--On Saturday the youngest Secret had his final basketball game
of the season, and the coaches invited everyone to a local pizza joint
afterwards, for lunch.
Needless to say, I don’t much care for this type of
forced-togetherness with other parents.Toney always ends up in a marathon conversation with someone,
and I’m left sitting by myself, staring into the holes of a salt
shaker.But what choice did I
have?None, that’s what.
The team commandeered several shoved-together tables, and the
assistant coach asked the waitress (with dollar signs in her eyes) to
start bringing the pizzas and the pitchers of soda.
Already, before the first ounce of sugar-water had even been ingested,
the younglings were running wild, letting out war whoops, and
threatening to go head-first into the blazing fireplace.The noise level was significant.
I tried to strike up a conversation with a man who looks like Sam
Donaldson, but it fizzled and we both went back to our salt shakers.“Buddy
Garrity” came by and asked us if pepperoni was OK.We said it was, and he moved on to the next person.
Toney, of course, immediately became involved in some sort of
complicated multi-faceted conversation, with a beginning, middle, and
end, as well as several themes and sub-themes.
I felt like Flounder at the Omega pledge party.
Finally the pizzas starting coming out of the kitchen, and I found
sweet relief.When people are
stuffing their mouths full, I’ve learned, it removes the pressure to
talk…
This place is one of our favorite family-owned Italian restaurants.Their pizza is always great, as well as their pasta dishes.We’d been there roughly a million times before.But on Saturday there seemed to be some kind of advanced
greasiness
at play.Everything still
tasted good, but it certainly was slick.
Before leaving I did manage to instigate and sustain a brief
conversation with another (equally uneasy) dad.Yeah, we talked about microbrews.It seems we uneasy dads always have at least one common
interest:beer.So, we discussed Oregonhops, and
he seemed like a nice guy.But
who the hell knows, really?
Afterwards we went to a few stores, including the Wilkes-Barre Best
Buy, where I purchased the Vampire Weekend CD.And within thirty minutes of leaving the restaurant, I could
tell something wasn’t quite right, in the intestinal department.There seemed to be a lot of gurgling, and possibly fizzing,
going on.I wished we were
home, so I could have a seat.
Indeed, the older Secret got wide-eyed in Staples, and sprinted
to the bathroom.And he was
“sick” for the rest of the day.I
wanted to have a go as well, but there was no way I was taking a crap
in an office supply store.I
mean, seriously.I’d just
have to white-knuckle it until we were finished shopping.
And when it finally happened, it’s a damn good thing I’m a man of
size.Because if I’d been
skinny, I think I would’ve lifted off the toilet seat at ignition.It was like a shotgun blast, and I have no doubt everyone in
the house heard it.Next time
it happens, I probably should strap on one of the Secrets’ bicycle
helmets, just in case I’m sent sailing into an adjacent wall.
I think I revisited the small room four times that evening, and was
also “sick.”Toney and the
younger Secret didn’t suffer the same consequences, but the older
boy and I were having a rough time of it.And that kind of thing almost never happens to me; my stomach
is nothing if not tolerant.
Yeah, it sounds like more fun than it really was.
--Between emergency
blasting-cap rectal explosions, the boys and I watched the entire
first disc of the Monty Python DVD box set
Steve gave me.And it was freakin’ hilarious.Arthur “Two Sheds” Jackson, Joke
Warfare, nudge-nudge
wink-wink know what I mean?
I was surprised to find myself laughing my ass off. Afterwards I showed the Secrets
this skit at YouTube, one of my
all-time favorites, and we laughed some more.
I now believe Monty
Python’s Flying Circus
is a victim of the Skynyrd Syndrome.You
know, where people convince themselves they don’t like something
good, because they don’t want to be lumped in with that thing’s
fans?
Like Lynyrd Skynyrd.They were
a great band, wrote incredible songs, but a lot of folks refuse to
like them because they don’t want to be associated with the snaggle-toothed
gang of gas-huffing hillbillies who’ve claimed them as their own.
Monty Python, I believe, falls into the same category.They are the perennial favorites of nerds and geeks everywhere,
which causes many people to instinctively reject ‘em.
It’s not fair, but it seems to be true nonetheless.
I’ll leave you now with a fairly obvious Question of the Day:what else has been afflicted with the Skynyrd Syndrome?Star
Wars perhaps?LOST?The Dave Matthews Band?These
are three possibilities that jump immediately to my mind.
Help me out, won’t you?Use
the comments link below, and maybe we can create the definitive list.
