Last Times

It’s often said that there’s a first time for everything, which means that there’s also a last.

Sometimes these last times can't happen soon enough, like your last day on a job you hate, or the last time you eat an awful school cafeteria lunch where you can't determine which food group each individual item belongs to. (Meat? Vegetable? Your guess is as good as mine!)

Some of them are accomplishment, like your last cigarette before you quit for good, or your last payment on a loan.

Some of them are stepping stones, like the last night you spend at your parents’ house before setting out on your own, your last college class before graduation, or your last day in a cramped apartment before moving into your first house.

Sometimes the fact that you’ve gotten to a particular last time is a sign of growing maturity, such as your final just-for-the-heck-of-it-all-nighter, or the last time you try to park in every available space in the Econo Foods parking lot in Houghton, just because either you or one of your friends thinks it will be fun. (Hint: It's not. Believe me.)

Some of them are lessons learned, more amusing than anything else now that they're over, like when I traveled from Niagara Falls, New York to Stevens Point, Wisconsin by car in a single day. That was definitely not a good idea, and it was certainly both a first and a last.

Some of them are little reminders that the world is always changing, along with everybody in it. I have a niece that will run up to me and say, “I want you!” with her arms outstretched, which means I'm supposed to lift her up in the air and give her a ride. This is something she's sure to outgrow in the not-so-distant future, and even though things will still be just as fun, only in other ways, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s going to be that last time.

Some of them are signs of progress, such as the last time dialing up to get on the internet, or the last time paying a bill with a physical check.

Some of them are signs of getting older. For example, there’s going to be a last time that I dive recklessly for a volleyball or shoot a three-pointer during a pick-up basketball game, along with whatever day it is that I’ll go out for a run and then decide never to do it again.

Some of them are fun to think about. For instance, whenever my friend Lurch and I are in the U.P. at the same time, we invariably end up playing H-O-R-S-E at Eagle Harbor. It’s tradition. We’ve been doing it since we both moved away, and it makes me wonder, how long will this go on? When is that last time going to be? I don’t see it stopping anytime soon, but does that mean that someday we’ll be in our fifties, with gray or no hair, slightly stooped over, shooting half-court shots and laughing at idiotic jokes, all while people walk by shaking their heads, not quite understanding the ritual that they’re witnessing? I sure hope so.

Some of them are just plain weird. Take the last time I played with G.I. Joe action figures. When was that, and why didn't I ever play again? Did I wake up one day and say, "Well, I'm too old for that," and move on to something different? Or did my playing stints get shorter and shorter until it just sort of fizzled?

Some of them are things you fully expect never to happen again. I’ve been to the Grand Canyon once, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I never go back. There are simply a lot of other places to go and things to see.

But eventually, if you keep thinking about it, you get past the good and the funny and the intriguing and get down to the last times you don’t really want to think about; the last times which prove that nothing lasts forever.

The last time you see the mountains. The last time you see the ocean. The last time you look down on the clouds from the window of an airplane. The last time you get up early just to watch the sunrise in some quiet spot you know.

If that doesn’t get your attention, I’m not sure what will.

The last time you listen to your favorite song. The last time you crack open a new book. The last time you eat your favorite meal. The last time you sip a steaming cup of coffee.

Will you even know it's the last time?

The last time you crack a joke and make the people around you laugh.

The last times you’re with those who are important to you; your friends, your family, your loved ones.

These last times are hard to think about, probably saddening, maybe even scary, but ignoring them doesn’t make them any less real. They can come early in your life, late in your life, any time.

There are many references in songs and books and movies to making each day count, to living like you were dying, to not wasting a moment, and while I don’t disagree with this philosophy, the truth is that no matter how much you cram into your life, no matter how much joy you manage to squeeze out of every moment, you’re still going to experience all of those last times.

Some may say that since you have no ultimate control over it, you should just take all you can get and enjoy it to the fullest, because the alternative is to worry about it needlessly, and again, I don’t disagree. I just think that once in a while it’s good to slow down, take a step back, and ponder it, just to make sure that you’re comfortable with where you’re standing.

Personally, when I do this, which is probably not often enough, I like to think that once I’ve exhausted all of those last times, when I’ve done and seen all that was meant for me, then I’ll get to go to where all of the first times don’t have last times. Then it’s not that scary or sad, and at least for me, that makes all the difference.

Deja Vu All Over Again

Those of you who read this post probably won’t be surprised at the event I am about to recall. If anything, I should be the surprised one, since you’re still here reading this blog, for reasons I can’t comprehend, since I’ve yet to bribe anybody to repeatedly view it just to inflate my hit count.

Anyway, let me preface the story by saying that I like to stop at Holiday and buy coffee in the morning. Obviously that’s not a cost effective move, since it would be cheaper to brew it at home, plus you'd eliminate the extra time needed to make the stop, which would allow for more time to sleep in. Still, I enjoy it all the same. I think it goes back to my childhood, where it was always a treat to go to the gas station and buy pop or comics or one-hundred penny candies for a dollar and then watch the cashier almost have a nervous breakdown. Call it recapturing my youth. Call it ignoring my future. Call it irresponsible fiscal policy. I call it tradition.

But on to the story, which I surprisingly haven’t forgotten about, despite my inane ramblings about my childhood.

As I alluded to, I’ve been stopping at Holiday quite often in the mornings. That is until late last week. I had just paid for my coffee when the cashier smiled and said, “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?

It was like the world stopped spinning and time stood still. I was hit by a stunning moment of clarity, and I realized then that I was becoming too predictable, which is just another way of saying that I was becoming boring. It was Jimmy John’s all over again. (Second chance to catch up, if you missed it.) For the record, I haven’t been back to that particular Jimmy John’s since I posted about it over a year ago. That’s how stubborn I am about silly things such as these.

Not surprisingly, as I walked out of the store I thought well, I can’t come here anymore, and so far, I haven’t. I’ve gone as far as to start making my coffee at home and bringing it to work. Now, I have no illusions of boycotting this Holiday forever just because a cashier was polite and I took it as a dig on my lack of dynamism. At some point I’ll need gas, or I’ll run out of coffee at home, or I'll stop being crazy, or I’ll just want to watch people buy completely unhealthy breakfasts consisting of energy drinks or soda along with a half-dozen doughnuts, and so I’ll stop in.

But it’s still kind of scary that I’ve already gone this far and changed up my entire schedule just because I’m threatened by something somebody said that shouldn’t be threatening at all. I mean, what’s going to happen if I ever get married and my wife says, "See you tonight," as I leave for work in the morning? Will I immediately think, well, I can’t come here anymore? (All right, that’s probably a bad example, I hope, but my point remains.)

I guess it’s just something I’ll have to work on. My mantra will be that routines don’t necessarily mean that one is boring. Perhaps I’ll start by going back to that Holiday once a week for coffee. At first I’ll be like a deer, very tentative and ready to flee at the slightest disturbance, such as a loud truck in the parking lot or the cashier smiling at me. But I’ll slowly gain confidence and maybe build up to going twice a week, and then see where it takes me.

I'm pretty sure I can make some progress. Heck, who knows, maybe I’ll end up doing something really crazy. Maybe I’ll go back to Jimmy John’s. But don't bet on it.

Softball Musings

With the early onset of spring, a rash of softball playing has broken out in the Twin Cities area, at least from where I’m standing, which is quite often the outfield.

This means that my proficiency in hitting opposite handed is being severely tested. This is because since we play co-ed on a small field, it’s been decided that all guys should hit wrong handed. While a solid theory and a good rule in general, in my case it’s somewhat irrelevant. Hitting my natural hand, I’ll most likely ground weakly to the left side of the infield. Hitting wrong handed, I’ll most likely ground weakly to the right side of the infield. However, I’m nothing if not a team player, so I just go along with it.

On the defensive side of things, I’ve found that I enjoy playing the outfield. I could probably chase fly balls for several hours straight and not get the least bit bored. (Insert your “fetch” joke here.) One of my goals this year is to attempt a diving catch. Note that I didn’t say ‘make’ a diving catch, for you never want to have unreachable aspirations. But attempting a diving catch should be in the realm of possibility. I’ve never tried one before, always chickening out at the last moment, but this year I’m determined to change that, even if it’ll look more like an ill-advised belly flop than anything else.

On the other hand, the infield doesn’t interest me in the least, because not only do you have to remember how to “turn two” and be the “cut-off man”, there is an exponentially greater chance when playing there of a ground ball taking a bad hop and destroying your face.

So, to sum it up, if my softball role had a title, it would be Defensive Specialist Who’s Not That Good On Defense But Who’s Called That Because He’s Even Worse On Offense. (DSWNTGODBWCTBHEWOO for short)

Bonus Story:
In college I took a PE softball class. During this time I managed to blend into my surroundings quite well, never excelling, yet never being too horrible, except on one occasion. We had split into two games, and the other game finished first. Everybody from that contest moseyed on over to check out our game. Time was running short, so it was decided that we'd only play one more out, and of course I was up to bat. Now, up to this point I’d never had problems making contact with the ball the entire semester. (I’d ground weakly to the left side of the infield.) However, at that moment I realized that every eye was on me, and that the players from the other game probably wanted this game to end so they didn't have to sit around and watch, and so I immediately folded to the perceived stress. I flailed miserably at several pitches, probably looking more like somebody with uncontrollable muscle spasms than somebody trying to hit a ball, and struck out.

Hmm. Perhaps I should have ended on a positive note. Let me think. Ah, this should work.

J

The Decline Of Soda Contests

Does anybody remember when there was a contest with Mountain Dew where you could win a free 20oz bottle just by finding a winning cap? Now that was a deal. You’d just bring in your winning cap and come out with a Mountain Dew. Simple and effective, which of course meant that it wasn’t going to last long.

So it got cheaper. No longer could you win a free 20oz bottle. Instead, you’d get a “Buy 1 20oz Get 1 Free” cap. While definitely a downgrade, it was still a pretty good deal, although the only problem was you’d walk out with two sodas, even if you only wanted one.

True story: When I was working in Wisconsin, I’d occasionally have a friendly wager with one of my co-workers over the Packers/Lions games. However, during that time both teams weren’t very good, so neither he nor I had faith that our teams would win, and we didn't want to risk much. So, what we came up with was whoever lost had to buy a 20oz soda, and then using a Buy 1 Get 1 Free Cap that we already had, we’d get a free second and give it to the winner. This essentially meant that the deal was if you lost the best, you’d buy yourself a soda. Talk about your high rolling. (Note that I said it was a true story, and not necessarily entertaining or funny.)

Of course, the Buy 1 Get 1 Free deal has also ended. Now you get a code on the cap, which you’re supposed to enter on a website in order to have a chance to win prizes. Now I may be wrong, but this seems like a terrible idea. I’m assuming that once you register your code, along with an obligatory email address,, you’ll get spammed to the point of even if you won anything, it wouldn’t be worth it.

They even got rid of the NCAA basketball contest, where you’d get the name of a college under each cap, and if you got the eventual tournament winner, you’d get some sort of prize. This was always fun, mainly because you’d never get good teams, and instead teams with absolutely no chance of winning, like the Southwestern Idaho Fighting Porcupines or the North Central And A Little Bit Of Northwestern Kentucky Mighty Earthworms. At least I found it amusing. I’m not sure if anybody else did.

Anyway, the era of good soda contests is over, at least in my mind. It’s fallen by the wayside along with Airheads, which are now about a quarter of their original size and more expensive, and penny candy, which is really now fifteen cent candy.

Oh well. I probably shouldn’t be drinking soda anyway. It makes me jittery and keeps me up at night. Plus, Airheads are so chewy they’d probably pull out my fillings. And, now that I think about it, this topic will give me something good to complain about when I’m a crotchety old man, say in about ten years: “Why I remember when I was a kid, you used to be able to win a free bottle of pop, not like today, where you use your dang phones for everything and nobody remembers their manners and kids don’t respect their elders and – hey! Where are you going? I’m not finished!!”

So I should probably just go gnaw on some broccoli and quit living in the past, even though it's hard, since the past was so darn tasty. And inexpensive.

Challenging the Sandman

Just one more page.

Just one more page.

Just one more page.

At some point you realize you’re just kidding yourself. You’ve gotten to a point where you’re going to have to finish the book. It’s kind of like a rollercoaster, except with much less screaming and much less chance of throwing up. You began by buckling yourself into the seat of commitment, followed by the slow climb of character and story development, and now you’ve just gone over the tipping point of setup vs. payoff and are hurtling down the steep incline of extreme reader satisfaction, powered by the gravity of plot resolution, hoping desperately that you don’t hit a rough patch of cliché storytelling that upsets your stomach of enjoyment and ruins the entire ride.

Unfortunately, it’s late. Much too late. Tomorrow morning is coming soon, and the longer you stay awake the worse it’s going to be. However, it’s not like you really have a say in the matter. You are physically unable to put the book down.

So you keep reading, the final chapters falling away before your ravenous eyes. The real world is quiet and dark, illuminated only by a single bed lamp, but the world you’re immersed in is bright and alive and exciting and full of plot twists that aren't so contrived that they make you roll your eyes.

Ah! Oh! Holy crap! He wouldn’t! He did! How could he! Now what? Now what? Oh! I see! Ha ha! That’s great!

Then suddenly it’s over. A bittersweet moment, indeed.

You slowly put the book down, stare up at the ceiling, and just soak it all in for a while. Then you remember tomorrow is almost here, so you reach out and turn off the light. You are definitely going to pay for this. There’s absolutely no question about it.

The next morning you’re downing coffee at an astounding rate. You’re moving about in a fog, and even though thinking is still technically possible, comprehending is a much tougher challenge. Your eyelids are drooping, and mumbling is as articulate as you can be. Basically, you fought the Sandman, and he dropkicked you down a flight of steps. Still, it was worth it. It’s not often you find books like that, so when you do, you enjoy it and to heck with the consequences.

And maybe there’s a sequel. But only after you get some sleep.

On Winter Driving

Well, what little snow there was in the cities is now quickly melting, thanks to sixty degree temperatures in March. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just got me thinking.

I haven’t lived in the U.P. for a long time, and ever since then I’ve been treated to the easy winters, at least in terms of snow accumulation, of Wisconsin and Minnesota. This has come with a price, however, and it’s the degradation of my winter driving skills.

When I was in Michigan, I could drive in anything. Blinding snowstorms? Check. Behind cars whose owners didn’t bother to clean off their roofs, thus causing a mini blinding snowstorm behind it? Check. Through the aftermaths of blinding snowstorms, where your bumper was pushing snow and if you stopped you were never going to get started again? Check. No big deal. Heck, sometimes the hardest part of the winter was figuring out which lump of snow your car was parked under after a blinding snowstorm.

But now I’m here in Minnesota, and I’ll admit that my winter driving skills have dulled some. It’s like a muscle, if you don’t use it, you lose it. I am proud to report, however, that I still remember a thing or two. Driving to and from Michigan Tech a half hour each way over a four year period when winter takes up 90 percent of the school year isn’t something you just forget. Take, for example, the first snow of the year in Wisconsin or Minnesota, which is always comical. This is when about half of the cars go in the ditch, and the other half crawl about in the right lane at 4 miles an hour, their drivers wide eyed and white knuckled. I however, relying on my veteran experience, just laugh as I fly by them all in the right lane, going 6 miles an hour, my knuckles still their normal color for the most part. It’s not much, but I guess it’s something.

I blame part of my degradation on my car. It’s fairly new, which means it’s made of all plastic, which means its lighter, which means instead of actually going through the snow, it pretty much floats along top of it, going in whatever direction it feels like, which does not necessarily correspond to the direction that the tires are turned. (I can complain all I want about the old cars I drove in Michigan, but they could at least handle the snow, what being weighed down by all that rust.)

Overall, I guess I’m not too concerned. If I ever move back to the U.P., I’ll just purchase some gigantic gas guzzler of a vehicle that weighs about the same as three of my current cars put together and I’ll be fine. Plus, with technology progressing the way it has, I’ll probably be able to always work from home anyway.

On Pistachios

Seriously, this is about pistachios.

I’m not kidding.

But realize that I never said it would be good.

Anyway, recently I realized that I like pistachios. The reason it took so long is because they aren’t manufactured by Nabisco and packaged under the name Oreo. However, I’ve now realized that they bring with them their own set of advantages:

1)      They taste good.

2)      They’re healthy.

3)      You have to work to get them, since they’re in their shells. I’ve read that this helps you with portion control, since it slows you down when snacking, plus you get to see all of the discarded shells, which is a trigger to make you think about how much you’ve eaten.

4)      When you’re snacking at work, it takes all of your concentration, because of said shell. Multitasking is not possible. You must leave your work behind and turn your focus entirely to snacking. Some may call this unproductive, but I think of it as a favorable derivative of healthy eating.

Besides all of the above, there’s something else that I’ve found I like about pistachio eating. Now, this contradicts point 3 above, but this is my blog, and if you have a problem with it then you can just make like a banana, if you know what I mean.*

Anyway, it’s when you find a pistachio that’s already worked its way out of its shell. This is like finding gold without having to dig, although probably not worth the same in a monetary sense. The point is that the work’s already been done for you! It’s a freebie! You get to pick it out and consume immediately. I’ve found that these “naked” pistachios are few and far between, so you always feel lucky when it happens, plus it makes the experience that much sweeter. If you don’t believe me, try it.

Unsurprisingly, this is the most that I can write about pistachios. So, I’ll see you next time, when we’ll delve deep into the exciting world of almonds.

Just kidding. I hope.

*Split! Har! #ProbablyNotWorthAFootnoteSinceIt’sAnOldJokeButOhWell