This is the exciting post re last Tuesday night's astounding events that you have all been dying to hear about. I know, you're desperate; gasping, even. I can only hope that I do not disappoint. But, alas, I must. Such is the averagility of my writing ableness. It was going to come compleat with photos but no matter how many times I follow the instructions for upload they fail to appear. Maybe later I'll open one of them there Flickr accounts and post them that way. In all likelihood I won't bother. I'm not the most motivated of individuals.
Last week The Rooster and Burp very kindly invited me along to see The R inducted into the Golden Key Honour Society. It sounded to me like something involving secret handshakes and shadowy hallways and some guys who think that the Ark of the Covenant is actually sitting in a dusty storeroom in Ethiopia somewhere. But since my grandmother, Don Mary, is pretty much the last outpost of practising Catholicism in our family, I went along feeling fairly safe that I wouldn't be accidentally violating any deeply-held religious principles. Mine or anyone else's.
But look, this isn't about me. This is about our friend, The Rooster, and yet another recognition of his bravery/academic brilliance/all round good guy-edness. Actually, specifically, this one was about the middle thing. It really doesn't matter, though. These endless accolades are getting tiresome. The whole act is wearing pretty thin, if you get my drift. You do, don't you? Well, keep up!
Anyway, we filed into the ballroom at the Hyatt for the grand event. The Rooster had to sit with his fellow inductees while The Burp and I took our place with other Proud Family and Friends to listen to some speeches and watch as countless hordes - I mean, honoured recipients - filed across the stage to receive their certificates. The guy who really deserved a medal was the chap who shook each recipient's hand and posed with them and their certificate for the official photo. Hundreds of smiles, one after the other. What an amazing man. The Rooster casually strolled across the stage - does he ever do anything in a manner that can't be described as laid back? - to get his certificate fairly early on in proceedings. This left The Burp and I, having completed our excited hand-clapping and picture-taking duty, to quietly lapse into comas for the remainder.
The Burp had a few amusing things to say over the course of the evening. Regrettably she chose to say each of them as the applause died away, at a volume designed to overcome the noise of the applause. We were amused by the woman announcing the students' names, before they received their certificates. Clearly, she struggled with some of the more exotic names and the PA clearly transmitted to the audience each time she whispered, "Er, how do you pronounce that?" The Burp leaned over and said, just as silence settled once more over the crowd, "It all sounds a tad unprofessional." Later, we noticed three people announced one after the other all with the name Ho. The Burp leaned over and started yelling, "I'm expecting Santa to appear at any minute." Again, the clapping suddenly died and all our neighbours got a good earful of that one. I'm just glad there wasn't a snack bar at this do. If I'd been sucking on my jumbo cup of coke, everyone would have got a good spray.
The second most exciting thing about the evening - the first most being The Rooster, obviously (no, seriously, would I lie?) - happened once the final certificate had been given. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as everyone prepared to haul themselves out of there. But then! An announcement was made! Jackson Browne started singing "Stay"* and we were all invited to participate in a world record attempt for simultaneous balloon sculpture. There were 900 people in the hall so we had a good shot. Actually, there's no record of that nature in the Guinness Book of World Records so two people would have pretty much done the trick. But this kind of observation is not in the spirit of the event, is it?? When we'd come into the ballroom earlier, the Burp had pointed out hundreds of yellow balloons sitting in boxes at the front of the stage. She knew what they were for. She's a canny one. Everyone who wanted one got a balloon and we all commenced to sculpt our skinny bits of rubber into what were, allegedly, golden keys. Confusing instructions were shouted over the PA and unintentionally lewd and amusing photos were flashed up on the screen to guide our way - really, I am going to have to get that Flickr account. The Burp and The Rooster are very practical people and they both ended up with something strongly resembling a key. When The Rooster cast a dubious eye over her key, The Burp told him it would open her secret door. I wanted to run away screaming. My key, unfortunately, looked like the business end of the alimentary canal afflicted with a hideous haemorrhoid, magically attached to an equally troubled front-bottom. I waved it in the air, though, and I think it counted. I'm in the Guinness Book of World Records! Maybe.
Afterwards the three of us took ourselves off to the lobby for a refreshing drink. The Rooster talked about his post-degree employment opportunities and The Burp got this far-away look in her eyes as she dreamed of one day being A Kept Woman. I ate a lot of nuts and those weird little dried pea thingies.
It was one hell of a night.
*That part didn't really happen. Just in case you thought it did. These guys were clearly operating on a tight budget. You should have seen the quality of the balloons.