The Dudes in Utah, Chapter 1--"Daddy loves Jack and Diet"

Chandler's voice echoed from row 16 of coach. The stewardess was now only partly amused. It had become a familiar and tired line when interjected for the fifth time in the past hour. Yes, he and thew, with much thanks to the altitude and a whiskey distillery deep in the heart of Tennessee, had become quite drunk. Not "sloppy, Lil' Lum on a football weekend in oxford" drunk, but drunk nonetheless.

I felt the need to catch up, but was engrossed by the other John Lassiter's (spelled Lassetter, but we'll forgive him) newest animated success, the Incredibles. Cray, as "airplane skinny" as I'd ever seen him, was jostling through his thousands of song on his I-pod, which I only assumed Chandler had purchased for him before we left for utah, probably to make amends for some spat they had over who used the last of the toothpaste weeks ago. I couldn't hear buck snoring from about ten rows back which was unusual. I instantaneously thought him to be dead.

"Might as well check on him, I have to go to the bathroom anyway," I thought.

So i did. And there Buckster was, not only alive, but conscious, and smiling. Chandler's plan had indeed backfired. Though his prearranged seating designation had successfully pushed the Buckster away from the four of us so that we could sleep should we want to--a plan that had worked to perfection on the way to Utah, buckster having not showered or slept the night before, had easily disturbed his seat partners so much that they opted to sit next to smelly old guys and screaming babies instead-- Buckster now was sitting by a beautiful, petite sorority girl from Montgomery.

I couldnt avoid his excited gaze, "LASSITER. Your shoes are G-A-Y." snickers from a handful of the Cabin followed, including the lovely broad anchoring the aisle seat to his right. He wasnt entirely wrong, as I was sporting my new checkered Vans, a forgotten 80's staple which Hunter and I are trying to bring back.

"Real funny, Buckster. Just dont eat your seat partner like you did on our connector flight." It was the best I could come back with--a bit harsh, but trust me, mild for some of the shit that was spewed on this trip.

I relieved myself and returned to my seat and began to get that feeling you get when you know you've been living a really cool life that has to come to an end. My trips are formulaic, they begin as good-intentioned dunkfests--making the most of every given opportunity, minimal sleeping, etc. But then you have regrets. That day you spent hitting on every girl in the Provo Mall, not going out to Salt Lake City on Tuesday Night. Even feeling like youd rather be at home. But you know what happens when you get home, you come to this realization that you were really having the greatest time of your life and would love to go back. And so I thought back to what I could remember of my first night in Mormon Country....

I guess a little exposition becomes necessary. I was, for a short while, completely infatuated with a girl whose name rhymes with "Allen." I don't know why (see below pic of hot girl wearing polo cap backwards). But just when things could have gotton serious, I did what so many greats before me have done--freaked as I pictured myself with one person, then made up some BS about how involved I was with school, thus rendering myself incapable of being good for a relationship. Not that I know we could have dated, but it became academic as Falan quickly moved to Utah never to be heard of again.

I love skiing. I wish I were good at skiing. But I predominately wanted to see Falan, hoping, as all bastards oft do, that she would apologize for leaving me in MS, undress, and make love to me on the snowcapped vestibules of a temple of Joseph Smith.

Not happening. But we did the next best thing--we drank heavily and passed out next to each other in a Super 8 . Details of our first night are few and far between. "port-o-call" was a fun bar, we had some drinks, it closed at 1, we went home. Many thanks to the Buckster and Lenwa, who continued buying shots when our livers screamed "No More!"

Before we went to bed Buckster did chastise Lenwa for being the only dude who doesn't care if another dude hooks up or not. Buckster also offered up the entire hotel room should I become unexpectedly successful in my quest for "mormon love." Though the gesture was sincere, it proved unnecessary--she did sleep, but Buckster and I were at some point early the next morning, left to snore alone (tears). I couldnt help but feel like Tangy, yet there was still time.