September 2000

"Go To the Time-Out Corner," and other things the grown-ups told us

What causes us to seek out diversion over a weekend, not even a weekend, but a day and a night, of drinking and eating and playing horseshoes and seeing people we haven't seen for a while? Why don't we take our fun as it is found lying in the street or at the steps to the house on the doormat or in the kitchen as it cooks its dinner, or even hovering just above our heads as it looks for a parking spot on an ear or a neck? Possibly there is fun in the department store when we shop for socks. Perhaps it lurks under the car seat with the M&M’s and all the change that has fallen out of our pockets. Must we really look for it, or will it find us? Then, I ask, is there any difference between the two things, that is, between the sought out and the just happened upon, or is it all the same?

It is the same, I assert, except for two differences. In the sought diversion, one is more likely to see a friend one has not seen for a time, though, if, like me, you live in a place as hoppin' as Boston, the frequency of this meeting is about the same. Second, and an especially negative point, one gets their hopes up for the intensity of fun that will occur when it is always best just to take things in stride with only the simplest of expectation. It is best to expect a good time over the anticipation of a rad, bad, totally mad, hip-hop-happnin' jim-jamboree. A person with the hopes like the latter is likely not to have those hopes fulfilled. This brings me to the Evil Robots Pig Roast Picnic of the other day, generously hosted by Grandpa's brother.

But not quite yet. Compromise is a thing that happens all the time. I share my money with a friend or I decide to spend time with someone and the two (or more) minds, each wanting its own thing, must come together in some way or there can be no sharing at all. The biggest drag for me with hanging out with other people that I don't wholly get along with, especially if they are strong willed and insist on their way, is that I must compromise. Things are very different if I am with people whose company I enjoy. Then it almost doesn't matter what we do, and the activity ends up being agreeable to all involved. I often have to compromise with myself, and while this is directly related to a compromise with another as well as when one is making a more independent decision, it is not important to what I am getting at.

What am I getting at? All I have to say is don't get your hopes up my friend.

I wanted to come early to this very important meeting to get my bearings and a few beers, and begin to have a good time all the time, but that wasn't to be because I was sharing a ride. This is one compromise I made that weekend. And who cares really? Not me.

So Mr. K, as he shall be henceforth known in this little dealie, and I drove up on a nice Saturday morning and arrived at the party place- which was in pre-party mode- to find Princess and Godzilla lounging with Princess' dog Ol' Rubber Ears. Bigfoot and Grandpa were nowhere to be found, but rumored to be on a mission of supply-getting. We proceeded to wait around and do some stuff, Grandpa and Bigfoot came back at some point, and I rode in the jeep. Finally the keg was tapped to the cries of "hallelujah" and "it's about freakin' time."

The beer was filling, but that didn't, and could never, keep me from the food. I only know one person who is as big a glutton as I am. No one else comes even close. The pig was fantastic- greasy and tender and oh so tasty. I ate a lot of it and skipped a lot of the side dishes except the fruit bowl made out of a watermelon shell. I really love melon. The corn was darn good too. I like corn. My appreciation does have one requirement- it must be good.

This is the season for summer produce and you best take advantage of it or wait another year. The same goes for tomatoes- get em now or suffer a winter of crappy pulpy supermarket "tomato" varieties- they keep well on the shelves, but man do they stink. There is simply no excuse for such crappiness. They just shouldn't try to sell them during those off months. We give up way too much for the stupid convenience of having everything all of the time. But it’s summer and the produce is good. (It might be fall by the time this gets published so you should consider the late vegetables. Winter squash is here and I am excited about that. Whipped squash is a good companion to a broiled or baked chicken and can be a nice addition to the old standby mashed potatoes- there is no replacement for them and don’t even try it.)

Godzilla said I should tell more about what happened, but nothing happened. -He said I should write this because I did a good job with the other two articles, but I think no one else wants to do it. Pass it along down the line until somebody does it. - I could give a play by play on the beers we had but it would be boring and I wouldn’t have a TV’s chance in an Elvis impersonator gun range at remembering it anyway. The hanging out is the purpose of a thing like this and actual notable events are incidental. Sit, drink, socialize, drink, smoke, socialize. That’s it, but it’s good. I see these people too infrequently and technology still hasn’t filled the need of person to person shootin' the crap. Short and mostly impersonal email bursts do not make communication.

Some things did happen. We got out the cricket set and bowled and whacked a little bit but no game actually took place. I think I struck out. It’s a shame that there isn’t something like catch in cricket. Catching without gloves has got to wear out fast.

There were a bunch of non-ER folks there that got to come by association- privileged people indeed. There was a crazy kid there, a cousin or something, who was a potato and insisted on being eaten. I think he should get an honorary Doctorate from ERUniversity cause that is the best way I can think of to give him props. Even if he does grow up to be a bit weird, he deserves some serious respect for being a potato. How many of us can honestly say we would do the same if we were in his shoes? Not one. Our hats are off to you.

The most important event after the beer drinking and pig eating and hanging out with those people I used to know was that Godzilla and I took back the Horseshoe Belt in ass-kicking form. Grandpa and Princess may never recover. I forget the final score but it wasn't because I was drunk. I wasn't. I just don’t remember things. They say that Altheimer’s shows up pretty early in a life in little episodes that family members recall only in hindsight. A friend's dad has developed this personality destroying disease and she says that he is more pleasant and agreeable than he has ever been in his life. My grandmother had a couple of small strokes and she is unusually pleasant and doesn't complain like she used to. I swear I don't know who I'm talking to sometimes.

These things come and go and I fear getting it myself, but then, what can I really do about it. Life, it seems as I get older and feel even older still, is full of this kind of thing, and humans have an incredible capacity to deal with them. Dealing with this kind of crap will probably be even easier when my personality turns to that blank-eyed, easy-dispositioned mush. But not for a while, I hope- I have errands to run.

This concludes my essay on aging.