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...

 

The Space Oddity Part 4: The Final Frontier (about that Fecal Containment Unit...)

Now you'd have all thought that our wives couldn't have been more incredibly creative with the birthday gift to the Cosmosphere.  Oh, how wrong you would be, if you'd thunk that.  

A few years after our Adult Astronaut Experience, our wives informed us they had a special dinner planned; dress nice and they'd tell us where we would be going.  Dutifully obeying, as is our usual wont, we sat meekly in the backseat (like I said above, as usual) as the car took us where the car was gonna took us.  After a 40 minute or so drive up into the Northshore, we pull into the parking lot of Lovell's, the restaurant owned by the son of Apollo astronaut and two-time moon-orbiter Jim Lovell!  (He was on Apollo 8 that circled the moon as well as the ill-fated Apollo 13, just to jog your memory)

Once again speechless ('cause you know we only talk when necessary...) we walked into a former mansion that was now chock-full of space memorabilia.  After exploring for a short while (ok, it was NOT a short while, because Darren and I have to read EVERY LITTLE THING WE SEE.  Which is why we only go to museums with each other and not our families), we sat down to what promised to be an incredible gourmet dining experience.

Of course, a few libations were imbibed.  Delectable food was enjoyed.  But the surprises were not done.  At some point through the night, an elderly gentleman with a young assistant came through the room we were in.  IT WAS NONE OTHER THAN JIM LOVELL HIMSELF!!!  AHHH!!!  Donna and Laura had called the restaurant and explained that their geeky husbands were major space geeks, and asked if there was any chance Jim might be around so they could meet him.  After getting in contact with said assistant, she informed that Mr. Lovell was in town on X day at a conference and MAY be able to stop by for a minute, and she would let Mr. Lovell know but no guarantees.  

Somehow, this incredible superstar found the time to come let two space geeks slobber over him for five minutes.

Anyway, Darren and I see him at about the same instant, and both jump to our feet.  

Now, in my life I've had Mike Singletary give me a personal thumbs-up, peed next to Johnny Morris, shook hands with Da Coach in his prime, bowled next to Jim McMahon and Kurt Becker from the '85 Bears.  I danced with Karen Valentine at a disco and had Larry Storch call me "Little Buddy" for the night because he couldn't remember my name.  Gary Sandy and I compared notes about performing Harold Hill in Music Man for 20 minutes as I related the time he sweat all over me in the 2nd row at Drury Lane Oakbrook.  I've escorted and cared for several medium-sized names at the Prairie Arts Center, and I even once tied Frankie Valli's brother's shoes because he was too nervous to do so right before he went on stage.  So I'm used to having celebrity encounters.  But this was greater than all of them.  This was our big moment.  This was our "Michael Jordan"... our "Walter Payton".  We couldn't blow it.  We had to be cool...  

JIM:  "Hello there, I'm Jim Lovell"

ME: "We know who you are!  Wow Mr. Lovell it is an honor to meet you!"

DARREN:  "We saw your Fecal Containment Unit from Apollo 13 at the Cosmosphere!"

<insert face palm> 

Yeah... we totally buckled under the pressure.  

There is NO WAY we could spoil this moment, right?

 

And in just a minute, it was over.  Mr. Lovell smoothly transitioned from us talking about his bodily functions to how incredible the Cosmosphere is... a bit more fawning small-talk nowhere NEAR as embarrassing, and off he ran.  Absolutely the greatest celebrity encounter two card-carrying space geeks could ever wish for, set up because we have the greatest wives who continue to put up with us, even when talking about Astronaut Fecal Containment Units.   

.

.

....  "We saw your Fecal Containment unit... at the Cosmosphere"...  Cool as the ice on the underside of Uranus... (Damn it!  We can't stop talking about it!)  

1985 - The summer of my discontent (you believe me, don't you?)

As this is posted, I will have just picked up Darren to drive up to a high-school friend's house with the stated goal of watching a truly horrible (and thus hilarious) movie.  (In his backyard, so social distancing will apply!) 

This reminds me of how Darren corrupted me during the summer of 1985.

To set the stage, both of us lasted one year or less at college.  My dad lost his job so I had to drop out; don't remember why Darren dropped out (too many stories about duct-taped hamsters, perhaps?).  So with our friends at school we had LOTS of time to hang, just the two of us.  In 1985, that meant, in part, movies (at least, when we weren't doing long distance dedications at the ice rink, or getting crushed in Telecheck football, or spending way too much money on motorized squirt guns or hanging at his apartment or leaving class early to watch the Bears on MNF... honestly, this 3 year period was the golden years of our relationship).  Besides Back to the Future (which I saw 5 times) that year premiered what we unequivocally consider the absolute most spectacular cinematic endeavor ever to grace the silver screen; The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.  By my count we saw it EIGHT times that summer, but maybe my memory is a bit fuzzy.  Regardless... "No matter where you go... there you are" became our go-to catchphrase for a LONG time.  Trust me... go watch it.  You'll thank me forever...

But I digress... 

That was also the summer that Darren dragged me to see such classics as "Gwendoline in the Land of the Yik-Yak" (Tawny Kitaen at the apex of her short fame) and "Delta Pi" (a sorority gets entered in a mud-wrestling contest).  I'm trying to recall the exact discussions that took place before each movie.  I think they went something like this:

"Lets go see Delta Pi!"

"No"

"Come oooonnnnn"

<Sigh...>  "Fine."

Now, granted, Tawny had just been in Bachelor Party with Tom Hanks, so there was some draw, and also granted, she was pretty hot.  So I must have given in hoping to see something that matched up comedic-ally with Tom.  Nope.  Just lots of topless women running around with spears and being tied up.  HORRIFYING!  And, also granted, Laura Branigan was cute and had a couple hit songs in that time frame, so maybe I was hoping she could carry a movie about women rolling around in mud, so I decided to go along with him.  DISGUSTING!

For YEARS I railed on him about his cinematic choices.  It was nice having something to hold over him and make him shut-up.  I believe we went several years without him being allowed to choose a movie. 

1986 Darren and Rob debating fine cigars and fine movies.  Note how I try to cover my pain with laughter.

Isn't it great how sometimes memories fade after many years?  I think it dulls the pain and horror inflicted on one's psyche by movies that suck.  I really don't think, though, that memories ever get reversed, or names ever get swapped.  Yeah... that never happens.  CERTAINLY not in this instance.  Nope... DARREN made bad choices and made ROB go along with them.  THAT is what happened.  

Trust me.    

 

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The Space Oddity Part 3 (Of shuttle landings and fecal containment units)

I've already mentioned that our wives (Donna for me and Laura for Darren) are pretty damn cool.  Well, here is one of the times they amazed us with their brilliance.  

As was semi-custom back in the day with Harmony Productions (our theater company where I hired Donna... and then she fell in love with the boss...), we'd usually have some sort of birthday celebration for me near the end of October after one of our shows.  In 2003, with Darren's Bday just seven weeks earlier (he's an old man, don't ya know!), we had a joint birthday dinner with a few friends post show.  Donna and Laura sprung their surprise; a trip to Hutchinson Kansas to the Cosmosphere.  Donna had seen an article in the Daily Herald and discovered they had an Adult Astronaut Camp!  Oh... we were SO in on this.  See, aren't they the best?

The following March, Darren and I pile in the car for the twelve hour drive.  We left at 10pm so we could be there when they opened on Friday morning, intending to be first in the museum so we could explore ALL DAY LONG.  Taking turns sleeping and with only one slight navigation error, we arrive to what can only be described as a space fan's wet dream.  This place is the 2nd largest space museum in the world, behind only the Smithsonian.  When little Ronnie Howard directed Apollo 13,  he didn't call NASA, he called the Cosmosphere to help him make the movie right.  They have actual flight-worn capsules from every program as well as Soyuz from Russia, suits, planes... you name it related to space, they have it represented.  

Saturday we get to our Astronaut class.  About a dozen folk just as space rabid as we are, and a bunch of experts teaching us all about the inner workings of the space program.  

Some highlights - failing the "drop the egg/astronaut" challenge 

Oh that poor astronaut... Humpty couldn't...well, you know.

 

Me almost puking on the "multi-trainer", which spins the victim around... I TOLD them it would happen!... Looking like real astronauts... 

Actual moon picture... we held our breath...

Squeezing into a real Soyuz capsule and wondering how the hell they live in it for a couple days... All the incredible artifacts from all the launches, including Jim Lovell's Fecal Containment Unit (a bag hanging from a 3" wide donut of sticky paper that they would peel and stick on their bum) (By the way... remember this moment...)

The absolute top highlight of the trip was training for a "shuttle mission".  Darren, me and two other astro-wanabees teamed up in a crew.  Probably because I'm just ready to try anything like that and you know my ego is non-paralleled, I "volunteer" to be commander so I can land it.  Every test.... crash and burn.  Steve Austin had nothin' on me.  I spent about another hour trying after hours in another sim.  Boom.  Boom.  Uh oh...

I'm going to kill them all, aren't I...

The hour long shuttle sim arrives Sunday.  I'm actually a bit freaked out but off we go.  The whole thing is REALLY cool with a fake launch that rattled around, teachers in "mission control", capturing a satellite.... really... this place is AWESOME.  

Cool as a cucumber... on the outside...

The big moment finally arrives... somehow I absolutely nail the landing, right down the middle of the runway.  The only thing I can figure is that they must have put the difficulty on ROOKIE level.  Anyway, we climb out of the sim to cheers from our classmates... I have to admit it was an absolute blast.

One of the best weekends we've ever had...

If you are a space nut like D and me, or even just a passing interest, you HAVE to go to the Cosmosphere!  That night we hit the road for the return over-night trip, and arrive back in Schaumburg about 7am, tired but thrilled.  And most importantly, with a whole boat load of memories that help make our 50 years so incredible.

Oh... about that Fecal Containment Unit... 

 

 

The Space Oddity (Part 2) (when I say "lift off", what exactly are we referencing?)

In 1997 we took a 2nd trip down to NASA, this time to catch a launch.  This is always a risky endeavor due to the frequent mission scrubs, but combined with a 4 day cruise, it was too good of a chance to miss out on.  

Between the prior trip and this one, NASA had built an Apollo museum with a full sized Saturn V rocket as the main attraction.  

Rob at the far end for scale - apparently we never gave the camera to someone else to take our picture together.

Part of the tour included a drive by of the launch pad, which of course was amazing.  We also learned that armadillos are Florida's bunny.  They are all over the place.  We also noticed, while on the tour bus, that sadly, they aren't as fast as bunnies....  

 

Just as our last trip, this event took place at night.  We bought our tickets during the day and at about 1am headed over to the Cape.  They crammed us on buses and dropped us off someplace along the causeway about 6 miles from the pad.  It was damp and dewy.  We didn't plan ahead and had no chairs to sit in, nothing to drink.  We were obviously newbs compared to a lot of the others in this jam-packed area.  We kept waiting for them to throw packets of Tang or freeze dried meals at us, but unlike the Rocky Horror Picture Show, they took pity on us poor launch virgins.  

As time crawled and the countdown clock taunted us, I believe we started to question our decision.  We could be snug in our hotel beds, dry, warm... the glow of Bevis and/or Butthead flickering across our fast asleep faces.  But we persevered.  

And boy, was it all worth it.  

Excitement built as we got down to the 20 minute hold... then the 9 minute hold.  Finally, the countdown clock started for the final time.  The crowd rose and chanted 10...9...8...  At 6 the main engines ignited and the goosebumps on my arms blew a chill down my body.  At the moment of ZERO, two beautiful boosters erupted in the night, blinding us even from six miles away.  That marvel of human engineering leaped into the sky as the spectators went crazy.  Exactly 30 seconds later (yes, we both counted), a roar unlike anything we had ever heard swept over us, blowing our minds and making our hair stand on end (even me, that's how powerful it was...).  Of course everyone waited for that moment when the boosters dropped away, knowing the shuttle was past what we all considered the danger point.  And because it was night, we could see the whole thing for a very long time.  The whole ten minute experience was absolutely incredible, and there is no doubt it was totally worth it; something we'd remember for the rest of our lives.

Forcing our cold and stiff legs to move, we climbed back onto the buses with a few thousand of our new closest friends.  The bus windows were completely covered with condensation, and we drew little pictures of the launch on the glass.  

But it was time to get back to the hotel, sleep, and wake up so that we could head for our next adventure: four days on a Caribbean cruise!  

Darren being the nice guy he is and assisting a fair damsel with her stretching...

Yeah... that trip was ok...

The Space Oddity Part 1 (Warning: Geek Level EXTREME)

Darren usually calls me on the way home from work to kill the 15 or so minutes of his drive.  Especially lately, he knows I've got absolutely NOTHING going on other than napping on the back patio (which is actually a really nice way to spend an afternoon).  During the conversation I mentioned the interesting news that ex Schaumburg Mayor Al Larsen's daughter is now a high-level manager for the NASA Artemis program, which of course peaked our interest, as a couple of complete space-nerds (tm).  As many of you have experienced over the years, we started our patented Darren/Rob Riff On A Subject (tm), because as long as we amuse ourselves, we don't care if anyone else follows what we are saying.  In fact, the more we confuse people, the more we are amused, which of course just makes everyone (mostly our wives) shake their heads in pity, with a hint of self-doubt about their choice of mates.

Anyway, Darren starts off with the idea that if an ex-Schaumburg resident is now in charge of the personned moon-launch, couldn't she do a couple of local neighbors a solid and let us be the first to launch?  Sounded very logical to me.  Then he adds "I wouldn't even care if the thing blew up on the pad, it would just be so cool to be a part of it".  I replied with "now THAT would be a great way to end the Blog!".  So I'm going to write the final post in advance, in the off-chance this comes to pass... 

We've had NUMEROUS space-related moments in our 50 years together.  One of our favorite things to do was head out on the boat at Turtle Lake in mid-august and watch the Pleiades meteors streak over our heads.  It was during one of these excursions we discovered how interesting it is when the light beams from flashlights bounce off the water, especially in a very low fog.  (Warning:  Geek Level MODERATE and climbing)  THAT was a great Riff for a long time...

About 10 or 12 years ago we drove out to Rt. 47 in the middle of the night to get to a dark enough location to see a comet on the horizon.  We got nervous hanging by a farmer's field thinking he was gonna come shutgun us for trespassing.

(Warning:  Geek Level HIGH) Three times us two kindergarten buddies have taken trips for space related reasons.  The first time was in January of 1996 when we flew to Florida to catch a Shuttle landing (and side trip to Key West.  Oh yeah, I mentioned that already... gotta tell you all about that some time...).  We crashed in a cheap Days Inn just down the road from the landing site.  On the night of the landing we took a nap and headed over about 1am to where the maps showed we'd be near the runway.  There were a LOT of other crazy people on the side of the road with us; kind of fun since we were all Space Geeks Extraordinaire (tm).  At the appointed time we strained our eyes and ears to find some hint of what was about to occur.  The expected twin sonic booms popped and we knew it was close (ok... it was more like a couple of tiny hand claps, but us Space Geeks Extraordinaire (tm) knew what they were!)  In the distance flood lights lit up the horizon.  A flicker of something flashed past the lights and I yelled out "There it was!!!  Did anyone else see it?".  

.

.

.

And we all got back in our cars and left.  (Geek Level SAD)  

But it was still cool as hell to be there!

This was also the trip where Darren force-fed me numerous episodes of Bevis & Butthead.  Every once in a while I wake up screaming in the middle of the night.  I can't bring myself to tell Donna what I experienced. 

I'll be back in a day or two to tell you about the similarly night-timed Shuttle launch we experienced, as well as the time our incredible wives gave us the best Geek present ever.  Wait... they did that twice... 

Darren remembers The Younger Years better than me... (Tim Blanks, where are you?)

How could I have forgotten to mention the funniest event that happened to us back then?!?!  And so timely in our current election year situation....

In 6th grade with Mr Blanks (Tim Blanks... he was an AWESOME teacher.  They first teacher to teach us how to think, not just regurgitate.  If anyone knows where he is, please tell us; we'd love to reach out to him.) we had a class vote on the 1976 Presidential Election - Ford vs. Carter.  The ONLY person to vote for Carter was Darren; it was like 22 to 1.  Now that he reminded me, I can visualize the memory of the class all sitting around in a circle and Mr. Blanks announcing the results.  Yeah... we gave him a TON of shit for that.  Especially when two years later President Carter blew me off in Burlington Ia after standing in 90 degree heat for three hours to see him, so it was personal at that point...  ROSALIND WAS NOT A SATISFACTORY SUBSTITUTE!!!  (That being said, Jimmy has always been a spectacular humanitarian and he has all my respect for how he has made the world a better place, so I admit it is hard to stay mad at the guy... ah, for the good ol' days...)  

Apparently we used to make a lot of dioramas back in those days.  Darren for some reason remembers mine, although I don't; "Rob's were always on fleek (See what I did there?)  Seriously.  Like WWII battles in little French towns with tanks & walls & bushes & injured guys on fleek."  4th grade into High School I was a serious WWII battle buff and I built a lot of Testors models back in the day, so I'm not surprised that I was overboard with detail, but I seriously don't remember any of the dioramas.

And one other thing about Indian Guide campouts;  Darren remembers that after our Dads boozed it up late into the night, they would make us kids pick up all the beer can pop-tops the next morning.  Yeah, nothin' like father-son good times...

Deadly little things...

You see, boys and girls, back before the can manufacturers got smart, these little things were pulled off the top of the cans (beer and soda) to open them.  Easy way to gash open your feet, BTW.  Also, I can still picture in my mind an episode of Emergency! in the 70's where a big slobby guy was pounding beers behind our EMT heroes, dropping the pop-top into the can and then drinking it.  As they finished their save, the dude took a big swig and started choking; the pop top went down and got lodged in his throat so they had to save him too.  Apparently it scarred me for life...

The Younger Years (Whats with the buck teeth?)

I don't have a lot of vivid memories from my childhood.  Perhaps because it wasn't the greatest at times, I might be blocking a lot of it out.  One vague picture in my mind is my bus stopping at the gas station on Roselle Road just south of Schaumburg where Darren would hop on, the bus blocking traffic on the single lane road.  You know, right across from the Ace Hardware on the SW corner.  Doesn't sound familiar?  Yeah... lots of changes in ol' Schaumburg since the 1970s.  Anyway, we spent six years at Schaumburg grade school which is now the district 54 building across from the swan pond.  

Things don't start coalescing in my mind until 6th grade, Mr. Blanks' room.  D and I spent a lot of time together that year.  Before that memories are still hazy.  I know that Darren came to my 2nd birthday party (the infamous cake incident where I cried after my parents put the relighting candles on it and everyone laughed at me... probably explains a lot), and we were in YMCA Indian Guides together.  We both admit that the one thing we remember most is the camping trips where the kids would watch the dads pound beers around the picnic table at our camp site.  THAT I can picture clearly.  I'm sure these events were more for the fathers than for us.  The trip to Blackhawk State Park was also the time Tony Adkins and I got separated from the group on a hike and merrily decided to walk back to the campsite, picking up a couple of pieces of firewood on the way.  It wasn't only the marshmallows that got roasted that night.  

The earliest picture of Darren and I is of the two of us sitting on a camp bench, arms around each other, goofy smiles ear-to-ear.  Problem is, I can't find it.  EXTENSIVE searching of my hard drives, but no luck.  I made a blow up of it to roast Darren during his wedding toast 18 years ago (Best... Best Man Speech... ever...  you'll see...), but Laura was unable to find that poster.  So maybe if he can locate it we can put up the pic later; we were cute little buggers...

Unfortunately not a lot to add for 7th and 8th grade at Frost Jr. High.  I have exactly two memories of us, one each year, exactly the same (Apparently Darren has others and my memory may be faulty... we'll see what he has to say).  After not seeing each other all year, we bump into one another in the hall on like the last day of the year, both years.  We exclaim each other's names and quickly swap yearbooks to sign and then run off to class.  "Darren!"  "Rob!"  "Sign my yearbook!!"  "Nice to see you!"  "Bye!"  Gone. 

June of '78, 7th grade. Awww... so cute...

 

And just to be fair... 

 

Why did I sign my own name?  What a dork.

One year, I don't know which one, we met in the hallway directly in front of the cafeteria.  I can picture it absolutely clearly.  THAT is the absolute first vivid memory I have of us. 

After that... hoo boy... do I have images in my brain... hee hee...

In the Beginning (which is ironic, since we don't believe in that, unless you are speaking of the Big Bang)

So... it all began almost exactly 50 years ago.  Blackhawk School (what is now the Schaumburg Township Building).  Schaumburg Il.  I don't remember much of anything from that time.  Just a couple quick fleeting pictures from the recesses of the back corner of my mind; sitting on a rug in a circular Kindergarten room....  one of the bus arriving.  Sometime during that stretch of early September (Schools didn't start until after Labor Day back then... now the summer ends too quickly, get off my lawn you young whippersnappers...) Darren Franzen and Rob Kaye met.  Since then... school, work, theater, families, friends, gaming, fecal containment units, Dr. Who, Turtle Lake... all of those things and SO much more brought us together and forged a life-long friendship+...  and now here we are.

My mom (Linda, who you'll read a lot about in this blog, 'cause she was crazy) at some point started calling us Little Kindergarten Buddies.  Thus, the name (I thought kindergartenbuddies.blogspot.com was too long though.  kbuddies was taken by some empty blog from Thailand, I think (WTF!).  So I came up with a non-english-correct version).  Who would have thought that 50 years later those two little dopey kids would have experienced so many adventures, laughs, tears, highs and lows, and still been together as (more than) best friends.

Lets get something straight right now (heh...).  Contrary to occasional (and often in the past, popular) opinion, we are not gay.  We are not lovers.  Yes, we joke about it.  Yes, I saw his doodle when I was helping him one night in the hospital.  Yes, I have been known to dress in drag on stage and we can read each other's minds better than most married couples, straight or gay.  Yes, we have slept in the same bed numerous times and he has stolen the covers from me (confirmed as a problem by his most wonderful wife Laura...).  And yes, our wives really do wonder some times.  Of course, one of the myriad of things we see exactly eye to eye on is that we support and encourage the choices everyone makes trying to find happiness, while not hurting someone else.  But no... everyone who ever thought that was wrong.  Thirty years ago when it was interfering with all our female conquests (oh yeah, a LOT more on that to come) we would get upset.  AND we never understood where it was coming from.  Was it wrong for two men in their early 20's to hang out constantly, finish each other's sentences and have one do all the clothes shopping for the other?  We don't think so.  

And that brings us to today.  We have been making grand plans for a huge 50the anniversary celebration trip. He wants to go to Scotland and hike the trails (I know better... it is to drink scotch).  I had suggested a trip to "the darkest place in America" so we could see more stars than ever before (even more better than the far side of Turtle Lake during Pleiades).  Regardless, it was gonna be awesome.  Believe me we've had some good trips over the years; NASA for a night-time shuttle launch (later...), EPCOT (Quasimodo and the backpack), A Caribbean cruise (four girls from Boston and a suite), Key West (oh yeah, THAT is when we realized people thought we were gay).  No... WAY better than all those trips.  

Then... Covid.  F*** Covid.  And also all the people who have not followed the science who we can blame for letting this drag out so our plans got screwed over.   

Now I have all this pent-up "Fifty year anniversary of our friendship" energy.  SO MANY MOMENTS!  What to do?  Well, stay tuned for the musical I'll be trying to get Payton to write with me, if he'll lower himself to collaborate with his ol' Pally.  But in the meantime, I need to get these memories down before I'm done.  I want Payton and Liam and everyone else down the line to know about us and laugh at our antics.  I want all our friends and family and anyone else who drops down a rabbit-hole to this blog to laugh at us (and maybe understand us a bit better).  Mostly, I just want to enjoy thinking of all these years, all those memories.  And to make sure that gray and slightly red-headed kid still with the goofy smile knows how important he is to me.  Maybe if he is nice I'll let him add a story or two, or re-tell one from his viewpoint.  

Anyway... more to come.  Lots more.  Hope you'll come back... 

See...?  Totally straight.