It was a beautiful Friday evening in the spring of 1989, and Anthrax had cancelled on us.
Not on us, personally, but on the whole city of Memphis. Anthrax (along with - I think - Helloween and Exodus) had been scheduled to play the Auditorium North Hall, right downtown. My friends Jon and Eric and I had tickets, front row center.
The show was called off because of low ticket sales. That's why we got such good seats, I guess.
So I was angry. Jon and Eric were righteously pissed. And I was running an errand for my mom.
For a reason long since forgotten I had to go to Dillard's in the Mall of Memphis and buy a fancy men's umbrella. Why? I honestly can't remember, but that was my assignment. Eric, I guess, chose not to go on this trip. So Jon drove me to the mall in his flesh-colored Celica. On the way, we stopped at the Hamburger Express (a truly frightening little burger stand) just up the street from my house and I got a cheeseburger with everything. I ate it on the way, and I would see it again later.
So I got the umbrella, and it was fancy. Did John and I walk around pretending to be Little Alex and at least one of his droogs? We almost certainly did. We must have been insufferable.
I distinctly remember driving up the ramp to the new bridge, windows down, Van Halen's first album absolutely detonating out of Jon's stereo. We decided we'd get drunk. That would show Anthrax! They'd be sorry they cancelled on us.
Somewhere between the bridge and Jon's house we ran into Donnie, who was riding around with Lori and Kim in Lori's....Camaro? Trans Am? Something totally overpowered for a teenager, anyway.
Somehow, we got booze. I was all of sixteen. They were all seventeen or maybe eighteen. Not legal, for sure. Maybe Jon's mom got us the booze, or Jon's brother, who was almost always patient with our teenage shenanigans. On Donnie's sister. It probably wasn't even illegal to buy a teenager some booze, back then.
They were all drinking Purple Passion, a vile fruity-sweet alcopop with a grain alcohol base. Or maybe wine coolers. Seagram's Lime Mist was the preferred flavor of the little group.
Not me, though. I had to have beer. Moosehead beer. I'm not sure where the fixation on Moosehead came from, but my friend James and I had been drinking it every chance we got.
I distinctly remember one night. James drove right up to the liquor store drive-thru and got a six-pack of Moosehead like he was a grown man. Then we drove around, drinking beer. At one point, we both had a beer sitting on the dashboard of his truck. The windows were down. He took a hard right turn and - zing! - both beers leaped out of the truck through the open passenger window.
Anyway, Moosehead. Nowadays, a six pack of anything wouldn't get me through a hard day of football watching or gumbo cooking. Twentysome years ago, though, and a six pack - consumed in a little under an hour - would have a pretty dramatic effect on me.
I remember drinking the beer. And I remember some videos - a whole string of videos! - coming on MTV and me declaring them "totally fucking awesome." There was some spirited grab-ass. Somehow I ended up on the floor. And then, for some reason, we decided to go riding around.
(Now, of course, I realize how horrifyingly stupid this all was. Five drunk teenagers in a muscular American car can lead to the kind of a front page story that begins with "An entire town mourns today..." But it didn't happen. We made it and we're just a damn little bit smarter. Kids, don't drink and drive. It's wrong.)
For some reason, Donnie and I were in the back seat. Jon was wedged in the front with Kim and Lori. Why? I don't know. So me and Donnie made out a little bit.
Kidding!
So I was in the back seat, and fine as long as the car was moving and the cool night air could wash around me. I remember feeling a little funny at every stoplight, though.
Someone decided they wanted some french fries, so we pulled into Central Park - another vile little burger stand. Donnie wanted something to eat, too, so he leaned against me. Sweaty, drunken, Drakkar Noir scented Donnie pressed against me to yell his order at the same moment the girl inside opened the window and unleashed a solid torrent of hot, greasy air right into my lap.
I was lucky to get my head out the window. Lori, who was driving, screamed.
The next thing I remember was retching into the toilet at the KFC. I don't know how we got there.
I went out into the parking lot. Lori and Kim and Jon and Donnie were laughing like loons, trying to figure out how to open the driver's door which was liberally coated with puke.
"Get a stick, get a stick," Kim yelled, "we'll pry it open!"
Then back to Jon's. More puking in his toilet. At one point I staggered out into the living room, where there was much laughter and music and cigarette smoke. I went back to the toilet. I came back out and hours had passed. The lights were off and everyone was gone.
The next morning I woke up with the sourest stomach and bone-crunching headache. I had never had that much to drink before. At sixteen, my first hangover. Hooray!
Of course now I know there are treatments. Lots of water. Advil. A big ol' cheeseburger. Then, though? I just laid on the couch and watched music videos until I felt well enough to drive across town.
My mom said the umbrella was perfect; exactly what she wanted me to buy.
At that time, in that town, this was considered a pretty great Friday night.
As Biggie said, if you don't know, now you know.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
Yesterday afternoon John and I ran by my Mom's house. John had a homework assignment to interview a grandparent about what things were like when the grandparent was a kid, so we were taking care of that. We visited with my mom for a little while, then got ready to leave.
My brother Jack was in the garage, sitting amidst the random assortment of roadside castoffs he's accumulated over the past three years or so.
(About three years ago Jack left town. I can't remember if he disappeared or if he announced his departure, but he was gone and supposed to be gone for a good long time. My Mom asked me to come over and clean all crap out to the street. It was very satisfying, even though it was 90% loose change, .22 ammunition and human teeth. Those teeth belonged to Jack. When a tooth gave him too much trouble he'd take a pair of vise grips and pull the tooth out. For fun, I think. He has dentures now. Also, he's not quite 50 yet. His collection of crap is much, much larger now than it was three years ago.)
"Hey, little brother," he said, "I need a ride to go get my phone. I left it at my buddy's house."
(Two notes here: One, Jack always calls me little brother. I don't like it, but if I told him that he'd double down on it for sure. He was called Little Jack for years, until his dad died, and for years after that. He probably thinks the "little" designation is nice. Two, Jack never asks for a ride. He tells you he needs one. He knows one of the prime rules of being a mooch: never present your begging as a choice. Make it a foregone conclusion for the person you're asking, and then its harder to say no.)
"And where's that?" I asked. You always ask where with Jack, or you could find yourself driving to Forrest City when you need to get your kid home for dinner. But the buddy lived about ten minutes from my house, so I said okay.
"You still datin' Gretchen?" he asked. I told him I was.
"Awww," he said, "I was gonna set you up on a blind date with my ol' gal's friend. She's about 27, 28...she'd whoop you in to shape!"
I declined, and noted that she probably wouldn't be able to stand me if I was in any better shape, anyway.
"Aw hell, you might whip her into shape, then!"
Then he tells me the buddy whose house we're going to is in the Klan.
"The Klan?" I say.
"The Klan," Jack confirms, he's got the hood and the robe and everything. He told me one time the cops were in his house [why the cops were in his house was not explained, but its hardly a surprise, right?] and they started taking pictures of his robes and he called the chief of police and said if anything came outta that he'd sue 'em 'cause this is America and he can have whatever clothes he wants in his own house."
We pulled up to the townhouse apartments where the buddy lives. Over his patio is a large rebel flag, which you can see from the service road when the wind blows just right and flutters it out.
Jack got out of the truck to get his phone.
"Daddy," John said, "do you think Uncle Jack is kind of crazy sometimes?"
"Yes," I told him, "but we love him anyway. We have to. He's family."
Jack came out of the apartment, phone in hand. He stopped just outside the gate, turned around, and proceeded to piss on his buddy's fence.
"Shit," he said when he got back in the truck, "my back teeth was floatin'."
Jack went to court recently, and my sister went with him. She told me it had worked out well and that the charges would be dismissed because another trial was going to run too long.
"So I heard your last trip to court went pretty good..." I prompted him.
"Not that good," he said, "you remember that double murder in West Memphis last year?" I remembered that it happened, but not the specifics or anything. "Well," he continued," that old boy wudn't supposed to take a plea bargain or anything, so they were gonna have a full jury trial and my charge was gonna get kicked out 'cause it's been too long. But my lawyer called me the next day and said old boy took a plea deal, five years for each murder, out of prison in twenty months. Anybody'd take that shit. So I had to go in and I got five years non-supervised probation. I get picked up for anything, DUI, public intox, I'm going to the pen for the rest of the five years."
He shook his head and sighed like a man considering a difficult job. "I don't know about that. I just don't know."
"I might be moving to Florida," he said right before we got back to my Mom's house. "A buddy of mine, his family owns a company in Fort Myers, they could put me and him both to work, make some money."
I think my brother would fit right in in Florida.
My brother Jack was in the garage, sitting amidst the random assortment of roadside castoffs he's accumulated over the past three years or so.
(About three years ago Jack left town. I can't remember if he disappeared or if he announced his departure, but he was gone and supposed to be gone for a good long time. My Mom asked me to come over and clean all crap out to the street. It was very satisfying, even though it was 90% loose change, .22 ammunition and human teeth. Those teeth belonged to Jack. When a tooth gave him too much trouble he'd take a pair of vise grips and pull the tooth out. For fun, I think. He has dentures now. Also, he's not quite 50 yet. His collection of crap is much, much larger now than it was three years ago.)
"Hey, little brother," he said, "I need a ride to go get my phone. I left it at my buddy's house."
(Two notes here: One, Jack always calls me little brother. I don't like it, but if I told him that he'd double down on it for sure. He was called Little Jack for years, until his dad died, and for years after that. He probably thinks the "little" designation is nice. Two, Jack never asks for a ride. He tells you he needs one. He knows one of the prime rules of being a mooch: never present your begging as a choice. Make it a foregone conclusion for the person you're asking, and then its harder to say no.)
"And where's that?" I asked. You always ask where with Jack, or you could find yourself driving to Forrest City when you need to get your kid home for dinner. But the buddy lived about ten minutes from my house, so I said okay.
"You still datin' Gretchen?" he asked. I told him I was.
"Awww," he said, "I was gonna set you up on a blind date with my ol' gal's friend. She's about 27, 28...she'd whoop you in to shape!"
I declined, and noted that she probably wouldn't be able to stand me if I was in any better shape, anyway.
"Aw hell, you might whip her into shape, then!"
Then he tells me the buddy whose house we're going to is in the Klan.
"The Klan?" I say.
"The Klan," Jack confirms, he's got the hood and the robe and everything. He told me one time the cops were in his house [why the cops were in his house was not explained, but its hardly a surprise, right?] and they started taking pictures of his robes and he called the chief of police and said if anything came outta that he'd sue 'em 'cause this is America and he can have whatever clothes he wants in his own house."
We pulled up to the townhouse apartments where the buddy lives. Over his patio is a large rebel flag, which you can see from the service road when the wind blows just right and flutters it out.
Jack got out of the truck to get his phone.
"Daddy," John said, "do you think Uncle Jack is kind of crazy sometimes?"
"Yes," I told him, "but we love him anyway. We have to. He's family."
Jack came out of the apartment, phone in hand. He stopped just outside the gate, turned around, and proceeded to piss on his buddy's fence.
"Shit," he said when he got back in the truck, "my back teeth was floatin'."
Jack went to court recently, and my sister went with him. She told me it had worked out well and that the charges would be dismissed because another trial was going to run too long.
"So I heard your last trip to court went pretty good..." I prompted him.
"Not that good," he said, "you remember that double murder in West Memphis last year?" I remembered that it happened, but not the specifics or anything. "Well," he continued," that old boy wudn't supposed to take a plea bargain or anything, so they were gonna have a full jury trial and my charge was gonna get kicked out 'cause it's been too long. But my lawyer called me the next day and said old boy took a plea deal, five years for each murder, out of prison in twenty months. Anybody'd take that shit. So I had to go in and I got five years non-supervised probation. I get picked up for anything, DUI, public intox, I'm going to the pen for the rest of the five years."
He shook his head and sighed like a man considering a difficult job. "I don't know about that. I just don't know."
"I might be moving to Florida," he said right before we got back to my Mom's house. "A buddy of mine, his family owns a company in Fort Myers, they could put me and him both to work, make some money."
I think my brother would fit right in in Florida.
Monday, August 20, 2012
If summer had to end - and I guess it had to - John and I ended it on a good weekend.
Friday I took the day off and he and Gretchen and I went to Hardy to play in the river. First we drove up to Mammoth Springs and waded around a little there. You wouldn't think so much water could be so painfully cold, but it was. I went in up to my ankles and got the chills. I couldn't imagine submerging my whole body in it.
We were going to go tubing, but one place said we'd have to paddle for a while (uh-uh) and another place said we'd have to walk back to the car (no way). So we ended up just playing in the river. The river had wrapped around a small island at one point; this made for a fast current and a three foot standing wave. John went through it five or six times in his life jacket, bouncing over the wave and laughing his ass off.
***
When we were leaving I was holding up one of Gretchen's gigantic bath sheets so she could change. On my side were the few campers at the campground. The river on Gretchen's side was deserted.
So of course she had no pants on when a canoe came skittering around the little island.
"Uh," I said, "there's a canoe."
She wrapped the towel around herself, laughed, and waved at the guys in the canoe. They seemed very pleased with the whole thing.
***
Yesterday John and I went to the Rock and Romp in Minglewood Hall. I like the Rock and Romp, because for five bucks I get all the barbecue and beer I can eat. The caveat there is that you have to arrive promptly at the start time, or the lines will be outrageous or - much worse - the beer and meat will be gone altogether.
John, I think, is getting iffy about the Rock and Romps, though. There's tons of kids there, of course, and John doesn't usually have any trouble making the kind of temporary insta-friends the way kids do. He has a hard time with the Rock and Romps for some reason. After an hour or so he came back to where I was sitting, saying he couldn't find anyone who would play with him.
The Overinvolved Father in me wanted to catch some passing kid, shake the shit out of them, and say "do you not realize how awesome John is? How lucky you are that he wants to play with you? Take him into your circle and consider yourself blessed!" But the more realistic me knows that kids are clique-ish, and that most of those midtown kids go to school together, and John really is kind of an outsider.
Not that that upsets him. He told me he was hungry, but he's not a barbecue man. So we went to Toro Loco and he ate a couple of quesadillas. Then we went to Overton Park, where he effortlessly joined a group of kids on the playground.
***
When we got home last night we were watching a little wrestling. Brock Lesnar was on, sporting a vicious midwestern farm boy high and tight.
"We need to cut your hair like that," I told John. He immediately went for it. So we did.
***
It's been an excellent summer. Lots of swimming and in-pool beer drinking. A couple of trips to Hardy. My big birthday trip to Missouri and the long float down the Current River in a PBR haze. Fireworks. Yard work. Time with friends and family. Lazy Sunday afternoons with the girlfriend. I turned forty. Memorable stuff.
Friday I took the day off and he and Gretchen and I went to Hardy to play in the river. First we drove up to Mammoth Springs and waded around a little there. You wouldn't think so much water could be so painfully cold, but it was. I went in up to my ankles and got the chills. I couldn't imagine submerging my whole body in it.
We were going to go tubing, but one place said we'd have to paddle for a while (uh-uh) and another place said we'd have to walk back to the car (no way). So we ended up just playing in the river. The river had wrapped around a small island at one point; this made for a fast current and a three foot standing wave. John went through it five or six times in his life jacket, bouncing over the wave and laughing his ass off.
***
When we were leaving I was holding up one of Gretchen's gigantic bath sheets so she could change. On my side were the few campers at the campground. The river on Gretchen's side was deserted.
So of course she had no pants on when a canoe came skittering around the little island.
"Uh," I said, "there's a canoe."
She wrapped the towel around herself, laughed, and waved at the guys in the canoe. They seemed very pleased with the whole thing.
***
Yesterday John and I went to the Rock and Romp in Minglewood Hall. I like the Rock and Romp, because for five bucks I get all the barbecue and beer I can eat. The caveat there is that you have to arrive promptly at the start time, or the lines will be outrageous or - much worse - the beer and meat will be gone altogether.
John, I think, is getting iffy about the Rock and Romps, though. There's tons of kids there, of course, and John doesn't usually have any trouble making the kind of temporary insta-friends the way kids do. He has a hard time with the Rock and Romps for some reason. After an hour or so he came back to where I was sitting, saying he couldn't find anyone who would play with him.
The Overinvolved Father in me wanted to catch some passing kid, shake the shit out of them, and say "do you not realize how awesome John is? How lucky you are that he wants to play with you? Take him into your circle and consider yourself blessed!" But the more realistic me knows that kids are clique-ish, and that most of those midtown kids go to school together, and John really is kind of an outsider.
Not that that upsets him. He told me he was hungry, but he's not a barbecue man. So we went to Toro Loco and he ate a couple of quesadillas. Then we went to Overton Park, where he effortlessly joined a group of kids on the playground.
***
When we got home last night we were watching a little wrestling. Brock Lesnar was on, sporting a vicious midwestern farm boy high and tight.
"We need to cut your hair like that," I told John. He immediately went for it. So we did.
***
It's been an excellent summer. Lots of swimming and in-pool beer drinking. A couple of trips to Hardy. My big birthday trip to Missouri and the long float down the Current River in a PBR haze. Fireworks. Yard work. Time with friends and family. Lazy Sunday afternoons with the girlfriend. I turned forty. Memorable stuff.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
I've been reading the back issues of a local blog Sassy Molassy - I don't know her, but I think we have some people in common) and I noticed in her stuff from late in 2009 and early in 2010 she mentions several times how cold it was.
It was, too. Cold, and cold for weeks on end. Usually in Memphis we get breaks from the cold in the wintertime. Maybe a warm day with a gusty wind from the south or a stretch of mild-and-rainy, but they didn't seem to happen much that winter.
I remember people coming to the house to watch a football game one Saturday night in December and they all came in shivering with their teeth chattering. I poured them all little cups of Evan Williams Honey Reserve and they were all grateful for it. Christmas day was icy cold, with a bright blue sky and a north wind that didn't care if you were wearing a coat.
And January? Fucking January. They day my grandmother died was bleak, bleak. A cold-iron sky and useless little spatters of snow. It was sunny at her funeral, but the wind at the little cemetery outside Tyronza blows hard on even the mildest days. That wasn't a mild day.
And at the time three of the four power windows in my old Volvo were broken, so as I'd drive they'd slowly slide down. By the time I got to work all three of them would be open a couple of inches. I'd turn the heater all the way up and keep my gloves and hat on for the whole trip.
One day in February Sonya and I went to lunch in her car. On the way back she was smoking, with her window down. That was cold.
Super Bowl Sunday when the Saints finally, blessedly won? So damn cold. It snowed that night, a real live surprise snow that kept me home from work the next day.
Towards the end of February I went out dancing (on a night when I couldn't have felt less like dancing) and I left my coat in the car. The walk back to the car down Madison with the air hanging right around freezing.
I wasn't sleeping well, at all. I was always getting up to check on John, who usually cocooned himself. But sometimes I'd find him with the covers all kicked off, curled into a ball. I'd put the blankets back over him and I could see his whole body relax under the covers, warm again.
And when I came back to bed Dora would do the same thing every time: she would get up, let me get in bed and situated, and then she would plop her dog ass down against my hip and lay down, snug against the length of my right leg, watching the door to the bedroom. She knew something was up. I don't think she slept, because when I would get up in the night she would always look back at me as if to say, "all clear, boss. Everything's under control."
And then! In April the weather broke, firmly and finally. Warm and mild, open-window days, as if nature was saying "oops. Sorry about all that shit."
It was, too. Cold, and cold for weeks on end. Usually in Memphis we get breaks from the cold in the wintertime. Maybe a warm day with a gusty wind from the south or a stretch of mild-and-rainy, but they didn't seem to happen much that winter.
I remember people coming to the house to watch a football game one Saturday night in December and they all came in shivering with their teeth chattering. I poured them all little cups of Evan Williams Honey Reserve and they were all grateful for it. Christmas day was icy cold, with a bright blue sky and a north wind that didn't care if you were wearing a coat.
And January? Fucking January. They day my grandmother died was bleak, bleak. A cold-iron sky and useless little spatters of snow. It was sunny at her funeral, but the wind at the little cemetery outside Tyronza blows hard on even the mildest days. That wasn't a mild day.
And at the time three of the four power windows in my old Volvo were broken, so as I'd drive they'd slowly slide down. By the time I got to work all three of them would be open a couple of inches. I'd turn the heater all the way up and keep my gloves and hat on for the whole trip.
One day in February Sonya and I went to lunch in her car. On the way back she was smoking, with her window down. That was cold.
Super Bowl Sunday when the Saints finally, blessedly won? So damn cold. It snowed that night, a real live surprise snow that kept me home from work the next day.
Towards the end of February I went out dancing (on a night when I couldn't have felt less like dancing) and I left my coat in the car. The walk back to the car down Madison with the air hanging right around freezing.
I wasn't sleeping well, at all. I was always getting up to check on John, who usually cocooned himself. But sometimes I'd find him with the covers all kicked off, curled into a ball. I'd put the blankets back over him and I could see his whole body relax under the covers, warm again.
And when I came back to bed Dora would do the same thing every time: she would get up, let me get in bed and situated, and then she would plop her dog ass down against my hip and lay down, snug against the length of my right leg, watching the door to the bedroom. She knew something was up. I don't think she slept, because when I would get up in the night she would always look back at me as if to say, "all clear, boss. Everything's under control."
And then! In April the weather broke, firmly and finally. Warm and mild, open-window days, as if nature was saying "oops. Sorry about all that shit."
Friday, March 30, 2012
In animal news:
Last night, when John and I got home from his soccer practice, there was a pair of mallards paddling around in the ditch in front of my neighbor's house. They were quacking and acting very pleased with themselves. They didn't want me and John to get to close, though.
Later in the evening, Dora came in from the backyard. There was something on her neck. I thought it was mud, but it was kind of shiny. And had legs. And was about the size of a cocktail olive.
It was a tick. A big tick. John and I were both sure it wasn't there the day before. Regardless, we got it off her.
Last night, when John and I got home from his soccer practice, there was a pair of mallards paddling around in the ditch in front of my neighbor's house. They were quacking and acting very pleased with themselves. They didn't want me and John to get to close, though.
Later in the evening, Dora came in from the backyard. There was something on her neck. I thought it was mud, but it was kind of shiny. And had legs. And was about the size of a cocktail olive.
It was a tick. A big tick. John and I were both sure it wasn't there the day before. Regardless, we got it off her.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
So, spring break. Woooo spring break!
Last Wednesday morning I picked John up at his mom's (after dropping off Dora and Rascal at Mr. Angeletti's) and we went to the dentist. New insurance, new dentist, but John and I both liked him. That probably had something to do with both of us getting a good report, no cavities, all that. We both did some gagging, though, because that runs in the family.
The dental hygienist did say I had a narrow palate.
Wait, I thought, did she just call me a pussy? I think that's how they talk bad about people.
Anyway, the dentist was fine. We grabbed lunch and left Marion by noon.
If you drive into Arkansas from Memphis you will see the big over-the-interstate signs that say WRECK AHEAD or AMBER ALERT or ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE REPENT SINS. Lately, the signs have said CONSTRUCTION 75 MILES AHEAD EXPECT DELAYS.
Pay attention to these signs.
Just past Brinkley, in the pouring rain, traffic stopped dead. For maybe thirty minutes. What can you do? I turned off the truck and John and I watched a big chunk of Fantastic Mr. Fox.
We rolled into Hot Springs about four that afternoon. Here was the deal: there's an RV park over by Lake Hamilton that will set up a tent for you, and it cost about the same as the other campgrounds around town. Or you can drive out in the sticks and camp for free. I'm all about convenience.
So we get there and the place is pretty, and close to everything, and the owner had set up out tent under the big porch where they have cookouts and parties in the summer.
"It's supposed to rain over the next couple of days, so I thought y'all might want to be under here..."
"You were exactly right," I told him. I've spent my share of cold, wet, rainy nights in a leaky tent.
"The bathrooms are right around the corner...." he continued.
"Excellent."
"And I usually make coffee around eight in the morning when I come in..."
Stop trying to sell me on the place!
It was pretty ideal. Still sleeping outside, in a tent, which satisfied our camping jones, but under cover and with all the conveniences close by. Score!
It was cool and threatening rain, so we went to the indoor mini-golf place with a Jurassic Park/glow in the dark theme. Fun. Then go carts. I imagine I now know what the parent of a teenager feels like when he has to white-knuckle it through the first few driving lessons. Riding with John going an easy twenty miles an hour was exciting.
Then we wandered around the Arlington and the lower parts of the mountain by the bath houses. After some dinner, we were back at camp. I built a nice tall sippin' drink.
Now, when you camp you have to have a fire, right? I had asked the owner when I made the reservation, and he told me since the RV park was in the city limits they couldn't have fire rings. I was welcome to bring a fire pit, though, and wood.
That's an advantage to having a truck: when you go camping you can take everything. So John and I had loaded up the fire pit and a few small trees worth of wood. Soon we had a huge roaring fire to poke and tend to. Perfect.
Thursday was insanity. In brief:
And Friday morning we climbed the mountain then had a delicious lunch at Cici's before we headed back to Marion. We took the highway 70 about half the way back to avoid the traffic that had caught us on Wednesday. There was something timeless about it: a man and his son, in a truck, coming back from camping, driving through Lokoke and Carlisle and Des Arc.
"I'd like to start these days over and do them all again," John said. I agreed.
Last Wednesday morning I picked John up at his mom's (after dropping off Dora and Rascal at Mr. Angeletti's) and we went to the dentist. New insurance, new dentist, but John and I both liked him. That probably had something to do with both of us getting a good report, no cavities, all that. We both did some gagging, though, because that runs in the family.
The dental hygienist did say I had a narrow palate.
Wait, I thought, did she just call me a pussy? I think that's how they talk bad about people.
Anyway, the dentist was fine. We grabbed lunch and left Marion by noon.
If you drive into Arkansas from Memphis you will see the big over-the-interstate signs that say WRECK AHEAD or AMBER ALERT or ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE REPENT SINS. Lately, the signs have said CONSTRUCTION 75 MILES AHEAD EXPECT DELAYS.
Pay attention to these signs.
Just past Brinkley, in the pouring rain, traffic stopped dead. For maybe thirty minutes. What can you do? I turned off the truck and John and I watched a big chunk of Fantastic Mr. Fox.
We rolled into Hot Springs about four that afternoon. Here was the deal: there's an RV park over by Lake Hamilton that will set up a tent for you, and it cost about the same as the other campgrounds around town. Or you can drive out in the sticks and camp for free. I'm all about convenience.
So we get there and the place is pretty, and close to everything, and the owner had set up out tent under the big porch where they have cookouts and parties in the summer.
"It's supposed to rain over the next couple of days, so I thought y'all might want to be under here..."
"You were exactly right," I told him. I've spent my share of cold, wet, rainy nights in a leaky tent.
"The bathrooms are right around the corner...." he continued.
"Excellent."
"And I usually make coffee around eight in the morning when I come in..."
Stop trying to sell me on the place!
It was pretty ideal. Still sleeping outside, in a tent, which satisfied our camping jones, but under cover and with all the conveniences close by. Score!
It was cool and threatening rain, so we went to the indoor mini-golf place with a Jurassic Park/glow in the dark theme. Fun. Then go carts. I imagine I now know what the parent of a teenager feels like when he has to white-knuckle it through the first few driving lessons. Riding with John going an easy twenty miles an hour was exciting.
Then we wandered around the Arlington and the lower parts of the mountain by the bath houses. After some dinner, we were back at camp. I built a nice tall sippin' drink.
Now, when you camp you have to have a fire, right? I had asked the owner when I made the reservation, and he told me since the RV park was in the city limits they couldn't have fire rings. I was welcome to bring a fire pit, though, and wood.
That's an advantage to having a truck: when you go camping you can take everything. So John and I had loaded up the fire pit and a few small trees worth of wood. Soon we had a huge roaring fire to poke and tend to. Perfect.
Thursday was insanity. In brief:
- Breakfast at the Pancake Shop.
- The alligator farm! We both got to hold an alligator. So, so worth it.
- Mid-America Science Museum.
- Oaklawn. Corned beef sandwich, and we watched a race right on the rail. John and I were both convinced number seven would win. He barely managed to finish.
- Thirty-six holes of pirate-themed mini-golf. That was actually pretty awesome.
- A little more go-carting.
- Dinner.
- Fishing! We caught nothing, but we had some good fellowship.
- Another huge fire, which we had to move a couple of times when the pleasant little old couple in the camper nearby got kind of irate as their house filled up with smoke. Some people who were also staying nearby came over and asked if they could cook hot dogs over our fire. We were glad to have them.
And Friday morning we climbed the mountain then had a delicious lunch at Cici's before we headed back to Marion. We took the highway 70 about half the way back to avoid the traffic that had caught us on Wednesday. There was something timeless about it: a man and his son, in a truck, coming back from camping, driving through Lokoke and Carlisle and Des Arc.
"I'd like to start these days over and do them all again," John said. I agreed.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
A Valentine's Day Special: How I Met My Girlfriend
June 26, 2010. I'd spent most of the day cleaning house and making chicken salad. That evening John and I got in the car and went to Midtown to hang out with Jen and James.
(Every time I say "Jen and James" around my friend Laurie she always says "you were hanging out with Jenna Jameson?" because ha ha pornstars!)
(An aside: for a couple of weeks before this I'd had a profile on a dating website called okcupid. Why was I on this website? Because it was free and, as I'd explained to both Laurie and James, "I'm not real interested in dating, but I'm interested in doing some of the things people do when they date. If you know what I mean. And I mean having sex." I'd talked to a couple of women from this website, but I hadn't met anyone I was too excited about. I did send a little hi-how-are-ya note to a certain blonde, though. Keep reading.)
So I'm sitting on Jen and James' couch and we're shooting the shit about the World Cup and most likely drinking beer and eating chicken salad. I ask Jen if I can use her computer to check Facebook. She said yes.
And there was a friend request. It was from a name that meant nothing to me...put the picture was a little bit familiar...so I looked at the profile...and thought about it for a little while...
And then I remembered! It was the blonde! From okcupid! Her name was Gretchen. I accepted the friend request.
And she was online, so we started talking. She explained that she'd searched for my name (which she got from okcupid - it was on my profile) on Facebook, but she wasn't stalking me or anything. I assured her I didn't think she was stalking me.
It was a fun talk. Funny and flirty and semi-dirty. I explained that I was separated, heading for divorce, one kid, two dogs, all that. She told me some stuff about her. At one point I slid across James' living room on my knees like a soccer player who's just scored the winning goal. This girl was cute! And interested in me! And at the very least moderately filthy!
I got her phone number. I got home late that night, put John in bed, and called her. I would later learn that Gretchen is not a late-stayer-upper. But we chatted for a bit and decided we'd get together and do something soon.
So that was nice!
The next morning I'm getting ready for church. I get a text message. The talk went something like this:
Her: Whatcha doing?
Me: Getting ready for church.
Her: Oh how interesting. Where do you go to church?
Me: First Congo. It's very hippie-dippie-lovie-feely-touchy.
Her: I've always meant to go to First Congo.
Me: Well you should go today.
Her: Well okay I will. See you there.
Now, on the fourth Sunday of each month First Congo does a thing called Food For Families. Nothing fancy, they just box up a ton of donated food and give it out to people who need it. It does require some unskilled labor the morning they do it, and I help with that. So I was unloading and bagging up fifty pound bags of...onions? Potatoes? One of the two. Whichever one it was, some of them were rotten and extra-stanky. So, by the time Food For Families was all set up I was sweaty and lightly glazed with rotten vegetables. I went to the bathroom and rinsed off as best I could.
And a few minutes later Gretchen walked in.
Was it love at first sight? I don't think so. I'm a little too old to believe in such things. She was awfully good-looking, though, which never hurts. And she was funny, with a quick smile, and some truly striking green eyes. I liked her immediately.
So, yes: our first date was at church. With my kid. Romance!
After church we walked over to the Deli. Gretchen gave John quarters for video games, which made him automatically think well of her. I was distracted by her cleavage, and told her so. She took it well.
Afterwards John and I walked her to her car - a black Mini convertible. It was as perfect a match of car to person as I'd ever seen. I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Success!
John and I went swimming at my sister's house that afternoon, and he was snoozing by the time we got home. Gretchen had been called in to work that night. When she got off, she gave me a call. I invited her over. She came.
We sat on the couch for a couple of hours and talked. Lots of deep dark secrets revealed, all that. And made out a little bit, like you do. Nothing your average high school couple wouldn't do, though.
The next day she sent me a text. She had the day off. Would I like to have lunch? I said yes. It was the first time I'd seen her in shorts. She had - and has - fairly amazing legs. Good to know!
Back at work she laid a big wet kiss on my before she dropped me off.
"Well," I thought, "some of my coworkers might wonder who that was." But no one said anything.
The next night John was off with his mom. I called Gretchen to see if she wanted to go get some sushi or a drink or something. She had to go to bed fairly early, though, so she asked me to come over to her place and hang out for a while. I did. We had a good time.
On the way home, Queen's Somebody To Love came on the radio. I sang, loudly and badly, the windows down, me trying (and failing) to hit all the notes as I crossed the bridge.
As the song ended, I had a thought.
If this girl isn't crazy, or at least not crazy in any bad, horrible way, I thought, then this could be something really good.
(Every time I say "Jen and James" around my friend Laurie she always says "you were hanging out with Jenna Jameson?" because ha ha pornstars!)
(An aside: for a couple of weeks before this I'd had a profile on a dating website called okcupid. Why was I on this website? Because it was free and, as I'd explained to both Laurie and James, "I'm not real interested in dating, but I'm interested in doing some of the things people do when they date. If you know what I mean. And I mean having sex." I'd talked to a couple of women from this website, but I hadn't met anyone I was too excited about. I did send a little hi-how-are-ya note to a certain blonde, though. Keep reading.)
So I'm sitting on Jen and James' couch and we're shooting the shit about the World Cup and most likely drinking beer and eating chicken salad. I ask Jen if I can use her computer to check Facebook. She said yes.
And there was a friend request. It was from a name that meant nothing to me...put the picture was a little bit familiar...so I looked at the profile...and thought about it for a little while...
And then I remembered! It was the blonde! From okcupid! Her name was Gretchen. I accepted the friend request.
And she was online, so we started talking. She explained that she'd searched for my name (which she got from okcupid - it was on my profile) on Facebook, but she wasn't stalking me or anything. I assured her I didn't think she was stalking me.
It was a fun talk. Funny and flirty and semi-dirty. I explained that I was separated, heading for divorce, one kid, two dogs, all that. She told me some stuff about her. At one point I slid across James' living room on my knees like a soccer player who's just scored the winning goal. This girl was cute! And interested in me! And at the very least moderately filthy!
I got her phone number. I got home late that night, put John in bed, and called her. I would later learn that Gretchen is not a late-stayer-upper. But we chatted for a bit and decided we'd get together and do something soon.
So that was nice!
The next morning I'm getting ready for church. I get a text message. The talk went something like this:
Her: Whatcha doing?
Me: Getting ready for church.
Her: Oh how interesting. Where do you go to church?
Me: First Congo. It's very hippie-dippie-lovie-feely-touchy.
Her: I've always meant to go to First Congo.
Me: Well you should go today.
Her: Well okay I will. See you there.
Now, on the fourth Sunday of each month First Congo does a thing called Food For Families. Nothing fancy, they just box up a ton of donated food and give it out to people who need it. It does require some unskilled labor the morning they do it, and I help with that. So I was unloading and bagging up fifty pound bags of...onions? Potatoes? One of the two. Whichever one it was, some of them were rotten and extra-stanky. So, by the time Food For Families was all set up I was sweaty and lightly glazed with rotten vegetables. I went to the bathroom and rinsed off as best I could.
And a few minutes later Gretchen walked in.
Was it love at first sight? I don't think so. I'm a little too old to believe in such things. She was awfully good-looking, though, which never hurts. And she was funny, with a quick smile, and some truly striking green eyes. I liked her immediately.
So, yes: our first date was at church. With my kid. Romance!
After church we walked over to the Deli. Gretchen gave John quarters for video games, which made him automatically think well of her. I was distracted by her cleavage, and told her so. She took it well.
Afterwards John and I walked her to her car - a black Mini convertible. It was as perfect a match of car to person as I'd ever seen. I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Success!
John and I went swimming at my sister's house that afternoon, and he was snoozing by the time we got home. Gretchen had been called in to work that night. When she got off, she gave me a call. I invited her over. She came.
We sat on the couch for a couple of hours and talked. Lots of deep dark secrets revealed, all that. And made out a little bit, like you do. Nothing your average high school couple wouldn't do, though.
The next day she sent me a text. She had the day off. Would I like to have lunch? I said yes. It was the first time I'd seen her in shorts. She had - and has - fairly amazing legs. Good to know!
Back at work she laid a big wet kiss on my before she dropped me off.
"Well," I thought, "some of my coworkers might wonder who that was." But no one said anything.
The next night John was off with his mom. I called Gretchen to see if she wanted to go get some sushi or a drink or something. She had to go to bed fairly early, though, so she asked me to come over to her place and hang out for a while. I did. We had a good time.
On the way home, Queen's Somebody To Love came on the radio. I sang, loudly and badly, the windows down, me trying (and failing) to hit all the notes as I crossed the bridge.
As the song ended, I had a thought.
If this girl isn't crazy, or at least not crazy in any bad, horrible way, I thought, then this could be something really good.
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