I need a Pensieve like Dumbledore

Over the course of the past month, I effectively killed half my brain cells studying for final exams and killed the other half in the drinking process afterward. So I'm pretty surprised that I'm able to remember these two moments at all. I point out these two moments because they remind me of how, for lack of a better description, "cartoony" some people can be. By cartoony, I mean not that they have jaws that drop beyond physical possibility or are seemingly immortal. I mean that as soon as you mention a name, an image and a personality and all the little catchphrases and quirks belonging to that person instantly pop to mind. Bugs Bunny, Homer Simpson, Dwight Schrute, George W. Bush - the instant kind of recognition that really makes these people stick in your mind for long after you've lost contact.

Moment #1: At UCLA in May, Boyer Hall - my second day on the job. I walk into a conference room and meet my PI and her lab for the first time. Not many people - a white girl, a Chinese girl, a nerdy-looking FOB Chinese guy, and a white guy. I sat down nervously at the end of the table waiting for each lab member to present their weekly findings; my PI told me to pay close attention, because I would eventually have to start presenting my own findings in the coming weeks.

It was the most distracting hour and a half of my life, because I swear to Bruce Wayne that the white guy I was staring at was Brett Haas.


The greatest American leader of the 21st century.
(Source, kids.)

Cue Captain Kirk monologue:
"But...no. It. Cannot be. He...LOOKS just...like...Brett. Minus the wife-beater and. The. Extravagant amounts of Lakers fan gear. Also. No...iPhone. NO iPHONE! But he looks EXACTLY. LIKE. HIM."

Just as I was about to tell myself "There's no other explanation for this: I guess I DO have a drinking problem," this Brett Haas doppelganger spoke up. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reassured myself that I could indeed continue to drink to my heart's content: this guy's voice was much higher than Brett's.

It was only after the lab meeting was over did I dare to ask this Brett impersonator what his deal was. He introduced himself to me as Blake Haas, Brett's older brother. Small world. Turns out that he's on UCLA's Bridge team, just as Brett was on Cal's Bridge team. No, not bridge-building like the CivE folks seem to love so much. Bridge, as in the card game universally embraced by old, retired Jewish women living in Florida. I thought it was peculiar that they had taken up interest in a game typically considered an old fogeys' pastime, but I appreciated the educational time afterwards that he spent teaching me about bridge and how difficult it is to do well in the game.

Moment #2: In Haas Pavilion on Nov. 24, 2008, watching the Bears take on North Carolina A&T.

(aside: band locker room before game.
"Who are we playing today?"
"North Carolina."
"...we're fucking playing UNC? Like, the Tar Heels? The number one team in the country? The team with GODDAMN TYLER FUCKING HANSBROUGH?"
"...A&T. North Carolina A&T."
"JESUS THANK YOU")

It's fairly early in the game, and the refs are making some pretty bad calls ("my eyes, I cannot see, I am a Pac-10 referee..."). The band present is a decent size - thirty people, maybe. There's the usual smattering of complaints and boos and random taunts towards the referees, but some third and fourth years and I looked around and felt that something was off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it though, and Greg corroborated the feeling: "I feel like something is wrong or missing." We shrugged it off and continued to watch the game.

Towards the end of the game, Cal was winning by a boatload, and North Carolina A&T was getting obviously frustrated. Their coach was a pretty animated guy who kept jumping off his chair and stepping onto the court to yell at the refs. One of the players on the A&T team hard fouled one of our guys, seemingly out of frustration at being down by 30 points (that, or being two letters away from being the #1 team in the country). It was a pretty blatant foul, and the Cal fans got fairly rowdy but quieted down because short of going to the scorekeeper's board and literally changing the numbers, nothing A&T did could help them win at that point.

But what's this? A lone voice dared to fight the mob mentality. That voice chose not to quiet down when common sense would dictate that it should have already shut up. The bold, the audacious, the foolhardy Robin Hood of sports arena taunts and borderline non-PC insults - who was this brave soul who chose to rise above the rest?

Who, of course, but KNak. All of us turned around to find him spitting his usual smattering of insults, half of which was indiscernable and the other half of which came with a free side of flying saliva.

Suddenly, it occurred to us who had known KNak for the past three or four years that we actually had NO IDEA that KNak was at the game until this very moment, especially because he was standing in the very back row. All at once, the band stopped paying attention to the basketball game and turned its attention toward the man of the hour, as if he had just called a press conference:

"Are you sick?"
"When the hell did you get here?"
"Why haven't you said anything until now?"
"Where the hell have you been?"
"What the fuck did you just say?"
"Can you stop spitting on me?"

I swear, if Cal Band would only put all its talents toward mass entertainment, we'd make a damn good group of TV sitcom writers. Untapped gold mine, swear to Tedford.