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.   

Burnt Ends

Wait a minute - the Houston Cougars are playing in the Southern regional...in Houston?!  

A) I thought that wasn't allowed

B) "Actually, the NCAA bylaws state that as long as the arena was not used as the home venue---"

C) "(poop falls from old white guy's mouth)" 

It's my kinda team, Charlie

Why do you prefer the 2nd round of the NCAA tournament to the opening round?

A) The teams: these are the better teams that got over the hump

B) The matchups: the skill levels are closer together

C) The coverage: 

2026 March Madness Day 1 Quiz

During the Troy/Nebraska game, announcer Brandon Gaudin said it was a "pro-Nebraska" crowd in Oklahoma City.  Who else is "pro-Nebraska"?

A) Swift Meats

B) Domestic and foreign alcohol companies

C) White supremacist groups

One of the oft-repeated ads during Day 1 was the return of NASCAR races on TNT.  Thinking of auto races on a Turner branded channel, what comes to mind?

A) Smokeless tobacco sponsorships

B) Cale Yarborough

C) 2-minute-long commercials for "The Best of Conway Twitty" 

The High Point / Wisconsin game from Portland, Oregon began at 10:50 AM.  Why did it start so early in the day on the West Coast?

A) The NCAA thought it was in Portland, Maine

B) It was supposed to be 1:50 Pacific Time but "I guess someone goofed"

C) (old white guy glares)

During the High Point / Wisconsin game, Brad Nessler abruptly stopped talking during the end of the 1st half.  What happened?

A) Prolonged belch

B) Yawn

C) Cleaning up the scotch he spilled on the table

GAH!  Bruce Pearl is on TV?  The fuck?  Shit, you'd better

A) Hide your wallet

B) Hide your children

C) You yourself should hide

Watching Wisconsin lose brings you modest pride because

A) They didn't accept you at UW-Stout and you showed them

B) The Badgers season will end with the same amount of tournament wins as the Gophers

C) Giving shit to Doug at work tomorrow will be the High Point of your day

When March Madness hits, it's time to bend the rules at your home.  You've defiantly told your wife that, as such, this means dinner can be "different": You and the kids can eat dinner while "watching the games."  What else is "different" about tonight's dinner?

A) You're letting the kids drink Root Beer on a weekday

B) Tonight it's 2 Tombstone pizzas

C) The main course is dip

Spanning Time in Tournament Time

Fran McCaffery is taking his 5th different school to the tournament in his career.  This span, from the 87-88 season to now, covers a lot of ground.  In comparison, what have you done during that time?

A) Got married and bought property, both on the cheap

B) Went from Trainee to Shift Manager

C) Added (some) weight

"It's not gonna be like this all the time, right?"

Your wife can ask you all day long, but your mind is made up.  You’re not going to

A) Throw away those NASCAR tapes even though the VCR doesn’t work anymore

B) Tell her where you put the “Celebrate Life” artwork she had on the living room wall

C) Split that sandwich with her

I’m as real as a donut

On your most recent trip to Red Owl, you couldn’t understand your wife’s list, and upon returning home she called her friend Cathy to talk about “the fiasco.”  From now on, your wife said you’re only allowed to buy food at

A) a church bake sale

B) a gas station on a road trip

C) Menards

Sibley County Art Fair

You burned your tongue on a “Cajun Buffalo Chicken Sandwich” – how will you get through the day?

A) Have a cup of the “crumbly” ice from the fountain at SuperAmerica

B) Enjoy a bowl o’ Butter Brickle

C) Make everyone around you uncomfortable while you eat a Dreamsicle

Big Value Microwave Popcorn

Just before you took nap #1 last Saturday, your son and some of the neighborhood boys said they were going to work on a project in the garage.  You woke to your wife screaming “oh my god!” from the other end of the house.  Turns out your son and the neighborhood boys found

A) What happened to the cat that used to go into the garage a few years ago

B) Your 1997 copy of Playboy’s “Wet n Wild”

C) The log of peppered salami and steak knife you had “hidden” in the garage fridge

Jump Ball

We are in the shank of the college basketball season, college basketball betting season, that is.  I can't stay away, of course, and most days are a dive into the Ohio Valley Conference, odd letter combinations that mean something to 30,000 people and no one else, and byzantine combinations that are discussed far and wide.  I'm putting the effort into this, but what am I getting back?  Well, I'm getting back what I gave...shouldn't that be good enough?  I suppose, but aren't we trying to eventually cut a check?  Of course we are, and yet...

After weeks of ups and downs, last Saturday I went all over the board, nearly draining the account.  As the day progressed, some won, some lost.  I was overly concerned on a Southland Conference game (trying not to be concerned, of course).  Once the last Big West game ended, I looked: I had bet the equivalent of a meal for 2 at a "fancy" restaurant.  I made that back...plus $1.72.  I mused aloud to the Big Scoop "that's a lot out for that kind of profit."  She played along, stating that if I kept up that pace, I'd be able to get a "free" pack of Pokemon cards by next week.  Ask for motivation and you shall receive, I suppose.

The early part of this week brought a concerning thought: boredom.  A nagging voice on my shoulder said 'why go through all that?  Why not wait until college football?'  Suddenly, a voice appeared on my other shoulder.  'And wait 6, 7 months?  You don't understand what drives this man.'  I tried to appease both sides the other night by wagering not as much as Saturday, but a healthy portion.  Again, all over the map, throwing in even smaller schools for spice.  All this was up in the air, and it all came back...this time with 27 whole cents extra.

Considering the amount I've put up this month, I've essentially made interest on my account.  Better than the bank, I suppose.  I could take it or leave it, I guess.  Hey, it's almost March, and you know what that means...

Wait, where's that voice coming from?  I haven't checked the Horizon League, no.  All right, back we go...

What counts for normal

On a temperate, sun-kissed Sunday, I pulled up to the Ocean Towers in Santa Monica, ready for anything, I guess.  The valet seemed to give a disapproving look to my T shirt ("We Just Ruined Baseball") but I stood and waited.  I was then given a luggage cart and directed upwards.  I was politely greeted, and I entered a room with a view.  Me oh my, what a view.  You pay for a room with that kind of view, as you know, and that's why I was there.

1 year prior, not far from smoldering ash, this was even more prized real estate.  After a year of bouncing around, housesitting, whispered conversations, and finding out that no, you're not in good hands, she was able to return home.  I dragged out what I could for the first trip, and off we went in near silence.  

The glorious drive on PCH isn't usually filled with any negative emotion, but when I turned up Sunset, I realized I had to brace myself.  A banner that reads "Palisades Strong!" still stood a year later across the street from a former Mexican restaurant that still looks bombed out.  The turn up Palisades Drive was a bit different.  The swanky mini mall was repaired and open as if nothing had happened.  The Autumn rains had brought greenery.  Barricades were up for possible mudslides - nothing unusual.  I was nearly in a historic place when I was snapped to attention.  "Remember those buildings on the left?"  I did not.  All I saw was what looked like light poles.  In the flash of driving by, I was told "yeah, there were 2 condo buildings there.  They are going to rebuild one of them, I heard."  What I saw was, apparently, remnants of a parking lot.  On the way back down, I focused to see a bit of wreckage yet to be bulldozed out.  A magic trick vanished to time.

From the vantage point of her condo (and immediate surroundings), however...if you didn't know any better, nothing happened.  My mind was fooling me.  It was, until I walked in...bracing for the smell of old smoke, but instead it was that of new carpet and whatever scent is used by Stanley Steamer.  Most everything is still here.  I hauled up suitcase after suitcase.  A dinner menu from that evening just days before everything else went down still sits on a table.  I wonder if it's specifically there as a moment in time, or if she's afraid to toss it out.  

"You know, for a while I didn't want to come back.  Just find me a studio in Santa Monica or something.  But I've done a 360.  I wanted to get back here when I could.  It's home."  Fully understanding, I made a bed while she attempted to amble around.  Chores done, back for round 2.  I tried to relax but realized my attempt to help turned into a hostage situation: no food, no drink, no talk.  The ladies of my house asked why I was doing it.  I'd normally say no, maybe just volunteer money...but she's been nearly homeless a year.  I'm continuing to revisit that decision.

Back down the PCH after round 2, exhausted, I reiterate that I can't stay as she was already told: the Rams game is at 3:30.  "Are you sure you can't come Tuesday?"  Darn my full-time job.  Mentally, I broke right then.  Everything else was a "no."  She was dropped off and another valet could see my annoyance levels overdone.  

Well, what do I have to be annoyed with?  Shit, my house still stands.  Nothing has really changed for me over the past 12 months; I haven't had to move a family around.  Winding through Brentwood on the way back, eating "in case of Earthquake" food from my car, I eventually realized this was the kind of shit that used to happen, that had always happened.  I thought it'd be different post-fire, but no...this was "the usual."  And that's what I get for wanting the usual and "normal" back in my life: spending all day in the car, passive aggressive statements galore.  I allowed it to happen.  I shouldn't have expected any different.

Speaking of passive, I then tried to passively watch the Rams game, realized I couldn't, and then ate like a madman at dinner afterwards in "celebration."  Action on one's own terms, I suppose.  There would be no return the following day, so instead I sat with my neighbor's dogs, drinking iced tea, soaking in warmth.  All the dogs wanted was an acknowledgement of yes, you're a good pup.  That's good, because it's all I had left to give.

Unresolved questions for '26

The rains of the past week-plus have led me to a contemplative mood.  More than enough is steady in life (though why are the annoyances so fucking expensive?) that here on New Year's, ahead of '26, I'm including some questions I resolve to answer in the year ahead:

• I don't know if I'll be able to answer this one, but I will continue to enforce in teaching to others in my immediate surroundings that Dealmaking must mean actual deals and not "spending money" - why has this not been understood?

• Considering my life in 1999, which can be summed up by this photo:

 is this a combination (or vocation) worth revisiting again, or is best through the fog of nostalgia?

• Do I sell the ice cream truck, or let it sit there for another year?

• When it comes to serving lunch for others or just myself, remain steadfast in my choices, and ask the tough questions such as 

• If I go outside to work in the yard, will everyone continue to know that "it's best to leave him alone"?
• Will they ever catch on?

• And finally...wait...is it me or...that guy keeps looking at me.  See, he's still looking at me.  Do you know him?

I don't recognize him.  Yeah, I saw his hat, that rules, but...no, I don't get it.  I guess I need to wrap this up.  Let's go over there.

Afterglow

We've been hitting this "holiday festival" for 10 years now, but within that range there are multiple signposts measuring time beyond years.  It wouldn't have been odd 10 years ago if The Big Scoop and I were sitting on the edge of a retaining wall eating chicken vromiko sandwiches.  This year, we sat amidst the other revelers and while I had been effusive in my praise for the meal, the Scoop was succinct and even more effective: "Man...street meat.  This is the best.  And you know what?  Mom can't have any.  She's just gonna do that thing where she touches every part of the sandwich, looks at it all over, takes wayyyy too big a bite, says 'huh', and gives it back."  I laughed because I've pointed out that very thing in the past, and that while the Scoop has a good memory for those kinds of things, it would be deadly accurate.  Unsurprisingly, I couldn't finish this massive meal, and when the Artist former known as Smiley returned and saw how happy we were, she'd changed her tune.  Might as well have some of mine; I'm done.  

Short of using the word "fondling" I can't think of another description as to what we saw when the sandwich was given to her, but there it was...all that was missing was a jeweler's eyepiece.  A giant bite taken.  And then, true as anything, the review was "Huh.  There's garlic on that.  Well, not my favorite."  And, also true as anything, I asked her favorite sandwich so that we could dine there this weekend.  "Well...I don't know."  The 3 of us wandered off and, as usual, were broken up amongst the crowd.

In one booth, a man was selling 3-D printed figures.  He was wearing a Double Dare T-Shirt, and after a he and I had a brief chat about that game show, the Scoop looked over the wares.  "Did you see?  I told you!"  A block away, a Ferris wheel spun in a bank parking lot.  The screams heard were legitimate: each movement from the ground looked like a perilous adventure.  Next to the Ferris wheel were adults in Ghostbusters costumes.  When I tried to compliment them on the wardrobe, they flashed me a QR code so that we could help contribute to "their cause."  The cause being cosplay, I guess?  I demurred and hustled into a church where they hold an annual craft fair and bake sale.  These guys aren't going to chase me for money in there, will they?

Everyone selling items seemed bemused that people buy anything, which is curious considering the hand-crafted nature of it all.  I asked the Scoop which holiday item we should get next?  "We bought her Halloween decoration last year, the Christmas one the year before, and 2 turkeys for Thanksgiving the year before that.  What should it be?  American Flag?  That could be--"  She reached over me.  "An Easter Egg!  That looks so pretty!  Plus, Mom'll be--" and then made her vocal impression that's exaggerated but knows makes me laugh.  Like earlier, she arrived and the argument carried over...now over a $4 decoration.  I let them go at it while I (unknowingly) caught the eye of a lady in the church kitchen.  "Can we interest you in the chili dinner?" she smiled.  This meal consists of a bowl of chili and a hot dog (or a chili dog), a bag of chips, and a bottle of water for the low price of $9.  My memory saved me as I changed my expression to 'promising' and asked "does this chili have beans?"  It's the same chili every year.  Their chili has beans, and I prefer Texas chili without beans, so I'm saved again from the guilt...or maybe ending up like those who have eaten the dinner at the tables and seem unable to get up.  

Wandering back, I passed the car show and overheard Jay Leno's name dropped.  Is he here...somewhere?  Sadly, I don't have the time: the street aspect was soon to close up.  We ducked into one of Dealville's many pop culture stores where I held up the soundtrack to Battlestar Galactica on vinyl - the same that was curiously in the band storage room.  No reprints here.  I remember coming into this store long ago, and she picked out an Ernie doll from Sesame Street.  On this night, she said "maybe they have some Carrie White and Tommy Ross stuff."  I couldn't be prouder.

As the next holidays commence, I remain in a wavelength, parallel yet separate.  The Scoop keeps tilting toward mine.  It's not a competition, nor a demand, just a pleasant surprise.  Problem is, someone else doesn't like being on their wavelength alone.  Can't these waves come together?  Or is the length the problem? 

Everything You Did

At the restaurant I frequent so often that, when I walk in, I'm greeted by my usual drink order as my name ("Passion Fruit Iced Tea!")  I hadn't seen Will in months, but we picked up where we left off, even if the topic wasn't the same.

(As an aside, it really is a great feeling - decades ago I regularly frequented Ernie's Taco House even though I lived nowhere near there, and when I walked towards the bar area the bartender would say "there he is: Hollywood's Favorite Son!" - don't know how he came up with that one, but he began getting tips before a drop of liquor was served)

I was also at this restaurant to get takeout for The Big Scoop, due to how often the "there will be lunch provided" for her is pizza, each and every time.  He concurred, then took that point to parts unknown.  "Yeah, you know, pizza, in certain ways, I don't like what it represents.  Here's some shitty thing you gotta do, but hey, I'll get you a pizza."  The older one gets, as the Scoop is realizing, the more it isn't the generous gift that's being advertised.  

"Pizza, to me, is like coke.  I like it, but I hate buying it."  That's not a quote I was expecting to hear...ever, really, but I'm intrigued.  Please elaborate, won't you, sir?

He then enlightened me of he and his punk-loving friends, in the late 70s, facing down disco.  Some, it seems, accepted disco as a way to meet girls.  So went the balance between the 2 distinct styles.  "These guys, you know, they were making $100 a week working after school and blowing $70 on taking out girls to the disco and buying them drugs."  How long was it that "these guys" (hopefully not Will) realized the girls just wanted the drugs?  He laughed "It didn't take long.  But what were we going to do?  It was easier to get weed than beer.  All you could do is drive the back roads getting high then go to the donut shop." 

I had to interject.  "Wait, were there discos in this town?"  "Not really" he replied, just 'dance nights' at bars.  Ay yingo, what a conquest: needing to find daffy dust and a place playing disco music all to land some girls into both those things in a small town...yeah, I'd get the hell out of there, too.

The thought of his "wandering" stuck with me.  I couldn't help but notice how the circle was unbroken.  Here he was, decades later, retired and doing the same thing.  What is there to do, he wonders.  He walks the streets of Dealville, perhaps under some influence, but it matters not: looking for the party is a hell of a lot better than killing time.

It appears that the only obstacle in looking for fun (within the law, of course) is that the Nosy Nancy brigade insist on knowing what's going on and why, but they lack the effort to actually stand in your way.  "No reason.  I just want to know."  Well, Nance, that IS a reason, so I'm afraid you can't know.  Is that their version of being an obstacle?  Days later, of course, the Scoop will choose to share she ate the takeout spaghetti out of a container on the school steps.  When this statement causes a commotion, and the response is "no one cared", then it's hard to not to be worked up about that much, certainly not a previous day's lunch.  

I once ate a Blizzard while sitting on the hood of the Custom Cruisier in an abandoned Bloomington parking lot.  On another occasion, I ate a donut and drank a beer out of the trunk of the Saturn before I went bowling.  I didn't think anything of it then and hadn't since those exact occasions until the brain racking occurred in this very moment.  I'm sure there are others if I gave it more thought, but those moments, unique as they may sound out of context, are as inconsequential as the very one worried about that I wrote in the previous paragraph.  

Twenty years of Gold: a hope for tomorrow

When I recall the start of this blog, 20 years ago, I can remember where I was then...not just physically (obviously) but mentally as well.  My location physically may have been in a monitoring cell in Westwood by day, LA Nights, but mentally, for me, it was at a moment of forced change.  A force I created for good, and over 2 years, I was correct.  In that initial writing, I had hope for tomorrow with that occurring, and also for a space to let prose run free.  Prose ignited via spirits, chemicals, or the creativity that runs through us all.  Well, maybe a few of my friends.  Or, it appears, years later...just me.

What else stands out when recalling this time 20 years ago is not change (which is welcome) but the metamorphosis of people changing while their environment changes around them, a process that occurs simultaneously and, on even a yearly basis, many might not even notice it at all.   This change (a sliding scale of evolution and devolution) should be expected: two decades will do that.  How it has manifest itself in my surroundings over this time only stands out for this reason: if I told anyone, back when this blog began, that in 20 years they'd be mentally & physically where they are now, I wonder their reaction.  How many would embrace it, and how many others might look askew?  In the end, I suppose it doesn't really mean anything - today is today, and as I continue to bark, evolution and devolution, tilting in both directions.

The thing is, though...I like writing.  I don't know that I'm particularly good at it, but I like doing it.  Of late on this page, I've pulled back a bit if only because I've caught myself writing about some banal things without the needed flair to make it interesting.  Or, it's something interesting that I write (unknowingly) in such a matter of fact a way that it lacks the fervor that exists in my mind.  Maybe I need to let that one sit a while, I think, and then I'm on to the next thing, the next experience, the next trip, so on.  

In the first weeks of this blog, I said the point of "all this" (specifically, my topic of writing) was "bite the bullet" which is an oft-used way of saying "deal with it", which isn't any kind of sage advice or stellar writing for that matter.  I also said we "Press on" which, again, is more of the same.  I later tried to live by "everything works if you let it" because often times you can get in your own way.  Doing that can make one impatient, and it can also make you, before you know it, quite lazy.  This laziness leads to excuses no one wants to hear.

As I continue the search, I can't say there'll be any point, but I can say something that is repeated...mostly because my offspring is very random and selective on what she chooses to remember:

You have to make your own good days.

Sure, you'll have shit to get through, but once you get through it, you don't have to let it hang around.  You don't have to let others' negativity inflect you.  Each day won't be solid gold, but many, MANY more will be just fine.  Make it good in your own way.  Stop and reflect on what's gone right - it might be more than you remember.  

Since I've taken this golden approach to heart, for real, I must admit it makes some uncomfortable because they're desperately trying to bring you down to their level.  It means you have to clear out a lot of dead weight around you, tied to you, fervently reaching out to drag you to the depths, all to consume you and move on, leaving your decomposed carcass along the side.    

Of the immediate and far off future, I can't say, but in looking over the historical signposts of 20 years, there's as much new now as there is the same.  Is it going good?  That's sensational - revel in it!  Is it going OK?  Maybe you can make it good.  Is it poor?  Shit?  Well, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?!  Make it happen.  It's the golden life and golden way of life.  Physically or mentally, your location can be there.

"I LIKE SUMMER"

I scanned the directions and found many, many misspelled words.  Perhaps there was something lost in translation: maybe it was where it suggested to exercise "cautoiin", I don't know.  However, there was a drawing of a shark wearing sunglasses that had the quote above.  We agreed.

Some days this summer, things align just so that the best kind of "camp" comes in full effect.  It's a high benefit of working from home, and while I enjoy having the Big Scoop around much more than a list of chores "because [I'm] home", I'm more than willing to accommodate whatever it takes to make it happen.

This camp is her favorite: as I begin to TCB, the Scoop sleeps, usually waking at 11AM.  What passes for "breakfast" may or may not be eaten as she starts the day with light video game enjoyment.  Later, a location for lunch is decided: nothing too expensive, but nothing too greasy, either.  Fortified, I return to work while she calls a friend to do who knows what.  Roughly mid-afternoon, we end up outside doing something: eating ice cream and delivering one-liners, a "2-square" game, or what happened last week, which was breaking out a gifted, knock-off slip 'n slide.

We had a manageable one until it was broken by a friend of hers, and if you too are wondering how one could "break" a slip 'n slide, well, it's yet another crime to be best left unsolved.  A couple weeks ago, one arrived in the mail.  We hadn't ordered anything, but the friend's parents took a break from talking about themselves to send this as an apology.  Wow, thanks.  You know, one of these days, we should check that out.

And so, we opened this import, and it keeps unfolding, and unfolding, until we realize this will now cover the length of the front yard.  Good lord!  Once set up, the Scoop tries a few times, which mostly entails running through the sprinklers and then a "slide" toward the end.  "We should do this together!" she says, and I grab my gear to join her.  As I stare down the straightaway, hearing an enforced countdown from the Scoop, my conscience kicks in and starts chanting "ACL, MCL.  ACL, MCL."  Huh.  Well, how the hell am I going to do this?   I end up trying to do some sort of half-assed baseball slide, certainly nothing graceful.  It "works" inasmuch that I slide.  Her response is enough to suggest more, so I try adding a roll after the slide.  I'm noticing that, despite it being the very yard I maintain, the ground is unforgiving.  Eventually I stop, and the Scoop goes through a handful of "last time" runs.  It isn't until we have turned off the water and are attempting to put everything away that the neighbors all come out.  They've all missed it and are stunned that I'd even dare try such a thing.  One, a son home from college, is too cool to acknowledge my prowess, of course, but the rest look on in envy.  Well yeah, how did you spend your workday?

Days later, my body continues to remind me every second of my age.  I felt like I'd ridden in the dryer after Nim Nam Gnam gave it a spin or 20.  Well yeah, you threw yourself to the ground over and over while your offspring laughed and cheered you on.  What else were you supposed to do?

Today, another tasty lunch followed by a walkthrough of one of the last Sears open.  It's closing again, and as we searched for items they didn't have, I lamented what could have been from this location while she reminded me that somewhere in Stranger Things people either go to Sears or come home from there; all of it a memory she never really had, but lives through vicariously either through me or fiction.  Either one works.  

Later this month, we'll be back at it again: not so much different for me work-wise, but the fun of these weekdays for the Scoop will be replaced by endless complaints of assholes at school, homework, and what "Mom's making me do" now.  I hear it.  Hell, I lived it myself.  But, for now, like the Scoop, I revel in the Summer in a way more tangible than I'd ever expected.