Annoyance Avoidance

My mission was to brave the morning rush hour to visit the famed Century Plaza hotel.  I knew I'd get an unwelcome update on the overdeveloped nature of the neighborhood (and hotel, as well), and also how far along we are to a subway line that will be ready by the 2028 Summer Olympics.  Really, it will be finished by then, honest!  But it was also a state of the union on TV, and my presence had been requested.  Valet parking at a swanky, historical hotel and free food.  This should be a swift acceptance, no?  Well...no, because a former boss, one of the "Big 3 of Assholes" of my career, was rumored to also be in attendance.  How the hell?!  I made a personal dedication to never communicate nor see that asswipe ever again.  Now I might have a run-in?  Fuck that.

I tried to reason with myself: there are many, many more positives from this, and besides: it's a massive ballroom (haha!), it'll be easy to move around, get up and leave, so on.  OK...I can do this, I'm an adult, but I'll be on guard.

"Should've taken the helicopter" I thought as I crossed into a second hour in an attempt to get there from Dealville.  But I made it and was whisked downstairs so the main zone.  Breakfast treats were spread out, and I looked into the room.  TV's Byron Allen was onstage talking about how great he is, and I figured this would go on for a while.  (He ran over his time, no surprise)  Having a quick bite gave me a chance to get the lay of the land.  Escape routes.  Labyrinths, wide and narrow.  "Break away rooms"  My head is on a constant swivel.

I meet someone who asks me if my channel is interested in an all-new slate of Korean dramas.  A slide show is presented.  I politely pass, but the interaction has been positive: if this asswipe is around, I had a cover.  Out of nowhere, as I attempt to go into the room again, an old co-worker walks out.  

"Hey man!  Hey - just so you know: he's here." I brace myself.  Had he seen him?  "Yeah, he's at a table in the middle."  OK, so now that Byron's self-love fest is over, I can position myself accordingly: in the back toward the shadows.  

After 2 discussions, I head out for what was creatively titled a "networking break" and get more tea.  Again, head on a swivel.  I run into an old NBCU boss - a pleasant surprise.  We catch up and I turn my back to the rest of the crowd.  Thankfully, the old boss, a good one, didn't notice the pivot.  The old co-worker walks past me again, taking a donut to Poundtown.  "Hey man, did you see?  Donuts!  And yeah...he's talking to Fremantle people; he won't bother you."  I appreciate the sunshine ray, but I don't believe it for a second.  If I'm in his line of sight, who knows what bullshit he'll start with?  I turn my back again and we talk college football gambling and his upcoming Vegas trip, but we're dragged in to the room again.  My joy returns to concern as I take a circuitous road in.

Before another panel, I find an even more hidden space in the back.  A yahoo gets on stage.  "I know we have a lot of people standing back there, but there are open spots up front!"  No dice.  I let others talk, take a few notes, and notice that many people walking around can't even tell I'm there.  I'm not looking at who's walking around, either.  Then, I think I hear someone say his name.  Aaaaand I'm out!

Lunch is being set up, but I'm starting to run things in my mind: his complete lack of awareness.  His inability to take anything I've said as fact.  The dread on hour-plus calls where the micromanaging was off the charts.  The fact that I started to take something called "Digestive Advantage" just to get through dealing with him.  And, finally, the unabashed glee where I told him, screen to screen, nearly 5 years ago that I was leaving.  He was stunned, and hurt, but not hurt that I, Trip Darvez, would no longer be under his purview.  It was that all his work, his case to heap scorn, cut my salary, whatever bullshit he was planning, it was all for naught.  

I've worked where I am right now for longer than anywhere else in my career.  The length of some of those stays wasn't my own choice, of course.  The ones where I made the choice are often quite cathartic.  At my current place, there once was a contract negotiation, and he was going to be on a call.  Our CFO doesn't like him either, but he never had to work with him, so I passed on being included.  Curiosity got the best of me, though: I had to know how it ended.  "Oh, he kept asking why you weren't there.  He said 'You know, let's get Trip on this because I think he'll best understand why--' I cut him off and told him you were busy."  Sound logic.  I'm busy not working with asswipes like that one.

I meet a guy who makes YouTube channels for shows and production companies.  He's just made a MST3K channel, so we go off on that tangent.  Lunch, of unknown specificities, is served.  I figure I've done my time, and head to the lobby and ask for my ride.  I meet Angel, a valet who's been at the hotel since the early 70s.  We bemoan the new buildings, including the out-of-place towers behind the majestic hotel.  I look across the street at the CAA Building.  "I first came out here and it was the Shubert Theater over there, and ABC over there."  Angel remembers.  "They had tennis courts on the roof."  Yes, they did, and a movie theater, and shops, and good restaurants.  (You can see a small photo of it on the bottom left of the collage on the top of the page)  I rolled in with the Saturn decades ago; parking out front with Sue reading the Thomas Guide as I interviewed.  That day began it all.  Nothing lasts forever, or has to, but thankfully, as he and I point out the good and bad of what's been built since then, we both realize that we've survived.  Thrived is someone else's judgement.  "I can make my own shift now, so it's not so bad driving from Garden Grove."  Oof, with a drive like that, you'd better.  You earned it, too.  All I knew, driving these familiar streets back to the 405, was that if I had to look around, looking backwards at my career, where I stand currently, and of the future, I'm glad those asswipes aren't there, too.  

Of course, Angel was too polite to mention the asswipes he's had in his career, but we stood together in a location with old removed, new included, and... we're still there.  The other valet was given a trip probably too generous, but I was in a happy mood.  And why not?  I'd avoided an annoyance, talked deals, learned a bit, and ate a free breakfast.  In this town, how could it get any better?

On the Money

Leading into March Madness earlier this year (a time when I was leaving it all on the table only to get back nearly exact change) a reality ignited my brain: I'm never going to get this money.  Maybe that's too pessimistic, but I guess I tried to think forwards on how a withdrawal would go and it played out with a whole mess o rigmarole, checks I couldn't cash, crypto "tokens" and all this and I guess I just said, "screw it" and went even crazier.  Might as well let it all ride.   

(This part is not in my mind) I did not remember to check how that last one went until September when the itch of college football returned.  I guess that last week in March could be summed up as "wrong choice" but monetarily, what's real?  I don't know for sure, but I do know the siren call of the action was strong.  After review, I said to a fellow degenerate that I liked Duke.  I wished that Vanderbilt had better odds (fucking way she goes), and I was considering others.  

I let those sit until Saturday, finally rousted about.  Oof, that Vandy bet isn't looking good.  Guess I'd better hedge.  You know, I don't buy this shit with Nebraska, and I think North Dakota went to the playoffs this year, or something.  +28 is a strong, even number.  Let's do it, Fighting S---wait, that was changed, right?  

After dropping off the Big Scoop at rehearsal, I find the "Commodore Radio Network" in the car and hear a late, backbreaking interception.  Ah, oh well.  At least we hedged.  Again, this money doesn't exist.

I get home and sit back in the office with snacks only to see an update: 

NC State 31

Vanderbilt 35

I'm surprised to see a typo on this app.  I refresh.  It stays.  The hell?  I get out of whatever game I was watching and see the clip.  I'm left speechless.  I've been on the other end of these before...but when's it ever hit my way?  I don't think it has.  In the words of the late Potsy, "never a doubt."  I just shake my head.  I throw up my hands.  A moment I wish I was in the sportsbook just to see the reaction.  

As I snack and watch Toledo surge against Temple, I sit there more bemused than anything in the afterglow.  If you can't laugh at these things, if you can't laugh at yourself, then you really can't live this degenerate life.  Evening arrives and as I begin to make tacos, I check in to see Nebraska in control of North Dakota.  Whatever - what charms there are arrived earlier, enough to last a year.

Took a bit to get back in the groove afterwards (fresh guacamole is fresh guacamole), but once I did, it appears that North Dakota is starting to hold up their end of the bargain.  Who knows?  I guess I should check in on the "Lane Bowl" and...whoa, Cal Poly and San Diego!  

A while later, it takes a drink refill to check out the other scores, and there it sits.  It stares at me so much I do a double take.  Maybe I shook my head like Don Knotts - there wasn't a mirror on the desk (this time):

North Dakota 7

Nebraska 34

The Nebraska offense sputters to end the game, getting a field goal instead of a late touchdown.  By a single point, the hedge wins, too.  "I guess I should get a lotto ticket" I text my fellow degenerate.  I don't believe this.  He shares his good fortune: by Nebraska not laying down the law, this move helped him win a parlay.  He, too, is happy.  

I push it through to the end of Purdue/UCLA because I only know one way, and then start to wind down.  This has been a remarkable day, one that I'll remember in good times and (specifically) bad times, so that the bad times are evened out.  I slept better than I had in days.

Awaking to the comforting tones of my neighbor getting out his trash bin as early as possible, the instant breakfast is made, and I sit at the computer to once again marvel at the goings on and realize I've forgotten something:

"I like Duke" I said earlier in the week (specifically pertaining to them playing Stanford at home).  That one, the easiest bet of the day (it turned out) and my largest as well, came in along with the rest.  An embarrassment of riches.  

This isn't the first time this has happened to me, but the way in which it did almost makes me want to just stop right here.  It'll never be like this again.  Never so pleasantly surprising, never on the right side of the razor's edge, all at the same time.  Maybe I should.  Again, if this money will never be seen, why waste the---

Aw come on, I'm on a hot streak!  What's out there?!

The case of the Depressed Dentist

For decades I went to swanky medical offices in Beverly Hills for my dental needs.  It wasn't the address or neighborhood that was the pull, more that I liked the guy and service.  It was without pretention, and he was more interested in honesty than making money.  

After a while, though, in moves and such, traffic has evolved to be much, much worse.  From Dealville to there and back, with appointment, was a nearly 3-hour affair, and I don't have that kind of time.  I also began to notice, on my way to the canyon of least resistance to get over there, that I passed maybe 10 dentist offices on the drive.  That's not helping.  As appointments moved closer towards lunch hour, and the more snark they gave me that they're "working through lunch", I tired of this whole affair.

So, in a difficult call, I said I had to go somewhere closer.  It's not you (or me), it's the traffic.  It's untenable.  A few months afterwards, he sent emails saying I was behind on appointments.  I had to write back politely reminding him of the issue.  After a false start, I found a dentist nearby that I like, and I thought that was that...

At the end of July, I received a long, meandering message from this old dentist.  All I could think of was a desperate ex.  "Hey, haven't talked to you in a while.  I was just thinking of you and wondered what you're up to.  I don't know if you're with someone new or not but figured I'd see if you want to get together to catch up."  That was the tone:

"It's been a couple years since we've seen you."  "If you're nostalgic for Roxbury Drive and my hygienist, I thought you might want to try coming back again.  It happens.  Anyway..."

Needless to say, I was surprised.  "I guess I gotta call him back.  That's weird, though." I told the women formerly known as Smiley.  Then again, her dentist is all about the money, so what does she know?  My immediate call back didn't happen soon enough, it seems, which I suppose is on me (and my reluctance to remind him, again, politely, of why I go to a different dentist...again).  I received a longer message on Tuesday:

"I think I left a message last week.  You haven't been in here in quite a while.  I think you're visiting someone else.  I don't remember the reason."

Uh oh.  This isn't going to be easy, is it?

"If you've gone elsewhere and you're happy, that's important.  You should stay.  If you're not satisfied, you're welcome to come back.  We never close the door on good patients."

This went on for another minute.

"If we're not here and just leave a message saying, 'this is Trip Darvez saying I'd like to come back or I'm happy where I am'.  I have your chart in our open file, but I don't want to keep it there if you're not planning on coming back.  But...we miss you and we'd love to see you back."

Now I'm dreading this and while I know what to do, I don't want to do it.  It wasn't going to go away on its own, though.  THE NEXT DAY, another message.

"I left a couple of messages.  I thought you'd be kind enough to call me back.  Just checking to see how you're doing and if you're seeing another office and are happy."  Ugh.  "If you're really not interested, I understand. It's kinda rude not to call back when someone asks you to.  I thought you were a nice person.  So...thanks a lot.  Goodbye."

Why is this happening to me?!  As the week ended, I realized:

1. As many people do, particularly seniors: they willfully, specifically "forget" things

2. They need to be reminded of said things while they will act as though they've never heard it

3. You just have to endure this pain.

Saturday morning, bracing, I called.  I figured I'd get him somehow without patients at the time.  It rang and rang.  The call was forwarded to another number.  It, too, rang and rang.  I eventually got his voicemail.

Now I had to leave a long message.  I had to reiterate, over and over, the same reasons why that were communicated many, many times.  

When I hung up, I left not refreshed or relieved but still bewildered.  Sure, this could've been an email or text, but that wouldn't bring guilt, would it?  But why me?  Why years later?  He's a great dentist but...I just...

All morning long I've looked over at my phone, fearing...wondering..."Hi Trip, I got your message, but..."  Is it safe?  He might say "I can't tell you something's safe or not unless I know specifically what you're talking about."  He knows.  Do I have to make an appointment to tell him again?

Park Kids of Another Kind

In the Summer months of my youth, I'd be driven to a park on the other side of town.  Mainly for variety, no other reason.  My Ma would be armed with a magazine, far away enough from the playground to be bothered by me or anyone else.  It wasn't unlike a dog park, now that I think of it.  Anyways, one thing I always remember was the appearance of the Park Kids.  They would suddenly show up, clearly not brought by a parent, and they were immediately obnoxious.  Like a fucking pack of gnats, just out of nowhere.  You'd wonder where their parents were, but then it made sense: the parents wanted em out of the house, and they didn't give a shit where they'd go: just leave already.  And there they were, in your shit, ruining your day.

I sat across the table from the father of a friend of The Big Scoop, a man who writes and directs horror films for a living.  We were at Shakey's Pizza, a place that usually is one bringing good memories and a fun time.  On this occasion, however, kids of all ages seemed to continue to surround us.  Food was delivered, but we were eating not at a relaxed pace, but one of constant struggle.  I made mention of this to him, damn near shouting it: I don't see a lot of other parents, do you?  He laughed, but his smile quickly turned to what I can only describe as "overwhelmed", and that's when it hit the both of us.

If someone else's za was delivered, and they weren't sitting right there for whatever reason, it was soon swept up by the kids who were dropped off as the family wagon sped away.  These Pizza Kids had parents who knew better but would then feign ignorance "I thought you (who?!) were getting them pizza?" and the kid was left to forage on their own.  The parents aren't providing any food or fun: their kids are on their own tonight, so forage they must.  I wondered if the man in front of me, a man who's written and directed such things to fright an audience, was "going through it" as he took in these surroundings.  He didn't look at ease.  The Big Scoop and I weren't at ease, either.

An order of something that was euphemistically called "garlic bread" was delivered, and after a beat, the Pizza Kids took it over.  At first, they covered it in canned cheese and crushed red peppers, I thought they were covering it in shit just because...but oh no, they then took it to pound town.  No telling how they got drinks, but they're likely using someone else's cup.  They yelped in glory.

Leaving earlier than planned, I turned back to him and said "I wish you strength.  And you're going to want to stay where you are."  His look of bewilderment turned to a smile and he said "Yeah, thanks, it's..." and the look returned again.  Hoo Wee, there was property damaged that night.  

Youth letting off steam isn't anything to be feared but instead understood in the least and celebrated at most.  Yet just like adulthood and bars, decades later we still must beware the Park Kids: they've procreated and expanded.  They're everywhere, and they're coming for your food.  And your baseball bat.  And they just want to "see" your mitt.  They want to "borrow" your phone.  They'd "like" some of your food.  Suburban orphans, off they go into the night.  Hey - that'd make a good movie idea!

Kauai and Kauai not

The artist formerly known as Smiley is the most indecisive person I’ve ever known.  (As such, it gives one pause on how she ever agreed to be married)  When faced with any kind of decision, large, small, or trivial, there is hesitation.  This hesitation isn’t to calmly weigh options and then pick something: the pluses and minuses of the options are said aloud and then…nothing.  She is also uncomfortable in her own skin; oh, if you heard the conversations after communication with her friends.  Whatever they’ve done, wherever they’ve gone, it sounds (to her) like the most fun anyone could have in life.  It is the exact thing we need.  Why aren’t WE doing exactly that?  Never mind if the Big Scoop and I have any interest, would want to do it in comparison to anything else, or even afford it if we wanted to…because the 3 of us haven’t done whatever she’s just heard about, this puts us way (or, more specifically, her) behind others in societal (and her mental) rankings.

However, once something is decided on, be it travel, a large purchase, whatever, well…those 2 aspects disappear.  She then turns to the Terminator with locations, activities, deals, you name it.  You’ve never seen a more driven, motivated person.  Two years ago, I mused aloud the idea of going to New Orleans as a “fun idea” and before I’d thought about it beyond…well, a thought, it was on and the itinerary began.  I, too, could make an itinerary, but someone is now decisive (not authoritative, I stress) and while I can easily (though rarely) say “no” to something, it’s very easy to be dragged into the enthusiasm and say “yeah, that looks good.”

It had been 20+ years since I last visited Kauai.  Even then, it was only 1 day on an island-hopping trip.  On that day on the island, I was rousted early to snorkel.  Our tour guide was retiring, and we were part of his final tour.  He had plenty of fish food to get rid of, so it all went out.  We barely had to move and thank goodness for that; I was barely awake and possibly hungover, so I played dead.  Fish of all styles new to me went around as I felt nature wash over me (interrupted by a few “are you OK?” queries) Afterwards, among the chickens, we ate BBQ in a rainbow haze, and I can still remember that I hadn’t been that at-peace in a long time.  This description was brought up once in a while when she’d hear of someone travelling there, and I think there were some stakes added: you can’t call whatever we did last summer a “vacation” in any way, so she was owed.  All of us, sure, but she specifically was owed.

Kauai: Despite getting up at Dick O'Clock for this flight (to ensure more daylight time on the island, I'm told) I'm pleased to announce that, through decades of never-ending construction, the famous multi-colored tile wall at LAX is still there!

As I wait to board, a man in an Angels hat in the seat over from me is adamant about the time difference between California and Hawaii.  He's wrong, (I don't dare speak up) and now his wife also has it wrong.  He also has an annoying young son pounding on all the seats in the gate.  After he gave the score of the previous night's Angels loss to his idiot son, he reassured him with this honest-to-god quote: "We could go .500 the rest of the year and we'd be fine."  The Angels, at the time of departure, are tied with the worst record in the American League.  His glance at me in my "Original Tommy" Lasorda chili-burger T-shirt led to a disdainful sigh.

Kauai not: I'm just asking this aloud: why the hell is it so hard to swiftly rent a car on any island in Hawaii?  I know of "island time" but dear lord can I also enjoy this island with a rejected sedan already?  In the 4 visits where I've had to rent a car in this state, it's been such a fucking nightmare.  Maybe we, from elsewhere, are getting in the way of their, from the island, "time."  Anyway...

Kauai: Instead of staying in a local neighborhood (which was considered, even "neighborhood adjacent") we decided to try a full-on resort.  What this gives off in manufactured vibes, it gives back in service.  I was paying to be treated so well but treated so well I was...even if I'd remember otherwise each day.  Don't think I didn't revel in it, whether it was in a hot tub grotto, man-made saltwater lagoon, at a poolside bar drinking mai tais with the sun shining only mildly aware that a nighttime Dodger game was on the TV.  Yes, you should treat yourself, and yes, you can have it all.  At a price.  For some of the time.   

Kauai not: As with any stunning drive, sometimes just the drive itself is the reward.  And, as with any island visit, the urge to pull over immediately for beach access, a lookout, or a restaurant called The Right Slice can be done...but the reality that whatever blissful moment is in full swing, you can't control when a Vanagan full of folks show up killing the vibe.  That happens.  The residents just might think that way of me too...I hope not.

Kauai: That cheap bag of animal feed (wherever you are) is the best money you'll ever spend.  You'll appear to be the god of the sea when that amount, hidden in your fist, makes colorful friends appear near you on yet another snorkeling trip.  Those near you will be amazed, and confounded.  It'll be our little secret.  This was also helpful at a luau where The Big Scoop, armed with feed, was suddenly surrounded by tropical birds a-plenty, even some peacocks.  Unsurprisingly, she made fast human friends as well.  She didn't have her phone with her, turns out the girl from Nevada entered in the wrong number and texted "chicken butt" to a random person in LA...so goes life.

Kauai not: To the point above, tours themselves can't really be "off the beaten path" if you're going with others.  An innertube tour (with much underground, amazingly) can be an enjoyable time to talk with locals if you don't mind being interrupted by a massive family from Ohio trying to rope you into their inside jokes ad nauseum.  The bus driver was also one of the biggest old Hollywood phonies I've ever witnessed.  Naturally, the Ohio clan found him hysterical.  

Kauai: Whether it's out of laziness or indecision, when the 3 of us dine out it tends to be later at night.  More often than not it prevents us being near tables with annoying children and old people complaining.  You'd think with the time difference we'd be dining early...nope: body adjusted immediately.  Most restaurants at that time were pretty calm, almost relieved to have weathered another storm: we're just here to dine, talk, hear what you think of this place, and what I don't know to ask.  One evening, heading as far west as we felt, we designated a meeting place to then break and report back where to eat.

Couldn't tell you the last time I had a bacon cheeseburger, let alone one grilled in front of me by a massive Hawaiian, but wouldn't you know it, it tasted delicious.  I was effusive in my praise, he guardedly accepted, and I went onward.  

One store in town had a children's theater in the back.  The lady running the store desires to sell it all, go out of business on her own terms, and return to the Philippines.  Instead of haggling over crafts some 40 years old, I inquired about the store, the theater, what and why she wants to leave it behind.  From a total stranger I had one of the most genuine heartfelt conversations I've had in some time.  To create something so strong, all for the community...how it fulfills your soul...how you don't recognize time passing until one day you do, and it seems like the new thing you want (in her case, returning home) is a tide taking you back.  What's there then is still there now, but it's up to others if it will survive.

Kauai not: Look, if the main part of selling me on something is "everyone says you should get the shave ice there" and no specifics on quality, I just...I'll pass.  Upon arrival, the line goes long past the counter, patio, at least to the point of "eh, fuck it" if it was anything else.  But no, the artist formerly known as Smiley wants it, and to no surprise, The Big Scoop isn't turning down dessert.  The wait was around 45 minutes.  Afterwards, they said it was "good."  We're on vacation.

Kauai: What she can't hide is the emotional toll of that wait.  Sloppy, bossy, and bitchy, I make an executive decision in the car to have her "can it" and roll down the window to ask a local loading surfboards into the back of a pickup truck about beach access.  In a "blink and you'll miss it" path, we wandered down a path to find this:

When you've walked down a narrow path of foliage to find this, well, that shut everyone up.  Unfortunately, that lasted just a moment until she started squawking and went to the water.  The Scoop and I needed a break.  She laid out while I wandered around a scene that was crafted by time only to reveal a checklist on what one would want at a "tropical beach"

A young family comes by to set up near us, and it was pleasurable moment: the marriage young, one kid with another in the oven, they had the joy of their surroundings.  I do...or did, or kept having to reset.  After talking for a while, I realized: even on vacations, I'll have to make my own good day, too.  Out at sea were crew races mixed with sailboats.  I looked above to the gods for guidance.

I hadn't been body surfing in maybe 20 years, but why not?  The waves seemed large but not overcoming, I could ease in and get some movement.  The squawking continued but I left that with a polite nod and continued riding the waves.  It was a lot of fun.  Each time gliding to shore or going out, I couldn't help but feel released.  This moment, hearing joyful noise amidst the waves, made it all worth it.  Later on, exhausted, I returned energized to the beach.  Suddenly, I was so invigorated, I could brush aside any BS like I was wearing a shield.  I could not be stopped.  Stopped from what?  Well, the mental wave I was still riding.  The rest of the trip turned: instead of even mildly giving in to an unending list of "to do's" when were supposed to be relaxing, I was off in the tide.  The rest of the time there is a feel-good haze.

Kauai not: Wait a minute...that's right!  I only had one mai tai!  What am I doing?!

The retro thing is you

Pinning down an exact date isn't important, but it was probably around the late 90's that I'd get the occasional 70s or 80s shirt.  I liked the look, I liked the fit (back then, Medium didn't also mean "wide"), and it went against current trends of weird oversized everything.  At the turn of the century, Dealville brought more options...so much so that a majority of my wardrobe was that stuff.  It got to the point that in the mid-00s I dropped off a bag at Goodwill that covered now 2nd-overworn "retro" clothes.  Less than a year later, I saw one of my shirts in an unfunny "comedy" worn by one of the main characters.  I'm not alone, it seems, but such things became harder and harder to find.  It made sense: time was marching on, that era gets older, stuff gets picked through.

Looking back, here's what's interesting: in any of the times wearing this clothing out and about (and it essentially covered my life for years and years) not once did I have someone who was my current age then see me and say "holy shit, why would you wear THAT?  Back then we didn't have a choice!" or something in that vein.  Maybe I was lucky.  Actually, the fact that I could just live life was good enough.

Last weekend as all the sales went on, I got one from a site I occasionally frequent with the subject line "Y2K Summer 4ever"

It comes for all of us.  Now I'm the one looking back 2 decades at fashions I attempted to avoid at the time.  Said fashions were apparently the "inspiration" for this new line.  For the intended audience, they were toddlers, babies, or not alive at all.  Another splash in the face.

"Vintage-inspired fits bringing major 00's vibes into Summer."  

I...you know, at bars I'd inhabit we'd give to shit to people wearing this stuff.  It stopped before things got "heated", but you wouldn't choose these things.  Well, I didn't.  Wouldn't.  No one I knew did, either.

Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked the button "shop Y2K".  Von Dutch...Ed Hardy...West Coast Choppers.  Yes, I remember seeing this all, and all that came with it.  I stopped to think "...but why?"  And just as soon as I thought that another thought came in: well, why did you?  You had your reasons for 80s clothes, they have theirs.  That was your "time", this is their "time."

Another thing that has since hit me: the "retro" to me can't help but seem so much older...which it is: there's no denying that.  20 years didn't seem so far away at the time.  Now it's 40...50?  Holy shit.  Maybe that mine has been picked.  Those of another generation have gone to pick their mine, one that holds no value to me, but is worthy to them.  

For me, there's a depression that comes with it.  Finding more video gold from my retro time makes me feel a little better.  It should be curious, I suppose, that it's only when I hear new music that I really like does my depression lift: I'm enjoying something from today?!  At my retro time, it always seemed an odd juxtaposition of then and now.  Maybe that's how I've always lived my life.  And maybe (thankfully I should say) I'm realizing I'm not alone.

Neighborhood Watch

Wherever I'm working, I like to take a walk during lunch.  In the past that's meant a walk around a studio lot, or the neighborhood of the building, whatever.  Thankfully, for the last handful of years, it's been my own neighborhood.  For better or worse, all these years later I still don't know a lot of my neighbors.  Well, not on a first-name basis, but I can easily identify some of them with things like "that's the guy with the house with 4 cars out front" or whatever.  

At one end of my street, on the east side, lives (apparently) an older couple.  If I've ever seen them, I don't remember them at all.  What I do know is, on nice days (75% of the time) their front door is open.  That wouldn't mean anything if it wasn't for the fact the 2 of them speak comically LOUD to each other.  You can't see through the screen door, but you don't need to.  In the ~15 seconds I'm walking past this house, you can hear a lot of confusion.

Old Lady: "WAIT!  Is it April or is it TUESDAY?"

I don't know, ma'am, nor does the man inside.  This line wasn't said with stress so much as it is more a plain statement.  The inflection and words chosen does indicate a question, of course...at least I think so.

This past Fall saw quite a surprise as I turned back on my street:

(A loud crash is heard from inside their home)

Old Man: "What was that?"

Old Lady: "BEEF FAJITAS!"

Thankfully, they didn't hear my sudden burst of laughter, or if they did, I'll never know.  For most times when I walk past this house, this isn't anything I seek out, yet it's almost as if it seeks me, knowing that it's serendipity: there's more out of context gems ahead.

Old Lady: "That's when she was at the BAR.  And she HELD ON TO THAT THING.  And it was HARD."

When I remember to do so, I bring this up to the neighbors I know.  It brings a laugh, but they don't know them either.  Or they offer some sort of vague detail like "I think they had someone living in their garage for a while" which only invites more questions.  I've realized that if I did know additional details, it probably wouldn't be that fun anymore.  

Old Man: (coughs loudly)

Old Lady: What?!

Old Man: Huh?!

In those moments of peace to clear my head in a workday, there's the sounds of birds chirping, the sights of flowers in bloom, a dog here and there, and this house in a constant, nearly urgent state of flux.  Back to work I go, thankful for out of context humor once again.