Bizarro Hillbilly Todd Malicoat

Let me begin with an apology.

First, to all of you who came here looking for travel advice today, I am sincerely sorry. You will find little of it in this particular post (and probably in this blog in general).

And secondly, let me apologize to Todd, who’s never really given me any shit in his entire life, and is a dear friend. Todd, this post is likely going to embarrass the hell out of you. I’m doing it not out of spite or malice, but because it’s really, really funny.

On the other hand, the jokes we make about your mom are out of spite and malice. I’m not at all sorry about those, because they, too, are really, really funny.

Anyway, before apologizing becomes a habit, on to the post …

Rand and I were returning home from our anniversary trip in Oregon, when we stopped in the metropolis of Applegate, OR, about 30 miles outside of Ashland. Here’s Rand in the center of town, which consists of a coffee shop/tractor repair facility.

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I tried to find population info on Applegate, but no one lives there.

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We walked into the coffee shop. The waitress advised us to get our order in quickly, because the staff who cooks breakfast was about to leave, and once they did, all hope of getting French toast would leave with them. So we stuck our noses inside our menus and ordered as quickly as we could. After we had a chance to get our bearings, we discovered the counter was all kinds of awesome. A TV in the corner was playing Fox News, and in the room adjacent to us, there was a Tea Party meeting. While I was still taking in all this right-wing magic, Rand suddenly said to me, in a hushed whisper, “Oh my god. Todd Malicoat‘s hillbilly cousin is sitting at the counter.”

“No way,” I said, laughing.

“Just turn around,” Rand insisted. “You have to see him.”

And folks, I turned around. And I saw him. AND IT WAS TODD MALICOAT’S HILLBILLY COUSIN. The rest of our breakfast was spent trying to take photos of Bizarro Hillbilly Todd, who was sitting just over my right shoulder.

Attempt #1 was a failure. Not only can you see nothing behind me, the angle at which this photo was taken makes me look like I have the neck of a linebacker.

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Attempt #2 was also a bust. I’m in focus, but the people behind me aren’t. At this point, I’m also laughing hysterically, because I’m so excited about the promise of Bizarro Hillbilly Todd.

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At this point, I started to get nervous. Our photo-taking was attracting a lot of attention. I was worried we were about to get outed as liberals, when Rand made attempt #3 to capture B.H.T.

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Thank god my camera has fantastic resolution, because I was able to zoom in on the above image and see that OMG HE SO LOOKS JUST LIKE TODD.

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For reference, here’s the original Todd Malicoat, giving a presentation at a conference.

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And here he is at our wedding (yes, he is a good friend. Yes, I abuse my good friends in this manner. What? Life is short. Hurt the ones you love.):

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I got to thinking about what makes us all different, and what makes us the same – about the amazing mix of genetics that created two unrelated people who look so much alike – and how much you need to travel before you find someone’s twin. I thought about Original Todd – with his sprawling place in San Francisco, his globe-trotting lifestyle, and the fact that he actually owns a tux. And I thought about BHT (Bizarro Hillbilly Todd). I wondered where he lived – I knew it was anywhere but Applegate (population: 0). I suspected BHT probably cut the sleeves off a lot of t-shirts, revealing the tattoos on his arms. I bet that he wore those wraparound glasses often, especially on sunny days when he was hanging out with his friends. They were probably blue collar guys who gave him shit for having pierced ears during their fishing trips together. Not like our Todd at all …

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Well, shit. Apparently our Todd already is the hillbilly version. Does this mean BHT is the urbane, yuppie version we’ve been waiting for? Maybe. Still, we’re  sticking with the one we have now …

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Sorry, BHT. Original Todd has kind of grown on us.

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