobe people started walking around, and it seemed everyone was passing their inspection.

Oh, wait, except me.

A young guy – wearing ugly, unfashionable clothes – asked me if I had another shirt.

What’s wrong with my shirt?! I picked out my best outfit for you people! Whatever. I quit.

“No, I don’t actually,” I responded.

Wardrobe Man explained that my white shirt would stick out on camera (So?) ... So I should wear something that would blend in better. He asked if any of my friends had an extra shirt, and luckily my aunt’s friend offered me one.

The morning was overcast, so my long sleeved shirt presented no problems. Aunt Sandy and I walked around for hours at the fair together, and I even had the energy to go out of my way to walk near the main actor and the cameras pointed in his direction. I was feeling really confident about my future career in acting.

After lunch, the clouds in the sky disappeared, and the heat was out of control. As soon as I stepped back outside, I thought I might suffocate in the heat of my shirt. Aunt Sandy, her two friends and I, however, spent hours in the shade of the pavilion … until we were caught and asked to return to the set, along with the 50 other people huddled under the pavilion.

When we were beginning to think the day was near its end, we were herded into a set of bleachers – bleachers that had been baking in the sun all day. Luckily, we had the foresight to bring leftover paper plates from lunch to use as fans.

We piled in and carefully selected a section of the bleachers that had the most potential to provide shade. (None of them really did. We were delusional by this point.) I took my seat between Aunt Sandy and her friend Mrs. Cherie. 

As soon as our bottoms hit the pavement, Mrs. Cherie looked alarmed.

Mrs. Cherie: Sam, my ass is burning. … Is your ass burning?

Sam: Nah, mine’s okay.

Mrs. Cherie: Man, my ass is really burning. Maybe I should sit on this plate.

As Mrs. Cherie put her plate underneath her, the old man in front of us turned around to tell us his ass was burning.

Then, it hit me. I knew what they were talking about. I suddenly felt like I was sitting on top of fire.

WHY ARE THESE PEOPLE TORTURING US.

I quickly slid my plate between the bleacher and myself.

After everyone in the bleachers found something to sit on, we filmed the scene. We finished around 5.

Hallelujah, I survived the hottest day of my life.

Then, the director started giving orders for how to set up the next scene. He said he needed about 80 people to sprint across the field in terror.

Sprint? In this heat? After the day we’ve had? Yeah, right. You can kiss my burnt ass.

Of course, as I was one of the younger ones there, I was asked to be among the sprinters.

I tried to remember why I had ever signed up for such torture. Where the hell is Nicole Kidman anyway? Where are all the celebrities?

I trudged out to the field, and I met this nice girl who was feeling the same way I was about the day’s events. We bonded over our despair of being among the chosen sprinters.

After 30 minutes of waiting around, we shot the scene. After the scene, it was around 6. Sandy and her friends had had enough, and they decided we were done. When the director yelled cut, Sandy and her friends began walking away. Naturally, I followed. So did many other extras.

The director started yelling at us, telling us we weren’t done. No one listened. No one even thought about turning around. We were fried. Literally.

Seeing as his extras were revolting, the director followed everyone back to the main building. There, he dismissed us, and then we had to wait in a chaotic line to get our paperwork filled out, fighting other cranky extras over who was first.

Now I’m home and completely exhausted. I’m sleeping in tomorrow, and I plan to spend the entire day in the comfort of my air-conditioned home.

Home Alone 5

While sitting at my kitchen table today, home alone, studying peacefully, I hear a lawn mower humming in my backyard.

I look out the window and see an old man in a straw hat, riding what appears to be one of those electric scooters that allow you simply to ride along without any work on your part – a Segway, I think it’s called.

While this man is scooter-ing away from the window, with his back to me, I quickly jump up and close all the blinds. I then call my mom to tell her there’s a man in a straw hat riding around on an electric scooter in our backyard.

She tells me it’s the Fertilizer Man, and I don’t need to be worried. … So, it wasn’t necessary to dash around and close all the blinds? Oops.

I ask her to please warn me next time Fertilizer Man goes for a ride around the backyard.

About twenty minutes after Fertilizer Man leaves – still home alone – I suddenly hear country music begin playing loudly, from my living room, only 20 feet away.

Alarmed, I freeze and slowly scan the room for an intruder. … Fertilizer Man, I know you’re in here.

Before turning it off, I finish the last 10 minutes of my timed LSAT practice test, trying to ignore Shania Twain blaring from Dad’s iPod radio.

I imagine some kid sitting in his house nearby, turning on our radio from his room, like in Home Alone, now watching me from his window and laughing at me as I slowly creep around the living room.

I turn off the music and sit back down.

An hour later, the music starts again. I’m less alarmed and more confused. I turn it off and take the remote control back to my office in the kitchen. The music comes on one more time a little while later, and now of course it has been well behaved since the rest of the family got home. … Kyle, you need to come check my house for ghosts.

The swamps are always greener

Yesterday, Kenzie, Dylan and I went on an adventure to find the Best Neighborhood in the World.

Kenzie and Dylan had found it months ago, by chance, when they were driving around Madisonville. They had been looking for this other neighborhood supposedly modeled after an old French colony, and they had stumbled upon this treasure instead.

This neighborhood – the Best Neighborhood in the World – is well hidden from ordinary people like us. You seemingly drive through another neighborhood and then down this desolate street for a few minutes. Then, on your right, you see gates. Through the gates, you see a swamp, with houses that appear to be floating on the water.

We drove up to these gates, parked, and waited for some unsuspecting resident to type the magic password into the keypad and allow us regular people to creep in behind them.

We only waited a minute and then the gates of heaven were opened. We drove further into the swamplands and then inched along past the mansions that we decided would someday be ours. We also saw three alligators in one of the ponds at the front of the neighborhood. (Foreshadowing?) (Alligators = us.)

As we were leaving our future homes, Kenzie wondered aloud: “I hope they deliver pizza out here.”

Dylan's reply: “Kenzie’s only concern – can I get my Meat Lover’s.”

When we came home to our boring, ordinary house, we played Salad Bowl again. I had Andrew and Tyler on my team, and I learned that neither of them knows anything about makeup – not even the basics.

Sam: You put this on your eyelashes! Not eyeliner, but …

Tyler: Uh…

Andrew: Blush!

Sam: No, you morons! Guess all the makeup you know!

Andrew: I don’t know any more!

Sam: What do people wear on their face in parades during Mardi Gras?

Morons: Mask!

Sam: What’s all around us? What do we breathe?

Morons: Air!

Sam: Put them together…

Morons: Mask-air…?

Sam: No!

Morons: Mascara!!!

Surprisingly, we lost the game.

Four score and seven years ago

We played Salad Bowl again tonight, with Kenzie’s friend from school, Dylan – the one from Hawaii, actually. (Remember Gabrielle’s angry hula dancing?)

The words were more difficult tonight. Example: “Four score and seven years ago.”

When Dylan picked this one during the Catchphrase round, he quickly offered Kenzie the most obvious definition of the phrase.

Dylan: The first few words of the Gettysburg Address! You know, Lincoln’s speech!

Kenzie, after a look of panic followed by a thoughtful moment: We the people?

Kenzie wasn’t the only one stumped by tonight’s clues. Tyler grabbed “Wisconsin” out of the bowl and offered the following clue, if you can even call it that.

Tyler: Uh, I think this is a state. … Actually, I don’t know. It might be a city.

Sam: Detroit? Los Angeles?

Tyler: No, it’s a state. I’m pretty sure it’s a state.

Sam: New Hampshire? Vermont? Rhode Island?

Tyler: Yeah, yeah, you’re in the right area, I think.

Other clues floating in the bowl were “Magellan,” “Henry David Thoreau,” “insinuate,” “The Brady Bunch” and “The Beatles.”

Tyler grabbed “The Beatles” during the Password round. This means he could only give a one-word clue. Lucky me, Tyler chose to simply sing “She,” as in “She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah.” But just “she.” Sing that in your head real quick. You’ll see. It’s a worthless clue.

Day in the life

If you were wondering what was going on in the Schott house around 6 or 7 last night, fret not. I’m here to tell you.

So, Kenzie keeps all of her pens in a big flowerpot in her room. Last night, she brought the flowerpot of pens downstairs and sat in front of the TV next to them. She began whipping each pen out, quickly drawing a line on a piece of paper then tossing it aside, testing each pen to see whether it still had ink.

To do:

Test ink in pens. Check.

Meanwhile, Dad is lounging next to her, laying on the floor in front of the TV working on a crossword puzzle, with an ice pack on his back due to a recent basketball injury.

Mom and Trevor are arguing about whether Trevor should finish his summer reading book, which is to be read by tomorrow, or continue searching the Internet for random trivia about the tallest buildings in the world.

Tyler is hiding from the rest of us, finishing his summer reading somewhere. He reappears the minute Mom says dinner is ready.

Top secret

My 17-year-old brothers were slowly driving around the neighborhood late last night, partaking in their latest hobby. Driving our truck, with a barbecue pit, lawn mower and other stuff piled in the back, Tyler glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a policeman behind him. The red and blue lights started flashing, and the policeman bellowed at Tyler through his loudspeaker, telling him to step out of the vehicle.

Tyler and Trevor both got out and saw a second police car driving up. One policeman began questioning the boys, while the other shined a flashlight in the back of the truck.

Policeman 1: What are you guys doing?

Tyler: We’re, uh … Dumpster Diving. We go around the neighborhood and look through people’s trash and find stuff to sell on Craigslist.

Policeman 1, laughing: That’s really funny. That’s such a good idea.

Policeman 2, still searching the back of the truck: Hey, an electric smoker. I actually have been looking for one of these.

Policeman 1: Well, maybe you guys should start going earlier in the evening.

Tyler: Well, we like to go at night because it’s kind of embarrassing when people see you digging through their trash. One time this guy came outside and asked us if we were stealing his identity.

Policeman 1: Yeah, that’s what we were worried about. Someone saw you guys and called us. Maybe just let the neighborhood guard know next time that y’all will be out doing this.

Tyler: Yeah, okay, we will.

(So, I guess next time the boys will call the guard and say, “Hey, just letting you know we’ll be out digging through people’s trash tonight.”)

Tyler just told me they were planning to start going earlier anyway, because there’s a copycat in the neighborhood, who has recently been going around and snatching all the good stuff before Tyler and Trevor get there.

Tyler and Trevor have been doing this almost nightly for a while now. At the neighborhood garage sale in May, they made $500 selling other people’s junk. I’m not even fazed anymore when I hear Trevor say, “Hey Tyler, wanna go Dumpster Diving after dinner?”

The boys think there may even be two copycats. When they were out recently – with my boyfriend Andrew tagging along – they saw a barbecue pit and began driving to the house for a closer look. As they approached, however, they saw this guy – their friend’s dad, actually – begin running toward said barbecue pit and start hauling it away.

Needless to say, the boys were a little ticked that others are stealing their idea. I’ve been refraining from blogging about this for a while now, because I didn’t want to let the secret out. But it seems the word has already spread. Also, this latest incident was too much for me to handle. I had to share.

Speaking of police, let me tell you about my own encounter with them a few years ago.

As my sophomore year of college was wrapping up, I had to part ways with my dear friend and sorority Big Sis, Rachel. She was graduating, soon off to bigger and better things. … Or so I thought.

I was packing up my room when I got a text from some mysterious number that said, “You’ve been invited to join a secret society. If you accept, reply with a simple, ‘Yes,’ nothing more. Then be outside of your dorm at 2:37 a.m.”

I instantly speculated that Rachel was behind this. Rachel is … very sarcastic, and she seems to enjoy pretending to be serious about stupid things.*

* Rachel, a dancer, once taught me how to lean over into a backbend – not simply lay on the ground and pop up into a backend but lean back until I can drop my hands onto the floor. After practicing many times – often insisting I couldn’t do it and collapsing onto the ground in defeat – I finally mastered this. The next day, she demanded I show her dancer friends, in the middle of the school cafeteria. I laughed at her joke, and then I realized she was serious. With a straight face, she agreed to also do a backbend alongside me, so I would look less stupid … or at least so that I wouldn’t be the only one looking stupid.

Anyway, I received this text message and knew Rachel had typed it. So, I disobeyed the instructions and responded with, “Yeah, OMG. So psyched!!! LOLOLOL.”

I then set my alarm for 2:37 a.m. When it went off, I sleepily walked down to the lobby of my dorm and saw Rachel and others waiting for me. They blindfolded me, and we drove somewhere.

We pulled up to a field on campus, outside of our gym. I was given an obnoxious old prom dress to throw on over my clothes. I did as I was told, laughing and telling Rachel how dumb she was.

We walked out to the middle of the field, all decked out in these 80s dresses. There were six of us – Rachel and two other already-inducted members of this fake society; and three of us soon-to-be-members-of-this-fake-society.

Rachel and the other two members pulled out folders and began reading. Being the nerd she is, Rachel had planned the ceremony ahead of time; while one of them read to us about the importance of this Secret Literary Society, another person presented us each with a book.

Our solemn ceremony was soon interrupted, however, when we saw a policeman walking through the field toward our circle.

Rachel broke character: “What do we do?”

“Run,” I said.

We decided to continue with the ceremony. The policeman came up and simply stood on the outside of our circle and listened.

“A secret book club,” he said when we’d finished. “You guys are alright by me.”

I drove home the next day and immediately told my family I was inducted into a secret society. When Rachel learned of this, she scolded me. She’ll probably scold me for this blog post, too.

All I do is win, win, win

by: Sam

After my last attempt at sand volleyball, I swore I’d never subject myself to such torture again. Well, this weekend I gave in to my pestering siblings and played another game. Two, actually.

My family went back to Destin this weekend, for a kind-of-spontaneous, we-need-closure-before-we-can-move-forward-with-our-lives type of a trip. (Remember I told you about my recent obsession with The Bachelorette? Those were Ashley’s catchphrases, which Kenzie and I now like to incorporate into daily life. Ashley always needed closure, before she could move “foe-ward.”)

So, we headed out bright and early Thursday, after much screaming and yelling at 6 a.m. to make sure the whole house was awake. We piled into the car and were sitting on the beach by 10:30. By noon, I was sound asleep in a beach chair.

The group included Mom, Dad, Kenzie, Tyler and Trevor; cousins Richie, Philip and Zac; boyfriend Andrew and Kenzie’s friend Gabrielle.

By Saturday afternoon, I was awake and relaxing and reading a book – Sophie Kinsella’s latest Shopaholic novel – when I was rudely interrupted for a game of sand volleyball. I protested for a minute, while having a flashback of my last encounter with sand volleyball. (Quick summary: I was sweating and barely able to move; I was … an abomination, to put it mildly. Refer to “Another day in paradise” blog post for full story.)

But I noticed the clouds in the sky and figured the weather was on my side this time. So I did some quick stretching, and I hit the court.

(I didn’t really stretch. … Andrew did, though. Feel free to make fun of him for this.)

After deciding the teams, we started hitting the ball around. (I think that’s called volleying?) We played a few games, and by golly, I did okay. Tyler even said to me, “Hey Sam, you’re okay.”

I may start training for the Olympics.

Tyler said even more than that, if you really want to know. He said, “Sam, you’re actually kind of athletic.”

Well, I don’t want to brag, but I have two claims to fame in the sports world; they are every so often fondly remembered at the family dinner table.

When I was in fifth grade, I proved to be a somewhat valuable player for the Blue Bombers. Halfway through the championship game, the score was something terrible, like 10-0; we were losing. By the time one of the later innings came around, someone calculated that everyone had to get a hit for us to have a chance at winning. Not only that, we had to beat the clock.

Miraculously, by the time I took the plate to bat, all was going according to plan. The score was 12-10; we were still losing, but not by much.

Without really understanding the importance of my turn at bat, I swung my hardest and saw the ball go flying into right field. I took off running and as I rounded third base, the assistant coach (Dad) was telling me to run all the way home. Then somewhere between third base and home plate, I was running so fast that I began to double over.

I nearly fell flat on my face, but I didn’t. I made it home just before the ball made it to the catcher. The score was then 12-12, and we went on to win the game. I got so many hugs and high fives when I got back to the dugout. I felt like a star.

My second claim to fame happened in third grade. I made an unforgettable shot in a basketball game. … I scored in the wrong basket and earned a point for the other team.

And that wraps up Sam’s Journey Through Sports 101.

Compared to my questionable athleticism, however, my talent for board games is way more impressive. This weekend, after long days at the beach, my family retired to the condo each night to play a game called Salad Bowl.

Let me tell you briefly how Salad Bowl works. You have three rounds; the first is Catchphrase, the second is Charades, and the third is Password. Before the game begins, each player writes ten words or phrases on slips of paper. All these papers then go in a big bowl.

We then begin passing the bowl around, and each player has a minute to get his/her team to guess as many of these words as possible. First, we go through all the words doing Catchphrase. Once the bucket is empty, we dump the words back in and go through them again doing Charades. Then, the last round is Password, which means you give one-word clues only.

Example words from our games this weekend: punctual, quizzical, fickle (all me); Emit Smith, Dylan (Kenzie’s friend from Hawaii), Delta, eye for an eye, Lord of the Flies, John Grisham, etc.

Last night, the teams were as follows:

Champions

Sam

Mom

Tyler

Andrew

Losers

Kenzie

Dad

Trevor

Gabrielle

We always try to make the teams fair, separating those who are around the same age or the same talent level. Hence, we separated Kenzie and me (Kenzie and I are never allowed to be on the same team), Mom and Dad, Tyler and Trevor. And the leftovers, Andrew and Gabrielle.

It proved wise to separate Mom and Dad, as they suffered various setbacks due to … their years.

Mom’s first turn went like this: With her glasses on, she drew her first word. She read it, whipped off her glasses and began acting. We quickly guessed the word, so Mom drew another from the bowl. She then stared at the paper for a second and then scrambled for her glasses. She put her glasses back on for a second to read the word, and then whipped them off again. She wasted many valuable seconds whipping her glasses on and off, until her brain registered that she needed to just leave them on for the duration of the minute.

During another of her turns during the Charades Round, she suddenly got a Charlie Horse in her leg and could do nothing but sit motionless on the floor, laughing through the pain while we continued shouting guesses at her. To make matters worse, the other team was unsympathetic and allowed us no time to make up for this.

Dad’s setbacks, however, made up for our lost time.

The bowl was filled with small pieces of looseleaf, each of which was folded in half only once. This simple folding presented a huge obstacle for Dad. Each time he drew a word, he brought the paper right up to his face and peered at it over his glasses, mumbling in his frustration, while trying to open the little piece of paper.

During another notable Charades moment, Gabrielle resorted to hula dancing as a clue for her team. (The word was Dylan – Kenzie’s friend from Hawaii.) She ended up hula dancing for the entire minute, while Kenzie guessed in vain and Dad couldn’t stop laughing. While Gabrielle danced away – very angrily – Dad fell out of his chair and literally began rolling on the floor laughing. He therefore was incapable of making any guesses that round.

Many more setbacks occurred – such as someone hurling a lead pencil at me – but my team pulled through them, and we emerged victorious.

Peanut gallery

by: Sam

Happy birthday, Tyler and Trevor. This here blog post is your gift.

My brothers are 17 today. To celebrate, they spent their day watching Home Alone and Home Alone 3. Then tonight, the family went to Texas Road House. When I say family, I’m referring to the usual six of us, plus Virginia cousins Richie, Philip and Zac, and also Mom’s mom, Grandma Katie.

The good thing about Texas Road House is that you are provided an endless supply of peanuts to eat while waiting for your meal. For cousin Philip, an endless supply of any food is a really awesome thing.

On the way to our table, Philip and I passed a big bin – roughly three feet tall – full of peanuts. Philip stopped, looked inside the bin and then up at me, beaming with excitement over so many peanuts. After asking permission, he happily grabbed a handful of peanuts to take to the table.

Then, at the table, there was another bucket of peanuts waiting for us. Again, Philip was thrilled. From the moment we entered the restaurant until the moment the food came, Philip had a peanut in his hand.

He began referring to the peanuts as bunnies. Being the 7-year-old he is, he occasionally narrated the death of these bunnies for my entertainment (or his own entertainment, if I was preoccupied with normal adult conversation): “Oh, nooo. The bunny’s head fell off!!!!!”

Meanwhile, on my left side, Grandma Katie was cracking each of her peanuts by placing it on the table and then smashing her cup on top of it.

Across from me, the 17-year-old Trevor was expanding his vocabulary. When it came time to order, Trevor asked the waitress if he could replace his pickle spear with mashed potatoes.

Waitress: The pickle is more of a garnish.

Trevor: Oh… Well, why is it on the menu then?

After the waitress left, we all explained to Trevor what a pickle spear is. Kenzie did most of the explaining. She’d be the first to tell you that she’s the most brilliant and cultured of us all.

After Trevor’s lesson, Kenzie and Tyler argued over who the cutest Schott was as a baby. Trevor asked Philip for his opinion.

With a smirk on his face, Philip listed us as follows, from cutest to ugliest, if you will:

Tyler

Trevor

Kenzie

Sam

He was very pleased to list me last. He was also very pleased with my overdramatic reaction … until I said he couldn’t have ice cream and cake later. He giggled a bit and then became nervous that I was serious. He soon changed his mind and ordered us as follows:

Sam

Tyler

Trevor

Kenzie

“Now can I have ice cream?”

Trevor asked why he changed his mind, and Philip whispered to him. I asked to be let in on the secret, and looking guilty, Philip refused to tell me.

But then Grandma said I was a very beautiful baby, which I interpreted to mean I was the most beautiful Schott baby. Everyone around the table agreed (not really), and we finished our food and headed home for cake and ice cream, of which Philip ate plenty.