Preserved in Plastic

Newsletter 2024-07-22

A new scheme is afoot. This time, I’m not limited by crude tools like fruit or taxidermy. I’ve advanced into the age of high definition video and 3D printers. To pull this one off, I’ll have to level up as a liar. If I can get it across the finish line, I will bask in the glory of a petty achievement that doesn’t matter to anyone but me. And if I can’t, well, forget I ever wrote any of this. The delete key exists for a reason.

In my thirty-nine years of life, the only bit of wisdom I’ve achieved is this: Your friends are the people who show up. Every platonic relationship can be evaluated by that simple standard. “Showing up” doesn’t have to mean in person. You can demonstrate friendship by showing up in the group text thread or at online gaming sessions. In the age of social media, it takes a deliberate effort to not be present in someone’s life. For most people who have had the misfortune of meeting me, that effort is worth it. The smart decision is to ghost me, even if it means blocking me on all forms of social media and also faking your own death. You can never be too careful. My buddy Peter did the opposite of those things. He’s the ultimate shower-upper. If I invite him somewhere, no matter where it is or what it’s for, he’ll be there right on time with his wife Delilah reluctantly in tow. We see each other either online or in person multiple times a week—and sometimes multiple times a day. Friday, we met up once in person and twice virtually for various unproductive activities. I appreciate both his loyalty and his lack of better options. For those positive qualities, he deserves to be rewarded with a prank that will inconvenience him for the rest of his life.

The idea was a group effort. Peter and Delilah invited our usual circle plus a bunch of auxiliaries to a suite at an Indianapolis Indians game. The lucky couple won the suite at a charity auction. That’s technically the right verb, but no one really wins at a charity auction, unless you count the charity, which I don’t. Spending the most money always means losing in my book. Nonetheless, I was happy to benefit from Peter and Delilah’s generosity. While Peter sat on the other side of the soundproof glass watching the action on the field (Seriously, who does that at a baseball game?) the rest of us enjoyed the air conditioning inside, eating free food (well, free to everyone but Peter and Delilah) and debating what nice thing we could do for them in return. Much like winning, “nice” has a different meaning in our group. We settled on making a 3D printed bust of Peter’s head on a column in the style of Julius Caesar. If we were true friends, we would have commissioned it to be made in marble by one of the great sculptors of our era. Does anyone know what Michelangelo’s distant relatives are doing these days? Instead, we enlisted the services of a mutual friend in the luxury suite with us. He agreed to make the bust for the cost of the resin, which was more in line with our budget. People with 3D printers are great to know because they spent too much money on the latest gadget and are always looking for excuses to use it. I’m made of excuses. It’s my defining character trait and single useful life skill. There was just one problem with this plan: Peter’s wife.

Photo by Anastasiya Badun on Unsplash

Predictably, she was inside the suite with us rather than in the outdoor balcony seats watching the game. I can’t verify that a baseball game was even happening that day. It’s possible Peter and Delilah booked that suite to hang out in an empty stadium. Like most wives, Delilah didn’t want a 1:1 scale replica of her husband’s head taking up space in her house. That would be creepy and immensely inconvenient, which were the project’s two biggest selling points to everyone but her. There’s no good spot to put something like that. I think it should go next to the front door or on the mantelpiece looking out across the living room. It deserves a place of honor. Delilah didn’t see it that way. It would blemish her pristine decorating style and raise uncomfortable questions from guests. Yet, she couldn’t simply hide it in a closet. Actually, she could, but it would be a slap in the face of all her friends who conspiratorially banded together to have it made for Peter. There would be constant peer pressure to have it on display. The best gifts are perpetually irritating but also too sentimentally charged to throw away. It’s why I found the biggest bear I could to give to my brother as a wedding present. It will have a place of prominence in every place where Harry lives for the rest of his life. It’s a testament to brotherly love. I wanted nothing less for Peter, even if he would rather light himself on fire than be related to me. Being my friend is hard enough.

It would be extremely difficult for Delilah to explain the bust to people who aren’t in on it. The running joke in our group is that Peter has dreamy eyes. In reality, he has the standard slate of basic facial features expected of any normal human. There are no surprises, unpleasant or otherwise. All thirty and forty-something white dudes look the same. It’s the perfect demographic for committing crimes. You could never pick us out of a lineup. Peter is ten years older than me. That makes him almost fifty, which is weird because I’m only twenty-five. His demeanor matches his age. He’s the most stoic and unexcitable person I know. Naturally, we attribute to his inexpressive pupils a raw magnetism that probably isn’t there. To stare into those completely mundane orbs is to lose yourself and possibly your soul. A plastic bust of him would be the perfect gift, even to himself. Delilah insisted we should make many smaller versions she could hide around her house rather than a single large, obvious one visible to all. She was trying to mitigate the shame or maybe just to hoard all of his attractiveness to herself. That was a nonstarter for the rest of us. To get the full experience, the replica of his head needed to be life-size. Nothing less would do. All that was left was to actually do it. That’s where I ran into problems. 

The guy with the 3D printer gave me extremely specific instructions on what was required. My job was to get a video of Peter’s head that could be converted into a digital model. I needed to make three orbits from different heights and in good lighting. That’s not a normal request to make of anyone. While Peter is generally down for anything on a moment’s notice, I’ve never asked him to take a video of his head for no reason. To make it seem less suspicious, I outsourced the job to my fourteen-year-old, Betsy. Teenagers are expected to act weird. They only raise red flags when behaving normally. Betsy has shown an aptitude for subterfuge that is, quite frankly, alarming. Once, when playing a hidden traitor game, she looked me dead in the eye and swore she was on my team. I believed her completely. She was, of course, the bad guy. I was devastated. I realized at that moment that I can’t tell when she’s lying. Her teenage years instantly became much more terrifying. The only positive use for that power was pranking Peter. She tried so hard she even fooled me.

We were gathered downstairs for one of our usual Wednesday game nights. Betsy appeared out of nowhere and asked to borrow my phone. She said she needed to film us for a video with fun transitions for Instagram. My initial instinct was to shoo her away. That’s my automatic response to any odd requests from children. Half a second later, I realized what she was up to. I gave her my phone. She filmed everyone, with Peter in the middle of the order. He didn’t raise any objections. He might be even better at ignoring my children than I am. The next day, I forwarded the video to the 3D printer guy. It was on.

Only it wasn’t. The 3D printer guy got back to me a few days later. The video was no good. The lighting wasn’t bright enough, and parts of the video clipped off portions of Peter’s head. Worse, Betsy wasn’t tall enough. The video needed to be taken from above, at eye level, and slightly below eye level on three consecutive rotations. Betsy’s angles were all from eye level and down. Curse my wife’s hobbit genes. Peter also wore his glasses, which confused the app that was trying to convert the video into a 3D model. Maybe the program was just sad that it couldn’t see his beautiful eyes. I’m now burdened with having to make that file again. That’s where I’ve been stuck for weeks. Recording a new 360 degree video of Peter’s head right away would have raised suspicions. Also, I’m not as sly as Betsy, and people don’t give me as much latitude. When I pull out my phone, others get nervous. I don’t know why. It’s not like I have big social media accounts I abuse for my own selfish purposes. Peter continues to show up, and I continue not to request a video of his head. That’s why I’m writing about this today. You can hold me accountable. Shaming works and should be used more often, but only if the target is me.

You might think I risk revealing the whole plan to Peter by disclosing it to such a large audience. That’s where you’re wrong. My friends generally don’t read my stuff. Delilah subscribes to the newsletter, but she only shares certain articles with Peter. She doesn’t support the size of our planned statue, but I don’t think she would go as far as deliberately sabotaging it. This week’s email will be a good test of her true intentions. There’s precedent for me hiding my schemes in the open. When I was acquiring and preparing the taxidermy bear, I detailed every step in my newsletter. My brother never read a word of it and was caught completely by surprise. He was the only one. Everyone else saw it coming from three hundred miles away, which is about how much driving I did in the process of pulling it off. If Delilah (or any of you) did reveal the statue plan to Peter, he might go along with it willingly. At his advanced age, it’s possible he wants to leave behind a lasting legacy. The plastic bust could double as his tombstone. Still, it would be funnier if this was a surprise. If you know him in real life, please keep the scheme to yourself. My plan is to awkwardly ask to make another video of his head later this afternoon when we get together at his house for games. With luck, I’ll have a cool statue to show you in the coming weeks. If not, I’ll have the exciting tale of my failure. Either way, you win. Wish me luck.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time. 

James