My expedition yesterday to Washington's port city of Tacoma proved to be quite inspiring. I present to you, dear readers, not just one reason, but a trio of them. Cue the fanfare.
Misheard lyrics. As I was cruising along the waterfront in my ultra hip Subaru Outback station wagon (aaah, yeah), Stevie Nicks's classic ode to teenage angst, "Edge of Seventeen," was shuffled up by my trusty iPod and I was reminded of a soul-crushing conversation I had with a coworker three years ago. I'm not sure how the subject came up, but Nicole (the aforementioned coworker who unfortunatley moved to Minnesota) had recently been camping with friends and discovered that one of her outdoorsy pals thought the chorus of "Edge of Seventeen" was about a
one-winged dove. I stared at Nicole blankly, not seeing the audacity of her statement. "Well," I blurted, "those are the lyrics." Nicole shrieked gleefully and started flapping one arm maniacally. I became concerned for my safety and her mental health. After she calmed down, Nicole explained that Stevie was actually singing about a
white-winged dove, not a poor avian invalid who couldn't get off the ground. I was devastated. For as long as I had known the song I'd been belting out lyrics that, when I thought about, were complete nonsense. Jason, I promise not to mock you (to your face, anyway) if I ever realize you are singing lyrics that are way off-base and don't even make sense in the context of the English language. Heck, I won't even correct you if you are completely wrapped up in the moment, serenading me with a little ditty about Jack and Diane and the changes that come around real soon, then make us
swimmin' again. What? Those aren't the right words? Well, they sounded right to me until my best friend, Claire, set me straight in high school. Perhaps I should get my ears checked. In the meantime, you keep singing whatever sounds right to you, Jason, and I will continue to think singers should enunciate better, as well as feel sorry for that poor dove with only one wing.
Old friends. The reason I drove thirty-five miles south to the pungent town of Tacoma, enduring the stupidity of other drivers and endless stretches of asphalt, was to spend a little quality time with Carolyn, an incredible person whom I've been friends with since 6th grade. It's kind of shocking to realize someone outside of my family has tolerated me for twenty years. Actually, I am still close to a woman (hi, Mary!) I attended kindergarten through senior year with, which I imagine is quite rare these days. Hmm, maybe the idea of spending thirty years married to the same person shouldn't terrify me afterall. Not that I could marry either of these long-time friends if I wanted to, thanks to antiquated Washington state law. Well, that and the whole issue of polygamy, since Carolyn is married, and distance, since Mary lives in Pennsylvania, and the fact that, despite how beautiful both of them are, the thought of shacking up with either of them doesn't get me all hot and bothered. Wait, what am I supposed to be talking about? Oh yes, old friends. I know, Jason, that you have a small circle of friends you've known since middle school and, just like me, you cherish the time you spend with them. It's comforting to know there are people out there who've seen us at our worst, who may have been hurt by us (sorry about dragging you across Subrina's deck and shredding your back, Carolyn), but who will still pick up the phone at 3am and rescue us if necessary. Hopefully, Jason, you and I will be friends like that one day.. Maybe we'll look back thirty years from now from the comfort of our wheelchairs and chat about the bizarre set of circumstances that brought us together and wonder what the hell was wrong with me to have spent an entire year championing our friendship. I, for one, am looking forward to it.
Tacoma. As a graduate of the University of Puget Sound, dubbed by some as the Harvard of the west (yeah, right), I lived in the lovely city of Tacoma for three years. No, I didn't zip through my undergrad program in less time than most; I went to school in southern California my freshman year and transferred to UPS when I realized Los Angeles county is very brown and overly warm for my tastes. Since graduating over ten years ago I haven't spent much time in Tacoma, which is really unfortunate because after hanging out there for just a few hours yesterday I was reminded of how beautiful and interesting the place is. Not quite as large as Seattle, but just as artsy, food-centric, and close to the water, Tacoma would be a wonderful place for you and me to hang out for a day, Jason. We could check out the Hot Shop at the Glass Museum (Chihuly is big in these parts) to see what marvels glass blowers can create with two lips and a tube, grab some fresh fish and chips on the waterfront and then work it off by walking from one end of Schuster Parkway to the other, take in an old movie at the Blue Mouse (there's a piano at the front of the theater!), and wrap up the fun-filled day with some tasty ice cream treats at Frisco Freeze, a Tacoma institution. If you aren't completely exhausted after playing tourist we could even go a little nuts on the penny slots over at the Emerald Queen Casino. I bet you haven't gotten an offer that good in a long time. Watch out, Tacoma, two wild and crazy out of towners are headed your way!
Misheard lyrics. As I was cruising along the waterfront in my ultra hip Subaru Outback station wagon (aaah, yeah), Stevie Nicks's classic ode to teenage angst, "Edge of Seventeen," was shuffled up by my trusty iPod and I was reminded of a soul-crushing conversation I had with a coworker three years ago. I'm not sure how the subject came up, but Nicole (the aforementioned coworker who unfortunatley moved to Minnesota) had recently been camping with friends and discovered that one of her outdoorsy pals thought the chorus of "Edge of Seventeen" was about a one-winged dove. I stared at Nicole blankly, not seeing the audacity of her statement. "Well," I blurted, "those are the lyrics." Nicole shrieked gleefully and started flapping one arm maniacally. I became concerned for my safety and her mental health. After she calmed down, Nicole explained that Stevie was actually singing about a white-winged dove, not a poor avian invalid who couldn't get off the ground. I was devastated. For as long as I had known the song I'd been belting out lyrics that, when I thought about, were complete nonsense. Jason, I promise not to mock you (to your face, anyway) if I ever realize you are singing lyrics that are way off-base and don't even make sense in the context of the English language. Heck, I won't even correct you if you are completely wrapped up in the moment, serenading me with a little ditty about Jack and Diane and the changes that come around real soon, then make us swimmin' again. What? Those aren't the right words? Well, they sounded right to me until my best friend, Claire, set me straight in high school. Perhaps I should get my ears checked. In the meantime, you keep singing whatever sounds right to you, Jason, and I will continue to think singers should enunciate better, as well as feel sorry for that poor dove with only one wing.
Old friends. The reason I drove thirty-five miles south to the pungent town of Tacoma, enduring the stupidity of other drivers and endless stretches of asphalt, was to spend a little quality time with Carolyn, an incredible person whom I've been friends with since 6th grade. It's kind of shocking to realize someone outside of my family has tolerated me for twenty years. Actually, I am still close to a woman (hi, Mary!) I attended kindergarten through senior year with, which I imagine is quite rare these days. Hmm, maybe the idea of spending thirty years married to the same person shouldn't terrify me afterall. Not that I could marry either of these long-time friends if I wanted to, thanks to antiquated Washington state law. Well, that and the whole issue of polygamy, since Carolyn is married, and distance, since Mary lives in Pennsylvania, and the fact that, despite how beautiful both of them are, the thought of shacking up with either of them doesn't get me all hot and bothered. Wait, what am I supposed to be talking about? Oh yes, old friends. I know, Jason, that you have a small circle of friends you've known since middle school and, just like me, you cherish the time you spend with them. It's comforting to know there are people out there who've seen us at our worst, who may have been hurt by us (sorry about dragging you across Subrina's deck and shredding your back, Carolyn), but who will still pick up the phone at 3am and rescue us if necessary. Hopefully, Jason, you and I will be friends like that one day.. Maybe we'll look back thirty years from now from the comfort of our wheelchairs and chat about the bizarre set of circumstances that brought us together and wonder what the hell was wrong with me to have spent an entire year championing our friendship. I, for one, am looking forward to it.
Tacoma. As a graduate of the University of Puget Sound, dubbed by some as the Harvard of the west (yeah, right), I lived in the lovely city of Tacoma for three years. No, I didn't zip through my undergrad program in less time than most; I went to school in southern California my freshman year and transferred to UPS when I realized Los Angeles county is very brown and overly warm for my tastes. Since graduating over ten years ago I haven't spent much time in Tacoma, which is really unfortunate because after hanging out there for just a few hours yesterday I was reminded of how beautiful and interesting the place is. Not quite as large as Seattle, but just as artsy, food-centric, and close to the water, Tacoma would be a wonderful place for you and me to hang out for a day, Jason. We could check out the Hot Shop at the Glass Museum (Chihuly is big in these parts) to see what marvels glass blowers can create with two lips and a tube, grab some fresh fish and chips on the waterfront and then work it off by walking from one end of Schuster Parkway to the other, take in an old movie at the Blue Mouse (there's a piano at the front of the theater!), and wrap up the fun-filled day with some tasty ice cream treats at Frisco Freeze, a Tacoma institution. If you aren't completely exhausted after playing tourist we could even go a little nuts on the penny slots over at the Emerald Queen Casino. I bet you haven't gotten an offer that good in a long time. Watch out, Tacoma, two wild and crazy out of towners are headed your way!
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