Competitive
swimming, Q-Tips, inappropriate showboating, and baseball caps
--On Saturday we traveled to the oldest Secret’s swim meet,
way out in the middle of Somewhere Unfamiliar.I’m not sure about this, but I believe we actually passed
through a town at one point, called Scrotum Pocket, Pennsylvania.But, you know, my memory’s a little foggy on it.
The high school where this event took place is incredibly nice, but
surrounded on all sides by what’s sometimes called white trash.Lots of houses that were once respectable, but have now
fallen into drastic disrepair…And trailer parks filled with disturbingly fat/disturbingly
skinny people, and Pontiac Grand Ams with one green door…
Toney said we’d been there before, but I don’t remember anything
about it.And
I usually don’t forget such a rich vein of trashiness. But
I have no doubt she’s correct.
The spectators have to sit in a “gallery,” which is a balcony
type of deal, overlooking the pool.When we arrived, that so-called gallery was already 90%
filled, and we had to wedge our asses between two annoyed families,
and create our own space where none had previously existed.
During warm-ups, the other team’s coach kept blowing a whistle
that went straight through my brainstem.It didn’t bother Toney or the younger Secret, but man, the
pitch of that thing was perfectly calibrated to screw with my
central nervous system.Every time she cranked off another of those piercing blasts,
I almost had a seizure.And I’m not even joking.
I asked the youngling if he wanted to go to the concession stand, in
an attempt to escape the high-pitched torture device.He said yeah, and we made a run for it.
I ordered a hotdog, which turned out to be cold and funny-tasting,
and the youngling went with a yard-long Slim Jim Oily Stick O’
Meat, or whatever those things are called.Blecch.
No food is allowed in the pool area, so we had a seat and ate our
“snacks.”And watched a
big-faced girl suck on a slice of pizza.Not once did I see her take an actual bite, she just gummed
at it, and rubbed it all over her mouth and neck.
When we returned some kid was singing the national anthem, and it
sounded like somebody was running a leaf blower.We stood out in the hall, waiting for it to end, and a guy
with a whistle and a clipboard barked at me:“Hey, take off that cap, pal!”
Pal?!It
turns out the dude was the referee or judge or whatever they call
the person with official swim meet powers.And he was an asshole.Every time I looked at him, he was giving another person a
ration of shit about something.
Put some people in a shirt with a patch on it, and the power goes
straight to their head…
The meet itself was entertaining, and moved quickly.Sometimes those things aren’t very well organized, and can
drag out for hours.But these folks had it together, and kept it all moving
forward.And
I appreciated their talents.
But check this out… our team lost.Not once in the entire three years we’ve been associated
with that league, has our team even come close to losing.They’re the freakin’ 1927 Yankees of youth swimming.But on Saturday they went down.I never thought I’d see the day…
But whatever.We were going to Cracker Barrel afterwards, and that’s all
I was thinking about.
I went with the house salad (with ThousandIslandon
the side,
because I don’t trust waiters or waitresses to responsibly man the
dressing pump), and chicken and dumplings with mashed taters and
gravy, and green beans.I washed it all down with great vessels of sweet tea, and all
was right with the world.
--I
don’t want to be too
disgusting here, but something amazing came out of my right ear on
Saturday morning.
A few days earlier we’d run out of Q-Tips, and I put it on the
grocery list that hangs on the front of our fridge.But Toney kept forgetting to buy them (or so she claimed),
and it dragged out for far too long.
I think I might be addicted to Q-Tips.Is that odd?I get a little antsy and on-edge if I’m unable to dig the
gunk out of my ears on a daily (sometimes twice-daily) basis.And this time it went on for
upwards of a week.
I was almost to the point of making a special emergency midnight cotton swab
run, or calling 911 or something, but one day the things were
finally re-stocked, and I tore right into ‘em.
My left ear was OK.I used both ends of a single Q-Tip, but could’ve gotten by
with just one.But the right ear was something else.Have you ever had a four-tipper, where you need to use both
barrels of two
Q-Tips on a single ear?Well, I have.
And near the end something that looked like a twist-tie off a loaf
of bread came out!It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.I thought about calling the family upstairs, or grabbing the
camera, or something.But I figured nobody else would appreciate it, so it’s
gone.
But, I’m here to tell you, it was nothing short of spectacular!
Why would one ear generate so much nastiness, while the other one
remained inactive?Hello?!Is there a doctor in the house?I need closure.
--My
Mom and Dad are in Floridafor the
winter, hanging out with other retirees and eating pie ‘round the
clock, or whatever they do.I talked to ‘em yesterday, and my Dad told me a story...
He said they were playing cards with another couple a few days ago,
and out of the blue the woman yelled, “Oh yeah?!Well take this!!”Then she tipped to one side, and blasted a gigantic fart
that, as my father put it, “you could hear all over the county.”
I guess this is completely out of character for these people, and
nobody knew what to say.So they just pretended nothing happened, and continued with
the game.
What in the chap-lipped hell?!
--I’ll
leave you now with a newspaper clipping Buck sent along.Heh.Nothing like adding fuel to the fire…Thanks, man!There’s nothing like a strong support network.
As I reported in my email yesterday, the caps are now done and will
be mailed momentarily.If you haven’t ordered one yet, not a problem…I’ve got extras, so have at it.Here’s yer link.
I hope you guys are having a wonderful Monday, and I’ll be back on
Tuesday.
