 | 1999 called...it wants right now back/got a minute? this is a document of the latest chapter in a continuing story (but not of a quack who's gone to the dogs - name the reference, i owe you a drink). the middle of march (around the time of that holiday where everyone turns irish for a day) in michigan isn't exactly a tourist stop, that's why i jumped on a plane on the fifteenth for the sunny, idyllic beaches of miami. okay that isn't why i went, but i still went.
now, this story would be alot longer, for i had written the earlier chapters years ago in a different city. you see, i used to work at the best bar on the planet (it's in philadelphia on second street), and i had this story - no, epic - written out when disastrously, a pipe broke in the basement and saturated my backpack. the notebook containing this opus was waterlogged and more or less ruined. my friend spotty, upon hearing this news, related to me a story about hemmingway. apparently, once a story is lost (for whatever reason) it is gone forever. well, the story may be gone, but the memories are not. additionally, the trip to miami was certain to add to this waterlogged story at the bottom of some dump somewhere on the east coast (most likely jersey - sorry kate), and i was not disappointed. it was a great trip, even if i didn't get to see anyone naked (too soon?).
the story that i have been talking about is the chronicle of a house of ill-repute. anyone who has ever set foot inside of 264 gunson knows what i am getting at here. remember a couple of years ago when the "all i really know i learned in kindergarten" fad hit? well, i didn't read that mess because i don't believe it. all i really need to know i learned in college. my teachers were my best friends. i am absolutely sure that i will never ever again have the opportunity to make friends like muir, spotty, and ford (would you rather fuck a chicken or your sister? chicken fucker).
so, on a thursday, i drove myself to detroit metro airport giddy with excitement and anticipation. i hadn't seen spotty since he visited philadelphia in 2001 (or so) and pat, well, i just saw him around christmas (if you consider yourself a person that can get enough pat muir, then you are a damn pinko communist), but the three of us have not been in the company of each other since pat's birthday/aaron's going away party in february of 2000. big surprise here, i'm a bit smug as well, because i had promised spotty when he was in philly that i would repay the trip and visit miami, and i was finally doing it.
thanks to serendipity (the muse, not the fucking movie - read a book), pat and i wound up on the same plane to miami, and we arrived sometime around ten thirty. we were three roommates, no old friends, reunited. on the way to the car, aaron called shotgun, firing the first shot of a war (is it okay to use "war" in a hyperbolic sense in the current political climate? i don't want to be imused off of myspace. i'm p.c. dammit!) that would last a week. it looked to be entirely dominated by yours truly, but i had to fight off a late charge from muir threatening my throne. what pat lacked in the sitting-in-the-front-seat department, he more than compensated for with his mix-cd making skills.
we rocketed north on i-95, three of the gayest men on the earth as we had the windows down and the breeze in our hair...wait...i mean gay in the mirthful, jocund sense. andrew w.k. provided us with an invocation to party and the pogues administered a dose of beer craving, while peaches tugged on our nihilism, reminding us to live it up because we should neither give a damn about our reputations nor give a fuck. i'm speaking for myself here when i say that waits filled me with sentimentality and a soft regret for not being able to recapture the magic that i feel in the presence of these gentlemen (how's that for gay?).
when you've got the world by the short-hairs, you're young, in miami, and ready to party; where is the first place you go? a retirement community. woo! spring break! all jokes aside, we got to meet dana, spotty's beautiful bride-to-be. dana is a trooper, she tolerated days of constant reminiscence, inside jokes, references to strangers, overuse of the moniker "dicknuts" (or dick-anything for that matter), random outbursts of lyrics courtesy of the frogs, and overall immature behavior...not to mention all the racket, the mess, and the smell. as we related tales of east lansing, a look of confusion would periodically cross dana's face. then came the disclaimer: we were all, at one time, much more attractive (according to anna muir, pat's sister, in reference to the author, "he used to be really hot". backhanded, no?). it's good to have friends that you can get ugly and old with, even if you can't see them as much as you would like.
the blur of five days took its toll on our memories, physical appearances, and spotty's tolerance for traffic (wait, that was already shot). it was a litany of beer runs (oh, the duality of that statement), goldeneye for nintendo 64, surgically enhanced body parts, and the best fucking soundtrack ever. we even made it to a record store, if you could call it that. this place, stocked to the rafters with really cool shit minus price tags, was sauna hot. the "merchandise" sans tags was not for sale (we're talking the majority of the store). so really, let's not mince words, your operation is a museum. boo-urns.
we ate giant hamburgers, drank too many margaritas, took off our clothes and jumped in the ocean (i'm not helping my own cause here...i swear on a stack, i'm straight), and wound up bringing home a shot glass and about a pound of sand in my pants. we went to a pub where we were attracted to the bartender. being the only single member (huh-huh-huh) of the group, i pleaded with pat and spotty (both in committed relationships, suckers) to go when she invited us to another gin joint called shenanigans (i'll pistol whip the next person that says shenanigans), i swear i had a chance with her, and she was hot.
i think it was the night that spotty had play wet blanket (justifiably), pat and i were being quite loud, and spotty had to be responsibly up early the next morning. it really was a beautiful thing, the crescendo that led up to the eruption. pat and i were in the throes of chemical passion, playing bond (after pat whooped my ass at madden - the more things change, the more they stay the same...fucking screen pass. i hate you pat, you're worse than hitler), when pat looks at me and says: "you know what dude? 1999 called, it wants right now back." uproarious laughter ensued, and then someone (i'm not pointing any fingers here) broke a relic from the gunson house, that is to say, a glass. spotty's yells immediately lowering our boisterous voices and eliciting apologies. the next day, upon spotty's return from work and amid the questions as to how the day was, we regaled him with stories of our tough day ensconced in profoundly important discussions of world series champions and the finer points of the simpsons. we're dicks.
the week went way too fast. the rapport that we all have in company of one another set in and i think we all took it for granted while it was happening. before i knew it, spotty was driving us to the airport so we could fly to our respective homes. separation anxiety sucks, that's my psych 101 analysis.
so much did happen on this trip, but even more intriguing is what did not happen. none of us were arrested, something of a miracle considering that one of the first things we all admitted to was putting aside bail money. spotty didn't call me a hipster doofus, a favorite insult of his dating back to the gunson days. i didn't threaten anybody with the phrase, "i will slap you in the face, i am aaron kluza!", one of the best instances of my tendency to make jokes by citing pop culture (my original usage, yeah...gunson again, was all about timing). nobody saw pat consume ramen noodles or a frozen burrito from quality dairy -that doesn't mean it didn't happen-
EPILOGUE -with apologies if anyone's name is incorrectly spelled-
spotty stayed at home in miami and will wed dana on september 15, 2007 and i will be there in north carolina with bells on. (by the way dana, all the comments about pat and me and our roles in the wedding tug my heart. it's quite a complement to be held in your esteem.)
pat returned to yakima/zillah where he is lucky enough to learn the art of crafting peirogi with adrianna and to urinate off his back porch (that's the one that's gonna get me in trouble, but it's every man's lifelong manifest destiny to use the world as his toilet).
aaron returned to grosse pointe park where he is still chasing something but not totally knowing what something is and listening to the song "got a minute?" by kid dynamite because it's a damn good song and the lyrics encapsulate gunson...
we used to see each other everyday.
now we're lucky if it's twice a year.
i don't know what i've been thinking.
without blinking we've been set back.
remember driving through the yesteryears
and the conversations of our dreams and fears.
you grabbed yours. i'm grabbing mine now.
at your wedding i just smiled
and thought about how life goes by so fast
and how so many friendships weren't really meant to last.
we have always been good at keeping in touch,
but for some reason it never meant this much.
it's hard to believe that you have a brand new life,
while mine i take in stride.
it's hard to believe
how easy dreams come true
when you want them to.
...and that's pretty fucking cool.
lastly, i'm sensing a theme and i'm having my james-fucking-patterson recurring character moment. the first chapters have been erased, but fuck hemingway, what does he know, anyway? stay tuned for the next installment of "the gunson street adventure series".
i need to start my memoirs somewhere, don't i? |
1 comment:
Damn Kluza, why do I always want to go back to 1999 Gunson?
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