A Birthday
Weekend, and My Pocket-Change Biography
--The older Secret had a birthday over the weekend.On Friday he was eleven, and now he's twelve.When he was younger we'd have parties for him, at
"interesting" places, and invite what seemed like every
squealing fart-cloud booger-machine within the tri-state area.But those days are behind us (thank you Jesus).
Now we just have a few of his friends over, fold the party money into
a better gift, and go out to dinner at the restaurant of his choice.You know, within reason.
--This year there were several
boys at our house on Saturday afternoon, having an "airsoft
war" in the yard.Airsoft
guns, in case you're not tapped into sixth grade culture, are similar
to the old fashioned BB guns.
They shoot little plastic dingleberries – HARD.I mean those things can pierce a soda can at twenty feet; it's
fairly unnerving.It takes the
concept of "toy" to its fullest extreme.
But the kids wear goggles, and hide behind things, and roll around in
the grass, and shoot each other.And
they act like it's just about the greatest thing ever.Afterwards they come in with big welts all over them, a-smiling
and a-laughing…
Whatever. If somebody shot me in the neck with a 100 mph ball of plastic, I most
certainly wouldn't be laughing.That
shit would piss me off.
In fact… on Saturday I was outside watching the "war," and
got shot somewhere far worse than the neck.Get my drift?Luckily it
was a ricochet, and not a direct hit, but it still wasn't pleasant.
I don't want to be too graphic, and tell you exactly where the BB hit
me.But let just say I was
humming the theme to Shaft
for the rest of the day.That's
right, SHAFT.And as late as
Sunday afternoon, I had to turn at a 30-degree angle to hit the
toilet.
But I probably shouldn't complain.If
it hadn't been a bank shot, I'd probably be writing about the exit
wound today, or my new prosthetic ball.And I can't have that.
--The birthday boy wanted to
go to Red Lobster (Ret Lopster) for dinner, but Toney and I vetoed it.We were just there with my parents, and enough is enough with
that crap.He needed to drop
down to number two on his list.
So he chose Texas Roadhouse.I'd
only been there once, and remembered it as being pricey.But we couldn't ask him to go to number three; we'd just have
to suck it up.
Turns
out it wasn't
overly expensive, and also pretty darn good.I had a New Yorkstrip steak, and enjoyed every
artery-blocking, colon-choking hunk of the thing.How come steaks are so much better at restaurants?I've tried my entire adult life, and can't consistently
recreate it on a home grill.
Also,
we went early (to avoid Saturday night crowds), and the place was
still packed.We had to wait in
a little holding pen they have near the front door, and people just
continued pouring in.The
hostesses were about to run out of those flashing vibra-boxes, and
everything.It was amazing.
Toney said, "I thought the economy was in the toilet?"And I just grunted, because I didn't have an answer.
--We pooled our money, with
money from both sets of grandparents, and bought the Secret a bass
guitar.He'd wanted one for
Christmas and, even though he didn't whine about it, we could tell he
was disappointed when it didn't appear under the tree.
We
went to GuitarCenter, and there was a huge poster of
Jimmy Page hanging inside the front door."Who's that old man?" one of the boys asked.And I said, "Shhhh…That's like walking into a Catholic church and talking trash
about the Virgin Mary."
If
possible, we wanted to buy a kit, with an amp and all the
getting-started crapola included.We
needed to keep the price within reason.I mean, seriously.Who
am I, Cornelius "Thirty Degree Angle" Vanderbilt?
Some dude with long gray hair, and a laminate around his neck, walked
over and asked if we needed help.And
he wouldn't answer our questions.He
was infuriatingly wishy-washy, and refused take a stand.It was all, "Well, this one is good, but so is this
one…"
I needed him (the expert) to tell me (the non-expert) the best route
to take.But he was only
offering words that didn't add up to much.Finally, we told him we'd just take the Fender kit, and he said
we were making a fine choice.But,
of course, Ibanez has a great kit as well...
Unbelievable.I don't know how
the guy gets dressed in the mornings.…Oh,
that's right, no style-changes since 1974.Never mind.
The box was an optical illusion.It
didn't look overly large inside the store, but when I started carrying
it across the parking lot it turned gigantic.It wouldn't fit in the trunk of my car, and I've got a big
trunk.What the hell, man?
I thought I was going to have to put it in the backseat, drive it
home, and come back to pick up Toney and the boys.But we shoved the big-ass thing as far forward as it would go,
and it left enough room for the kids to scrunch between guitar and
seat.It probably wasn't
completely safe (or legal), but we got home OK.
And now I'm hearing the opening riff of "Day Tripper," over
and over again.Even when the
guitar is unplugged and leaning against the couch…
Yeah, this will go one of two ways.Either
he'll get completely obsessed (like with video games), and will be
skilled enough to tour with Van Halen by next summer.Or he'll say to
hell with it (like with math),
and it'll end up under his bed, with a filthy sock and an empty Tic
Tac box.
We'll just have to wait and see what happens.
--I have five coins in my
pocket right now: two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel.I was looking at them (sometimes I get bored), and started
thinking about where I was when each was made.So I'm going to break it down for you folks…
1992
(quarter):I was in Atlanta, living with Toney in a great
apartment in the Little Five Points neighborhood.We both worked for a Large Record Company, were going to tons
of free shows, and I weighed roughly sixty pounds less than I do
today.
1976
(other quarter):I was
thirteen, in seventh grade (right?), and probably starting to
metamorphose from a semi-normal looking kid into some sort of hideous,
zit-spangled, gangly, pipe cleaner-legged puberty-beast.This quarter was minted during a dark, dark period in my
history.
1995
(dime):Toney and I were
married, and living in the suburbs of Atlanta.We'd bought a house we loved, and it was so far outside the
perimeter (gasp!)
we were now commuting an hour each way to work.But we didn't give a crap…We
had few responsibilities, and plenty of free time to sit around at outdoor
cafes, and have Sunday brunch, and take off to JekyllIslandwhenever we wanted... It was the
era of our great yuppie experiment (soon to collapse beneath the
overwhelming weight of reality).
1980
(other dime):I was in eleventh
grade, with two hobbies:beer
and music.Sometimes beer or
music, but preferably beer and
music...I was hanging out at
Budget Tapes and Records, reading rock magazines, and buying a crazy
number of vinyl LPs.Or, my
friends and I were careening down any and all country back-roads with
AC/DC blasting, sucking on Mickey's Big Mouths, and hollering for no
particular reason.It was a lot
of fun, but it ended the same way the first dime did.
1999
(nickel):Nearing the end of
our four-year stay in California.Toney and I had two boys by now, both very young, and we were a
long way from the carefree days of the first dime.I was working in a corporate headquarters setting, with humorless
executives and hard-charging assholes trying to impress everyone.I hated it.And I hated California.Money was always an issue there, the never-changing weather
made me crazy, and it was so crowded we’d have to block-off ninety
minutes to run to the store and buy a gallon of milk.
What about you?What’s your
pocket-change biography?You
don’t have to be as long-winded as I was (unless you want to be),
but why not tell us your coin-story?Use
the comments link below.
