The holidays are over. Things have been exchanged both through retail outlets and mouth to mouth spouting. The proverbial cup runneth over, so it’s high time to start slurping exactly what just happened over the last couple months and digest it quickly like it were a flaming spirit from the local barkeep. While at home, I’ve learned things about myself that I’ve long-since known but have been too much of a mouse to really pony up and accept, as if pairs of tube socks from Great Grandma Mable.
I have a problem. A big problem. My very existence is just a Super Rope-esque string of Seinfeld references. It’s been 14 years since the American classic went off the air. That’s 5,110 days to latch onto something else. I suppose it’s lucky that I at least hung onto something that isn’t as embarrassing to be at one’s core as say, Family Matters, which also happened to sign off in 1998 with one last snortle from Jaleel White.
There’s always that. I don’t live my life according to Urkel.
It seems that no matter the occasion, I’m drawn to the following sentence when trying to absorb and make sense of what a person is saying to me: “Oh, that’s just like Seinfeld when…”
George tried to impress his dead fiancé’s parents by telling them he had a place in the Hamptons.
Jerry realized he had to keep a van because his sensitive old friend dug holes in the woods when he heard bad news.
Kramer sought help from the Maestro and “put the balm on.”
Elaine decided to liven up a party by starting to dance.
The first time I break out something really obscure, I can see the person I’m talking to generally impressed with the reference. Face it, referencing classic television in 2012 is like dropping Nate Hawthorne quotes on a generation past. But it’s that second and third mention of Crazy Joe Davola, Man Hands and shrinkage that seem to make people sick to their stomach like someone had just gotten rat-hat residue all over a Kenny Rogers Roaster’s (there I go again!). It’s a sickness, kinda like when Jerry prescribes Mr. Pitt the wrong kind of medicine because he mistakes him for a pharmacist. Now I’m bordering on dementia, kinda like when Mr. Peterman goes mad in the Burmese Jungles (now this is just getting ridiculous).
But perhaps there’s something valuable to possessing some of Larry David’s deepest, darkest views on the people and situations around us. Thus, I offer you a crash-course in Seinfeld Psychology.
On money: When looking to pay back a debt that people aren’t willing to accept the money back for, buy them a wallet/purse and stash the money inside. Just don’t hope they 86 the gift from their persons and slam dunk it in the trash can.
On jimmy legs: It is perfectly okay to sleep in separate beds if you’re significant other has restless legs/arms.
On eating lunch with your boss: Bring calzones.
On having to look at an ugly baby: Yes. There are ugly babies just like there are ugly brides. You still have to look.
On cheap wedding invitations: Don’t do it.
On men who talk to0 close: There’s intimacy and then there’s being an oxygen thief.
On woman who have hands like men: Slip up and they’ll probably treat your naughty bits like a Maine lobster.
On men with hair pieces: It’s vanity, not cancer.
On things that taste really good: No matter what they say, it’s not fat free.
On people who park your car: They most definitely use it as either a toilet or sexual setting.
On shrinkage: It’s a sensitive creature. It hides when it needs to defend itself from inclement weather and trouser sharks.
On food that is offered for you to taste: If you don’t want to, give a reason. Merely shaking your head “no” as to why makes you a sociopath.
On women with first names that sound like a female body part: Her name is Delores, not Mulva.
On nicknames: Nicknames are given, not chosen for individuals. Ain’t that right, T-Bone?
On attending the movies: There is no such thing as saving seats, nor is it tolerated to make out during Holocaust films.
On meaningless chatter: It’s not about nothing.
image via: fanpop.com