mood: speechless music: Newsboys - Million Pieces (Kissin' Your Cares Goodbye)

Monday night was the annual volunteer dinner at church, and this year's venue was Sam and Gabe's Italian Bistro in Urbandale. This particular church function was of the "semi-formal" (at least for me) type, accordingly, the partygoers were expected to dress nicely, a concept which had poor MJ's brain tying itself in knots. He maintained that my usual wardrobe of shorts and a t-shirt would be perfectly appropriate for a semi-formal gathering at an upscale easting establishment, saying that doing something because everybody else is doing it is stupid. This oft-quoted reasoning works in some situations, (jumping off bridges, for example) but I disagreed. Deliberately dressing down (or even differently) at a gathering is really a form of public protest - a silent demonstration against the social norm and forcing everybody to acknowledge your unique status as someone who thinks that dressing nicely is a foolish formality. It's intentionally isolating yourself in a room full of people. Sometimes, this would be a good thing, but I wasn't in the mood to protest. So, decked out in an ostentatious ensemble of tan dress slacks and a brown sweater, I set out for the evening. My first stop before arriving was the Olive Garden, the restaurant from which I bought a gift certificate for the evening's gift exchange. This brief stop had an interesting - nay - weird exchange all it's own, when a young woman who was sitting at the bar remarked, as I was paying for said certificate, that it wasn't necessary that I buy it [the certificate] for her. That a total stranger sitting at a bar would say this to another I found weird enough, but it was the way she said it that made it even more peculiar - without any trace of emotion or humor whatsoever. This rules out the infinitesimal chance that she was attempting to flirt; indeed, her downright chilly delivery almost made me think that I had somehow offended her. Not really knowing how to respond, I mumbled a hasty "okay" and quickly departed.

My first observation upon arriving (late) at the designated Christmas Party Coordinates was the surplus of light shortage. I wondered at the motivation for doing this - that is, keeping the lights so low that I initially attempted to chat up the coat stand. I have several theories, most of which are very cynical. (In fact, they all are.) Leaving my coat on the rack, (He was very polite, for a coat rack) I wandered off to make myself sociable. (In layman's terms, feign some aspect of comfort with social situations.) Recalling as I stepped out into the crowd that this is not one of my strong points, I endeavored to try extra-hard not to alienate these people who, amazingly enough, seem to like me.

I succeeded miserably.

It was only after a few minutes of small talk that we were asked to take our seats in anticipation of dinner being served. I had been hoping that Fate would place me at a table with someone I know and am somewhat comfortable with - Lance Thompson (webmaster) or Chris Timmons. Fate, as is often the case, had different ideas. My placecard, (lovingly subtitled "sparky") seated me with several other wonderful people, who, among other things, had absolutely no inclination to actually speak to one another. This made for short bursts of conversation punctuated with nervous and uncomfortable silences. It's not that we didn't like each other, it's just that we all experienced a failure of the ability to generate spontaneous conversation at the same time.) Meanwhile, dinner was served, first in the form of a salad, and then the main course. Social nervousness has the annoying side effect of causing my stomach to shun the desire for sustenance; after the salad and starting the chicken asiago, I was promptly full. Ignoring this feeling, perchance a bit unwisely, I resolved to complete my meal. (Which was, by the way, excellent.) The feeling afterwards was comparable to having ingested a basketball, but at least I didn't go hungry.

Immediately following dinner, the gratuitous Christmas gift exchange / trading game occurred. For those playing the home game, this is the traditional festivity involving gifts brought by each person, then re-distributed by drawing numbers from a hat. The gifts can be traded among the partygoers up to two times. I drew a low number - 11 - and ended up with a coffee grinder. Then Fate, being the weird mistress that she is, decided that the night should take a turn for the surreal.

Public recognition for accomplishments is not one of my fantasies...I'm much more of a backstage / technical guy who prefers to work his magic from somewhere between the sound board and the effects processors. If I must be congratulated for something, I would prefer it to be among a small group of peers - respect matters far, far more to me than recognition, even if deserved. Anyways, at this point in the evening, Tom (the main pastor) took his spot near the front of the room (Near me, coincidentally) to give the obligatory speech. He started out by thanking all the volunteers for a wonderful year and saying how blessed they were to have such a dedicated group of helpers. He went on to add that picking one person to represent such a group was difficult, but if they had to, they'd pick "this guy sitting right here". I looked up, expecting to see him pointing at Chris Timmons. (Who would have been my first choice for Extremely Devoted Tech of the Year). Much to my surprise, (and horror) he was pointing towards...me. He then asked me to stand, and when I did, he proceeded to pay me several flattering compliments about my attitude and faithfulness. I then stood, aghast, for a round of applause from the room. Tom, being the gracious fellow he is, was nice enough to state out loud that he knew I preferred to be backstage; out of sight, and that I was most likely uncomfortable. (He was promptly nominated for Understatement of the Year - I'm sure it was excruciatingly obvious to anybody looking at me...my eyes were glued to the floor and my face was probably crimson.)

It always amazes me when people congratulate me for doing piddly things - like showing up every week or faithfully doing tasks that I enjoy doing. A real test of characater comes when someone is called to do something that they detest. Thanking me for my faithfulness to the tech team is like thanking a child for eating all that candy! - you're thanking them for doing something that they'd happily do anyway. Really, of course, it's nice to be thanked, but it still amazes me when it happens.

But I digress.

Tom finally allowed me to sit down - much to me relief - and the evening drew to a close, though I did manage to win a $40 gift certificate to the fancy resturant later that night.

I think I'll take MJ.