One night we were having another huge campus party at the Pink House, and, as was our want, a bunch of us were getting warmed up with a box of Franzia- brand Pink Zinfandel. The great thing about those boxes of Franzia is how much wine – 5 liters – fit into such a small box for only $11.99 from the Harris Teeter. Once Goebel’s stopped selling kegs for $40, those boxes of Franzia became an instant hipster soirée.
Anyway, Scott Bullock always had two or three extra drinks before a party so it would loosen some of his low expectations of his fellow man (i.e., someone stealing the top to the toilet, etc.) and this time he was doing it while listening to Revolver and Magical Mystery Tour.
As the music worked its way to a crescendo, we heard a huge CRASH in the living room, and Scott fumed off, stomping up the stairs in an inconsolable rage. When Chip finally asked him what was wrong, he said “I’m mad because the Beatles are too fucking good.” And as nuts as this sounded, I actually understood it. Not possessing the capacity for deep appreciation at that moment, Scotty turned to the next best emotion: anger.
I’ve always appreciated him for that – he’s sort of the conversational id, always willing to say something you’ve forbidden yourself to say, even while remaining an angelic creature from the bucolic woods of Maine. He’s famous for two comments – one dealing with Jessica Savitch, the other with Downs Syndrome – that remain the funniest things I’ve ever heard in conversation. I don’t know, playing pool with Scott, Colin Soloway and my nephew Sam tonight, I was reminded of that night he threw his glass at the wall because “She Said She Said” was too fucking good.
later that night