Pee Trek V: The Final Frontier (Bathrooms Echo... Loudly)

Throughout the history of me, I have at times been known for having almost zero ability to hold it.  

By "hold it", I mean, bladder control.  When I was younger I would constantly make Grandpa stop for bathroom breaks during car trips.  He probably appreciated me taking the heat for the bi-hourly stops so he could take advantage of my problem, but it certainly made drives longer than they needed to be.  There were times I was in such distress that I had to waddle to the gas station bathroom like my ankles were tied together.  

For my 21st birthday, someone gifted me a box of Depends, so yeah, back then everyone knew about my problem.  On a side note, for that year's New Years party, we convinced Darren to dress up like Baby New Year using the Depends.  I KNOW there is a picture of that somewhere... gotta find that one...

To top it off, I also had a shy bladder.  Any distractions and I'd seize up.  Damn that really hurts.  As I got older I figured out how to ration my liquids and can do better on trips now... most of the time.

But back in the day, it was a bad combination.   

The date was Saturday Jun 10, 1989.  How do I remember that so clearly (besides looking it up on imdb.com)?  Darren and I had a several year policy of seeing every new Star Trek movie on opening Friday, usually the noon show.  Star Trek V sucked, thus making it stick in my mind.  Well... it wasn't very good.  ANY Star Trek is better than no Star Trek.  But yeah... ugh.  

Anyway this premier for some reason we couldn't go Friday.  Who knows why anymore, it was probably stupid adult stuff.  So we planned for the first showing Saturday morning.  Problem was, I was in the middle of my Two Years Of Stupid (tm), where I was living with a girl (who shall remain nameless) and her 8 year old son in a one bedroom apartment.  About three months in I already knew I wasn't going to stay with her long term, but as I said above, I was stupid.  And trapped.  What can I say, she used me to escape her parent's house and I fell for it.

Anyway again, she had to work Saturday, so I was on child duty.  Off to the movie the three of us went, getting there early so we have the pick of seats.  (When D and I movie, we count the seats in the row and sit dead center.  Yup... 1,2,3,4,etc... all the way to the other side, while the other one stands close to the middle to make a quick decision on exact middle.  Still do to this day.)

We pile in with our snacks and drinks (cue ominous music...).  The boy (who will ALSO remain nameless) decides he wants to sit in the front row.  I tell him he can if he wants, and with the seating slope I can still keep an eye on him so there is no problem, plus now D and I can talk (plotting my escape from entrapment about a month later, probably) before the movie starts.  After a while the boy gets bored up in the front row by himself and comes back to talk, leaving his popcorn and snacks where he had planted himself.  After a few minutes I see someone, maybe mid-teens, silhouetted by the screen walk to the Boy's spot and look down at the left over goodies.  "Hey, you'd better get back there!" I tell him.  He scampers away.  I see him scoot over, say something to the shadow, and then sit down next to him.  They start talking.  Figuring he is some Star Trek nerd like us, the situation is fine and we settle back.  (Don't worry... I'm consciously keeping an eye on him!  He was my responsibility...!) 

The movie starts... I'm drinking my large soda.  As I said above... dumb.  By the time the movie gets to the climax, I'm really suffering.  I mean eyes-crossed, back of my throat gurgling, walk to the bathroom like my ankles are tied together suffering.  But I CAN"T LEAVE NOW BEFORE THE MOVIE IS OVER!!!  

The stinker ends none too soon, not only for my poor bladder but also for the fact that my love of Star Trek was being shaken by that piece of crap.  We stand up, or should I say, Darren stands, and I stagger, in utter agony.  He had to help pull me up.  Shuffling to the end of the row we wait for the Boy to make it through the crowd.  After what seemed like 37 hours of waiting, the back of the line gets to us at the middle of the theater.  Accompanying him is the young man, who was either autistic or with a mild case of Down Syndrome.  The Boy says "Rob!  Meet my new friend Steve*" (*Actual name lost to the years, and it doesn't matter what his name was for the purposes of the story...).  

Darren and I introduce ourselves and Steve says "ITS REALLY NICE TO MEET YOU!  <the Boy> WAS TELLING ME YOU DO THEATER!!  I LOVE SINGING.  DO YOU LIKE TO SING?  STAR TREK IS MY FAVORITE MOVIE!!!  DID YOU LIKE IT?   *I* LOVED IT!  (The line starts exiting the theater)  DO YOU LIVE NEARBY?  MY DAD IS GOING TO COME PICK ME UP!  (I'm pretty much crawling at this point)  WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MUSICAL?  I'VE NEVER SEEN A MUSICAL BEFORE BUT I BET IT'S FUN!!! (Oh god please kill me now...)  I GO TO SCHOOL.  MY FAVORITE CLASS IS MATH!  WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE CLASS?  (The Lobby!  Salvation!  Oh... not so fast...)

"Well", I say, barely able to speak from the intense stabbing of my bladder trying to explode out my belly button, "Thanks for keeping <Boy> company.  I'm going to stop in the bathroom.  Nice to meet you."

HEY, I'VE GOT TO GO TO THE BATHROOM ALSO!  GOOD IDEA!  I'LL GO WITH YOU.  I whimper.  Glancing at Darren I note he is almost crying trying to hold back the laughter while watching me suffering and letting me wallow in my misery, like any best friend would do.  So Steve and I head to the men's room.  

Of course there is a line... 

MY DAD SHOULD BE WAITING!  I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL HIM ABOUT THE MOVIE!  I'm surrounded by other dudes waiting while this really nice young man through no fault of his own is speaking very loudly.  I can't hold on to him for support, all I can do is focus on clamping every orifice in my body to try to prevent the pee going down my leg.  The line inches forward...

... into the bathroom, where Steve's loud voice now ECHOS through the room.  EVERYONE is staring at me as poor, oblivious, loud Steve keeps up his train of conversation.  "I HAVE ONE BROTHER AND ONE SISTER! (sister...sister...sister)".

We are waiting our turn for a urinal to open.  Why didn't I go to a stall?  I don't know... I wasn't thinking clearly with a flooded brain.  The only thought I had was "PLEASE let one open down the row... pleaseohpleaseohplease".  After a few moments (or hours, or eons.. I don't know anymore), a urinal opens.  I step forward, sweet relief just moments away...  until the one to my right opens up.

In slides Steve.  He unzips and turns his head to face me, just 24" inches away.  "YOUR SON IS A REALLY NICE KID!  I'M GLAD WE ALL MET!!! (met...met...met!)".  Now I KNOW every eye in the bathroom is focused on me and wondering what the hell is going on. 

And with that, everything completely locks up.  Steve is on my right yelling in my ear, my body is revolting and my shy bladder doodle is clamped down.  There is NO WAY I'm going to pee until Steve isn't standing there.  But behind me is a line of dudes waiting just as eagerly for the urinal as I was.  I do the only thing manly thing I can...

I pretend to shake it off, flush, and turn to the sink.  Yes, I washed my hands.  The sound of running water almost knocked me unconscious.  Of course Steve uses the sink RIGHT NEXT TO MINE, continuing to TALK.  He walks out, I waddle.  Darren is waiting and all three of us say our goodbyes.  As Steve turns away, I collapse onto Darren's arm and whisper "Get me back to the bathroom!"  

Fortunately it has cleared out.  I stand there for about three minutes because it take a while for everything to start working... and there was about 32 ounces of pepsi trying to escape.  

Darren laughed at me for a LONG time about this trip to the movies.  Maybe those Depends weren't such a bad idea after all.

A random pic from NYE 1996 that has nothing to do with the post.  Note the blowup doll in the background...

 

Sportsball! (16 years of friendship was a good run)

My apologies for the lack of posts the last two weeks... lets face it, there have been a lot more important things to pay attention to in the real world.  That being said, I am SURE that you all are waiting BREATHLESSLY for the next story in the life of Darren and Rob.  This post will be a "make fun of Darren" one... I promise I'll even it out going forward. 

When I was young, I was always the smallest kid.  My nickname in school was Shorty.  In 2nd grade I would come home and cry.  By the time I got to High School when people tried to drop some other name on me, I would defiantly make them stick to my given nickname.  That being said, being shorter came with negatives; yes, I was always last picked for anything athletic.  That being said again, I really didn't deserve to be picked any higher.  Bluntly, I sucked at sports.  I tried, and I had fun, but it never really worked out.  Except for one time senior year when we finally played floor hockey (which I had been begging every P.E. teacher for us to play).  The first day, of course, I was picked last.  Then I scored four goals in five minutes, including one from behind the net.

The next day I was a captain.  Yeah... serious gratification.  

Little did they know I had actually played in some floor hockey leagues when I was younger.  Heh... suck it, losers.  In later years Greg and I set up plywood boards around our basement and we played 1-on-1 floor hockey.  It was brutal because the area was about 18' long, so standing in front of a slap shot was sure to cause incredible pain.  We would do tournaments with his friends.  I would always be the Soviet team, just to piss everyone off.  Like the Soviets, I would dominate, especially on faceoffs where I could flick the ball to the right, let it kiss off the side plywood, draw my stick back and get a wrist shot into the net before the other guy could move.  I was also pretty fearless and would stand and take the shots ricocheting off my shins.  (We had a rule - no balls over the knee!  We weren't stupid...)

Anyway... right after that I started to kind of blossom with sports.  No, I was never a sportsball god, but I always brought some pluckiness to whatever I was in.  In college it took me a while to find the right guys, but we played pickup football and I dominated as a receiver and defensive back, to the point where they asked me to jump into their flag football league.  Lost in the semi-finals to a frat team that had plays they called in a hurry up offense.  I started playing 16" softball, which flowed into 12" softball, where I had this ability to hit to all fields; one year I hit over .650 (yeah, I was the stat geek, of course).  I was kind of speedy for a little guy, at least I got up to my max (whatever that was) in a step or two.  I also played for many years in a floor hockey league in Hoffman Estates, at a place behind the 7-11 on Hassell Rd.  GREAT time, great guys.  They sucked when they asked me to play and the first 4 games we didn't score a point; all shutouts.  I remember when I finally got our first goal in a scramble in front of the net, you'd think we won the championship.  Over the next few years we added a couple solid players and won the season standings a couple times.  Always had a great wrist shot with excellent aim, but no slapshot whatsoever.  I always led the team in two stats: penalty minutes and puking in the garbage can.  But nobody could win faceoffs like me, and nobody could kill a penalty single handed (I was great at trapping a guys stick against the boards so he couldn't move).  Man, it was a blast on those teams.

Now on the flip side of the coin, you had Darren.  For all his great attributes, physical activities weren't his strength (until he started running like Forrest Gump in his late '40's).  When he worked for HP they had a softball team which he asked me to ringer for.  D always hit last and caught.  But he had fun!  He never water-skied, skipped the parasailing thing I did in Key West, not a dancer... really, not a fan of athletics at all.  The only way Darren could beat me in basement floor hockey was when he'd take off his shirt and throw his sweat soaked body into me.  I would flinch away, completely grossed out, while he fired a shot into the goal.  It was his only move, but an effective one.

In the mid 80's (as I mentioned in past posts...) we had a TON of fun.  Part of that was working at Telecheck.  We had a blast with all our co-workers, and one of the activities we started with in late '85 (during the Bears heyday) was some weekend football.  It started off as Sales vs. Service (our department) with some other departments sprinkled in.  The first game was lighthearted, touch, girls and guys, beers in a cooler, etc... in the field behind Darren and Terri's apartment.  Somehow I ended up kind of dominating the game and Service won, and then we went and drank at Frankie's II.  A great day all around.

Telecheck folk behind Darren's apartment, in probably my only sports glory picture ever.

 

Sales didn't take it well, and those guys wanted it to be a bit more serious.  So we went at it again.  This time, tackle, only a couple girls, much more physical.  I brought my brother Greg, and he REALLY dominated; they couldn't tackle him.  Which was good, because Sales had a guy WE couldn't tackle.  I don't remember his name after 35 years, but he his nickname was "Fridge", just like William Perry on the Bears.  One guess why...  

Yeah... he was big.  Not Original Fridge big, but definitely bigger than the rest of us.

Oh... wait... almost forgot THIS story.  As I mentioned, we played in the field behind Darren's apartment.  We're playing, and Terri (and her best friend Annie) comes home from a shopping trip to a leather shop (Annie was into horses).  They step out of the car, reach into a bag and pull out a full sized leather whip.  Darren sees it, runs over, throws himself spread eagle face down on the ground and Terri proceeds to pretend to whip him.  The whole Telecheck crowd stares at him, mouths agape, and almost as one turn to look at me like he was my responsibility.  I could hear their thoughts in my mind; "He's YOUR friend".  Sigh..

Anyway, I digress....

So we're in the middle of the game.  I'm playing defensive back, Darren is kind of linebacker'ish.  On the snap, I run with a guy deep, but hear something behind me.  Turning around, I see that they dumped the ball short to our Telecheck Fridge.  The only guy between him and 7 points?  

Darren.  

Fridge turns up field.  Darren runs at him, but having ZERO football experience he comes in high.  Fridge cradles the ball and leans into Darren with a full head of steam.  Imagine a locomotive running over a baby carriage left carelessly on the tracks.  Fridge plows Darren without any lessening of momentum.  Darren's body straightens up, and with his left arm extended completely over his head he is turned 180 and crashes to the ground like a tree trunk cut down with a huge chain saw in one fell swoop.  A slow gasping groan escaped his lips as he fell, the Fridge running free for another touchdown.  If we are ever together, feel free to ask me, I can perfectly imitate the pain rising out his throat and forcing it's way into the open air.  

Its amazing how certain memories can be so incredibly vivid; the collision, the extended arm and pirouette, the sound he made as he crumpled. (and yes, even the words "Whip me!  Whip me!" earlier in the afternoon).  It is all indelibly inked in the recesses of my mind.  

My reaction?  "Well, I just lost my best friend".  Then I turned up field to receive the kick.  

I think he laid there for about 30 seconds.  I also think that was the last time he ever played pickup football... 

Gonna put a cap in yo ass... (our brush with the gangsta life)

As I mentioned earlier, in 1984 Darren and I were both home from college.  At least he got himself together and went back eventually.  But for the meantime, it was just him and me.  It was the start of all the fun...  

Somewhere in this time frame Darren started dating a girl (she was still in HS, I believe.. can't remember her name at all) who lived in the Trails (down at the corner of Nerge and Plum Grove).  Don't know where he met her or what happened other than they eventually broke up.  On a side note, her father had a DeLorean.  This was even before Back to the Future made them cool(er).  I vaguely remember that I might have gotten a ride in it, although I also remember her sitting on D's lap in the passenger seat, since those cars didn't have back seats.  

In the fall of '84, Darren got a job at the Rolling Meadows Ice Arena on Friday nights as a DJ for the open skate.  I would go with him, help him set up the record player up at the top of the stands and skate for 2 hours for free.  This was after my becoming friends with a guy at Madison who was on the two-time Wisconsin state Catholic League HS hockey championship team, on their top line.  He taught me to skate and I was really into it for a few years... even got my head noogied by Gordie Howe after he picked the puck off my stick... skating was probably the only thing I really learned at college, sadly.

Anyway... I digress...

So we came up with this idea for Friday nights DJing at the rink... we'd get a set of walkie-talkies, I'd skate around and the other skaters could come up to me and make "long distance dedications" which I'd relay up to him.  We were absolutely GIDDY with our own brilliance.  We make plans, and early on Friday we head to Toys 'R Us to pick up something that would work.  Of course we get totally lost in the store, and by lost I mean we start goofing around, checking out all sorts of things besides the walkie-talkies, when we come across this aisle with toy guns.  We would make this a regular trip, because Toys 'R Us was a freakin' blast, and weeks later we'd find the first ever motorized water gun that could shoot a stream of water 30' on a dime. (I used that to terrorize my brother Greg when he'd walk down the hallway).  But for this first stop, we find a full-sized, made out of metal, Magnum .45 cap gun.  This thing had to weigh 5-6 pounds.  No orange tip, so it looked and felt real, or as real as we thought it might be.  Today, we'd pull that thing out and end up a story on the 10 o'clock news after being justifiably shot by a cop, but back then, nobody cared.

Of course we bought it.  With glee.  Visions of Dirty Harry bouncing around our bad-ass imagination...

Back into the car we go with our walkie-talkies and this monstrosity of a "toy".  He starts driving and I start unpacking.  I pull out the caps that load into it; they were easily three or four times what were normally sold with a fake gun for kids.  Loaded.  

Darren keeps driving, and turns onto the frontage road along the east side of Rt. 53 at Algonquin.  I'm not stupid (well...) so I roll down the window and stick it out, and without thinking, pull the trigger.  

BLAM!  

I've pulled the trigger on a 1/4 load stage pistol when I directed Oklahoma! and was shocked at how powerful it was.  This "toy" gun was pretty close.

So the shot, no where NEAR the level of what a toy cap gun should be, reverberates through the car.  My ears are instantly ringing and plugged.  Darren swerves back and forth a few times and gets us back in our lane.  We are simultaneously laughing as well as screaming.  Showing my bad-assery, I frantically cram the gun under the front seat to hide it from any Johnny-Law and slink down so I'm not discovered.  TOYS 'R US SELLS WEAPONS WHAT THE HELL!!!!

We pull into the ice rink and pretty much decide to not talk about it to anyone, because then they'd know we had a real fake weapon under the passenger's side front seat and we'd end up in jail.  Darren's girlfriend meets us there, the walkie-talkie's are a complete success.  And to top off our thug-moment, Darren starts making cracks on the sound system about a break-dancing contest which was huge back in the 80's.  I go to center ice and his GF spins me around a bunch of times and I exit into a perfect break-dancing end pose on my side, leg up, head on my hand.  

Nobody else did any break dancing.  

But they did have me send numerous Long-Distance Dedications to be played by Spin-Master DT.

Thus ended our night of gangsta'ing.  

But damn, we DID have a lot of fun with that cap gun...  

Yo, back off... we are packin'!  I believe that is TWO Star Wars blasters, homie.

 

 

 

Darren Was a True Friend and I Blew It (But he's still an old man)

Today is my Double Nickle birthday... 55... I'm sure I am preaching to the choir when I say I don't know how I got this far so quickly.  Sure wish it would slow down...

Regarding birthdays and age, the only joy I get from the inexorable march to Simulation End is that Darren is 7 1/2 weeks older than I am.  For a short amount of time, I get to blast him with every old man joke I can think of and repeat every year.  It was all going so well until Aiden came along.  Darren retorted "at least I'm not a grandpa!".  That hurt... and I was stymied.  Until I got over 50 and embraced my new position and deflected his attacks.  Someday, he'll understand how cool it is.  Being a "gamp-pa" is just about the best thing there is and I truly love those little peanuts...

But I digress...

Darren and I have spent numerous birthdays together.  He was at my 7th Bday where I cried after my parents pulled the "relighting candles" trick.  We had a kind of joint Bday when I turned 21 and my parents got me a Dolly Parton impersonator (I didn't cry at that one...).  When we turned 30 D and I and my sister Pam and her husband made Greg buy us dinner at a fancy seafood place, and we never returned the favor, and at my 50th roast Darren got absolutely tanked on Jamisons without any food and then we sang a surprise song... that totally killed, BTW.

But the story we're looking for was in the middle of all that...

On the night of my 25th birthday back in 1990, I had a softball game.  I was an addition to a work team put together by Brian Collins.  We were pretty good, and we had a lot of fun.  

So after this game, Vince Viverito (who you all met earlier, one of my best friends in High School and now brother-in-law to Brian) who was on the team, and a few other guys headed from the field at Dirksen Park (behind where the Dominick was, but back then was still Town Square) across Roselle Rd. to Easy Street.... scene of many thousands of ugly drunk moments, I'm sure.  Darren essentially walked out his back door and met us.  

They start in on me.  Shot.  Shot.  Shot.  And I'm playing along.  Boom...done.  Boom...done.  Its starting to get ugly.  All sorts of variety of nasty alcoholic concoctions while they all watch and laugh.  At this point I'm way into my usual happy, silly, loud drunk where I'm just spouting off all sorts of things and amusing myself to no end.  Its Darren's turn to buy.  He leans over the bar and whispers to the bartender... and I'm sure I'm doomed.  This going to be the MOST HORRIFIC SHOT EVER DEVISED!!!  The Keep plops a shot glass down in front of me; it is clear.  OH MY GOD WHAT IS THIS?!?!  CLEAR???  IT MUST BE EVERCLEAR 100% BOOZE!!!

No WAY I'm going to trust him, so I tentatively dip a pinky in the drink and cautiously touch it to my tongue...  "HEY!" I yell out.... "THIS IS JUST WATER!"  Darren face palms in disbelief as I completely destroy his attempt to help.  Of course this just gets everyone in attendance up in arms, both at my woosiness as well as D trying to let me skate by.  

It didn't end well.  

I remember running around in the Taco Bell parking lot some time later eating late-night tacos (yes, that taco bell has been there for over 30 years!)...  I don't remember if I went to work the next day, but it probably wasn't pretty.  

So thanks, you old guy, for trying to save me.  Its what true friends do.  I'm glad I've gotten to spend all these birthdays with you... 

Darren and I being "surprised" at our joint Bday in 1986.  Since it was thrown by my parents, it wasn't what you'd expect... sadly.

 

Its All Relative... (thanks for the tip, Bob)

In the summer of 1986, Darren and I were living life strong.  He had gotten me the job at Telecheck the prior year and I had moved into a full-time position.  Just a couple of blocks from the office D was living with Terri Hanko in an apartment, so that became our base, and I was over there a ton.  Besides all the Telecheck football games and Risk with Larry and getting into Romeo and Juliet, on Friday evenings after work we'd join the masses making the crowded trip up Rt. 12 to Wisconsin; our destination, of course, Turtle Lake.  Pete Townsend's Scoop album was the music of choice, which was rare, because Darren never listened to music for more than two weeks before something else grabbed his interest.  

Saturday nights we'd roll into Lake Geneva to enjoy the drinking age of 18 (screwdrivers, so we'd get our Vitamin C) and hang out at City Lights, where all the waitresses were hot and wore light-up dangly earrings, which I thought was pretty sexy.  It was where I taught D how to check girls out through peripheral vision.  I can remember his wonder the first time he caught me doing it, remarking that it was pretty sneaky.  I'm sure you can all guess how far that got us...  

Then, just to make sure no one was confused about us, we'd walk down to the arcade and get our nerd on.  1987 was the summer of Operation Wolf, but for now we played numerous other games and spent numerous quarters.  I bounced between games but Darren's favorite was Tron.  His well-developed "Tron trigger finger" apparently worked on more things than just arcade game controllers, or so he bragged.  Often.  

But I digress...

So one weekend my Grandpa told us that he and Gram had stopped at the Wisconsin Visitor Center on Rt.12 just over the border.  I'm sure he had to make a pit stop; His 69 years starting to catch up to him unfortunately, due to an early cancer battle where they still didn't have a grasp on how to aim radiation, and his pacemaker limiting his energy.  But his mind was still pretty damn sharp, and he always seemed to attract the attention of the pretty girls, so total respect for him.

The conversation went something like this: 

 

Grandpa:  "... I thought you two might like to know there are a couple of hot young chicks working at the Visitor Center"

Us:  "What?  No way!  Thanks for letting us know!"

Grandpa:  "No problem".

 

Of course the two of us tucked that bit of info away for future reference... like the following week.

Friday arrives, we pile into Darren's 1970's light-blue Thunderbird (you know... not the cool 60's T-birds... the big clunky later model ones) and head north once again.  As we get close, we remember what Grandpa told us!  Damn, he is one cool dude!

Bob Troxel showing everyone how to live life...

We probably stopped at Dog and Suds just before the border, then excitedly pushed the T-Bird to the limit for the final mile, accelerating onto the expressway, then just as quickly looping off at the rest stop.  I can vividly remember bounding out of the car and up the sidewalk.  We burst through the doors, eager with anticipation but probably way over our heads and undoubtedly about to make fools of ourselves tripping over our tongues, BUT WE DIDN"T CARE!!!

Just inside the door, we turn to the right, where the desk was.  And there, behind it, was our target.  Two hot young chicks.

 ....also in their late 60's.  

 

"Hello boys... can we help you?"

"uh... no... thanks..."

We turn and bound out the door, this time in reverse.  As we escape to safety and scuttle down the sidewalk back to the car (also a vivid memory), our faces are a mixed bag of laughter and in-credulousness.  My Grandpa, who was renowned for his dry and sneaky wit, had totally played us, and we fell for it.  Needless to say the final 30 minute drive was spent trying to figure out how to save face, and knowing there was no option but to eat our crow dinner.

Grandpa was sitting in his chair in the living room, as usual.  

"Grandpa!  We stopped at the Visitor Center like you told us to do!"

"Was I right?  Those were some pretty hot young chicks, huh?"

And as he would do, Grandpa started snickering like Muttley on the old Wacky Races cartoon.

Oh I want to be just like him when I grow up... and I miss him every day.  And on that day, he won.  Like I said... total respect.

The story of the burnt out spot on the Turtle Lake shore (Tequila and Zima don't mix)

Kids... this is going to be one of those stories that tell a life lesson you should all pay attention to.  It was a typical warm summer day at Turtle Lake in 1993.  I know this because Darren, when younger, was someone who would jump all in on any recent craze.  In the summer of 1993, Zima certainly fit the bill.

Darren was up, along with Terri Hanko.  Terri and Darren were almost as good of friends as he and I are.  They shared an apartment (platonically... no WAY she'd ever date him, he never did the dishes apparently) in the mid to late 80's (we'll get to some of those stories soon).  My brother Greg was there also, in one of the rare times he wasn't hanging with his buddy Paulie at Lauderdale.  

Some time during the evening Greg and Darren decided to head down to the Turtle Inn, a little dive bar on the shore a few houses away.  Not really interested in counting the lack of teeth in the mouths of the regular clientele, Terri and I decided to head to MY favorite lake haunt, Frosty's in Whitewater, home of the greatest dairy treat ever created by man or god.  Off they go... off we go.  They walk of course.  Terri drives.  

On a side note, she almost killed us on the way back.  Coming off the main road there is a hill with a sharp 90 degree left turn at the bottom.  It was so steep that back in the day when we'd take post-dinner walks we had to push Grandpa up it or the walk would have ended after about two minutes.  No street lights of course.  She comes barrelling down the road in her usual aggressive driving manner.  Too late to be able to affect what was about to happen I yell out to slow down.  She flies over the top of the hill, yells out OH SHIT and slams on the brakes.  We start sliding down the gravel strewn roadway, getting ever closer to the patch of trees and drop off at the end.  She turns the wheel to the left at the bottom, and somehow we stop just inches from rolling into the ditch, down the hill and into someone's living room.

We laughed.  Hard.  Hey, we were young and didn't know better.

Anyway, I digress...

Terri and I hang out by the shore, probably trying to ignore the lingering tension between us from the couple year earlier tension where I once again was too shy and stupid to realize what was going on.  Making a quick night (for reasons about to become obvious) Darren and Greg stagger back, Greg heads right to bed in the Don King Suite (so named because anyone who slept on the cot in there woke up with bed-head that made them look like Don King... granted, this didn't apply to Greg and I by this point in time) but not before he tells us that Darren was pounding Tequila shots and chasing them with Zima.  You all remember Zima, right?  That slightly cloudy swill water that was like alcoholic cream soda?  (Wikipedia: In describing "The Long, Slow, Torturous Death of Zima", writer Brendan Koerner cited Zima's perceived reputation as a "girly-man" beverage and its persistent parodying by late-night TV host David Letterman.  So totally appropriate for Darren... ) 

Terri and I want to go out for a late night cruise, so we pour Darren into The Trox and off we go.  He is already pretty much passed out.  After a few laps around and returning, we convince Darren to get up and leave the boat, trying to get him to go to bed in the boat house and sleep his mistake off.  He gets about three steps and lays down on the end of the pier.  Eh... that was good enough, so I leave him.  Terri and I discuss the various possibilities of what could happen overnight and realize he could roll off into the water and we'd find him floating two piers down, so she sends me out to retrieve him.  I try everything, but he doesn't even recognize that anyone is talking to him.  I give up, thinking of what I'm going tell his mother, and head down the pier as Terri pushes past me.  

Let me tell you, there aren't many people in the world who know how to make other people jump, but she is one of them, especially with Darren.  Stepping out to the end she simply says "Darren! Stand up" and he groggily, but quickly obeys her command.  The two head back down the pier, Terri wrapping Darren's arm around her shoulders.  Well THAT was the second big mistake of the night.  Terri is tough, but no match for a 140lb sack of liquor-induced jiggle topped with red hair;  the two start wobbling with her barely hanging on.  I leap out to grab them, but instead of letting me get on his side as I grab him with one arm, she grabs MY wrist for support, meaning I had no control of either of them.  We start listing to the side in WAY too shallow of water for this to end up with anything less than cuts and bruises.  "Terri, let go of my arm.  Terri!  Let go of my arm!  TERRI LET GO OF MY ARM!!!"  Just in time she does, I get between Darren and the water and wrap his other arm around me and I drag the three of us off the pier to safety.  

Now as I mentioned, he was just a bag of ooze at this time, moving on pure unconscious action from Terri's command.  Since he was off the pier, that command evaporated and he collapsed on the shore.  Good enough.  We both went to sleep, leaving him there.  

Some time during the night I heard the siren call of the horking ape man, working in harmony with the bull frogs and cranes... 

The patch of grass burnt out by the combination of stomach acid and tequila topped with a healthy dose of Zima took two years to grow back.

Unfortunately, I wasn't there to revel in the suffering Darren went through. (Come on... ZIMA?!?! He got what he deserved!)  I was called in the middle of the night by my supervisor at work and I had to drive all the way down to the city. (Not the only time THAT happened... :( )   As a topper to the events, on the way home the next day Greg and Terri took Darren to Hernandez, a local Mexican restaurant, and drank tequila in front of him.  Apparently he just laid his head on the table turning green.

So what did we learn kids?  Repeat after me... "Tequila and Zima don't mix".  

Darren playing with fire with Terri.  How profound that was... Just past the table is where he left his mark this night. 

 

  

 

That was a level 10 lightning bolt... (powered by chalk)

Although we were really good friends in High School, we were kind of just laying the groundwork for post-HS.  But a some interesting things happened, still.  

Sophomore year we had Chemistry class together.  If I remember, that was the only one for four years.  Mr. Schwartz.  Nice guy.  He would write at the board then wipe the chalk off on his thighs.  The front of his dress pants were perpetually white, which we laughed at often.  Also he would run his hands through his hair, which was slightly greasy, complicating the whole "chalk on the pants" issue.  Sadly D and I weren't lab partners.  No, I had a kid who had to be literally off the boat from Korea.  Exceedingly nice, always smiling, but literally couldn't speak a lick of English.  Have you ever tried to run titrations using only pantomime to communicate?  How we didn't blow up the lab I have no idea.  Darren was very supportive during this trying period, especially since he finished all his labs in half the time that it took me and my partner.

This was also the year we started playing the GREATEST GAME IN THE HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION; Dungeons and Dragons.  This lead us to two of our long time friends Vince and Mark, who were are original dungeoning party.  I had already played a couple times prior, and I have NO IDEA how we got on the subject, but I can remember we all took Darren's bus to his house one afternoon, jammed into a back room in his tiny house, snugged up around a table, and started to game.  He had a little pug dog.  I can still do a perfect impression of him, with his little tongue sticking out on one side, panting like crazy three or four times.  Then he'd suck the tongue in, gobble it around for a second and stick it out the other side.  Pant, suck, gobble, out the first side.  Ad-nausiam.  

Anyway, we played pretty regularly through our high-school years and into the beginning of college.  Added a single girl to the group for a while... Denise Konefes.  She was fun.  For some reason I can remember exactly where she lived, as we gamed at her house one time.  (This was about the point in my life where I started to have crazy exact vivid memories of random things.  I've pulled strange events out of my ass numerous times over the years in amazing detail and freak people who were there but don't remember.  ...To make up for it I forget their name.)  There always seems to be a token female in our group, and she is usually the clearest thinker and keeps the rest of us focused, thank goodness.  

Those years of gaming were where I started my first campaign world and we ran those characters for quite a while.  Vince's basement (picking on his poor little brother) ... my dining room... We had one week post-graduation at Turtle Lake with lots of D&D and throwing pennies at each other's car while driving up.  I remember the D&D adventure I ran, a riff on Alice in Wonderland.  We figured out how to make light bounce off the lake in the middle of the night into the fog.  Mark saw his first ever meteor.  That is also when Mark realized he should have done Track and Field; he had his nose to the window one night watching a storm roll across the lake when lightning blasted right in front of the house.  In one motion he leaped all the way across the boat house to the couch on the far side.  

We gamed regularly until Vince and Mark grew up or grew old, one or the other, and stopped playing.  Losers.

Well...  I can't really mean that, because it was those three who started me on the path to essentially everything that matters in my life.  My school years consisted pretty much of wake up, go to school, ride the bus home.  I did NOTHING.  That I never got into ANYTHING through the first 3 years of HS is my one true big regret throughout my whole life.  But then I saw how much fun Darren, Vince and Mark had doing theater.  They inspired me to give it a try senior year.  Damn, was I an idiot to have missed out on those first three years of theater, but at least I snuck in for the last year.  Hung with some amazing people, met my first girlfriend, got to hug Michele Bryant a lot (as friends... sigh).  Now I have everything because of it; Payton, Donna, family, great friends, amazing memories.  All because I watched Darren fence for Romeo and Juliet. 

And most importantly, as I mentioned above, the good times were about to EXPLODE.

Now THAT is a D&D table...