This is a continuation from my previous post, when I went through songs 6 through 10. If you’d like to read about them and why I chose them, see part 1 here. Otherwise, here’s a quick recap:
10. Street Fighter II – Guile’s Theme, SNES 9. The Legend of Zelda – Opening Theme, NES 8. Maniac Mansion – Dave’s Theme, NES 7. Star Tropics – Sub-C Sailing Theme, NES 6. Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball – Gameplay Theme, SNES
Now, without further ado, here are songs 1 through 5:
5. Sonic the Hedgehog – Starlight Zone, Sega Genesis
In the second half of the 80âs, the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) was king. If you were a kid and didnât have one, then I think thereâs a strong case that your parents shouldâve been charged with child abuse.
Then, along came the Sega Genesis.
It was hip. It was fast. And upon seeing the first commercial with the old hag complaining about the 16-bit graphics in the 1st Grade, it was all me and my friends were talking about. Man, oh man did we go ballistic when we saw Sonic fly across the screen!
Nintendo would eventually have to step it games up, but until then, Sonic was here, and he came with an attitude. And although the Sega Genesis wasnât exactly known for its great music, the original Sonic the Hedgehog had a great score full of memorable hooks to accompany our blue hedgehog friend through each zone, my favorite being the theme for Starlight Zone.
Set in the backdrop of a starry-lit city and with the final battle of Dr. Robotnik looming, Starlight Zone acts as the last glimpse of a cheerful experience with our likeable blue mascot before the hard part begins. The music sets the mood perfectly, a throwback to the first time I set foot in a big city and witnessed the magnificence of busy streets, flashing lights and skyscrapers. It brings back that wondrous feeling of living life in the moment, knowing thereâs no other place youâd rather be, even with all the surrounding chaos.
Starlight Zone Theme from Sonic the Hedgehog
Itâs a shame that it all has to end at some point. But eventually, we all must move on. We all must face our fears at some point to confront our greatest foes, whether it be a round psychopathic doctor or having the courage to ask that babe out on a date. At some point in our life, we all much step up to the plate to do what we were meant to do. But as we strive for that point, we can still enjoy the moment that is around us.
Starlight Zone Gameplay
4. Chrono Trigger – Guardia Castle Theme, SNES
Trust me, the game is way better than its cover art suggests
So, funny story about this game. I was at a party once over Thanksgiving break during college at my buddyâs place when his roommateâs Super Nintendo got busted out among a group of friends. The usual hits were brought out, and of course, I crushed it on Super Mario World. Near the end of the night however, I shuffled through a couple of the titles when I came across one that peaked my interest.
âHey, Chrono Trigger,â I said to my amazement, having feasted my eyes upon one of the most coveted games of the SNES. âThatâs supposed to be one of the best RPGs!â
âOh yea,â replied the roommate, who for the record, was a good dude and a person I really liked, but was also at that moment plastered beyond belief. So, for obvious reasons, Iâm leaving a few names out of the equation. âDo you want to borrow it,â he asked.
I couldnât believe my ears. Me? Borrow Chrono Trigger? This was the gold standard of role playing games, and undoubtedly the most critically acclaimed RPG of all time, even more so than Final Fantasy VII! On top of that, it was one of the rarest! But it was wrong of me to borrow it, to take advantage of a guy blitzed out of his mind who had no freaking clue of the treasure of which he was sitting on. âThanks, but I canât borrow this from you. It just wouldnât be rightââ
âAh dude, go ahead! Take it, and just bring it back whenever.â
âAre you sure itâs cool? I mean, weâre talking Chrono Trigger here.â
âTrust me,â he replied, slurs and all. âYouâre a good guy. I know youâll bring it back when youâre done.â
Approximately 15 years later, that game still remains in my possession.
Just to give you an idea of how much this game is worth. The instructions alone are going for almost 70 bucks!
Over the next several weeks, I played the crap out of that game. It definitely lived up to the hype, and then some. I couldnât stop playing it, even in the wake of finals coming up. The tight battle mechanics, the balance of characters, the amount of detail the game developers put into creating a story that naturally mends several different time periods, itâs no wonder that many consider Chrono Trigger to be the greatest RPG of all time. And of course, as was the case with many RPGâs of that era, the music was on point throughout.
Though the game had its score of compelling pieces, if I had to single out one, it would be the Guardia Castle Theme, where Meryl, the âfemale interestâ gets sent back in time only to discover that sheâs been mistaken as a princess, and the protagonist, Chrono is in danger of losing his life. Itâs a great blend of excitement, tension, running, and I love the trumpets that fill in some of the choral elements of the song. It really sucks you in the moment of a medieval quest and provides a sense of urgency to your actions.
Guardia Castle Theme
There are many more reasons why Chrono Trigger is considered to be such a masterpiece of a game. A large part of that involves its versatile and engaging story, the fact that even the simplest of decisions you make throughout the game actually have consequences that play out in significant ways, leading to several different endings and even the permanent death of the main character if the player is not careful.
If you have the time, the retrospective above helps explain in more detail as to why Chrono Trigger is considered one of the greatest RPGs
But even with all those elements, the story wouldnât be as memorable without a wonderful score to accompany it along the way.
The wind song is also a classic from the game as well
3. Mega Man 3 – Opening Theme, NES
My father and I bonded over Mega Man 2. We knew that game like the back of our hands. Day in and day out, Bubble Manâs theme repeated itself inside our head worse than Disneylandâs âItâs a small world.â We could breeze through Flash Manâs stage with our eyes closed, even with the slippery surfaces. The first boss level where you fight the dragon and that crazy jump you can only make with the Item-1 upgrade? Easy. Quick Manâs stage still sucked, but at least his music was awesome! Just name the stage and we could start humming the theme song to you right off the top of my head, no problem.
Then came the sequel: Mega Man 3. Nintendo Power Magazine had been buzzing for months about Snake Man, Magnet Man and the rest of the new robot masters, giving us plenty of time to studying their weaknesses and strategizing our attack plan. And what about the enigmatic, whistling⌠Proto Man??? Talk about an overload of anticipation, way too much for a typical 5-year-old to handle! And as my dad returned from work that Friday in late 1990 with the rented cartridge in hand, my heart was already pounding. This was it, the moment we had been waiting for. âHow would it hold up to Mega Man 2?â We were about to find out.
There was nothing special about the title screen. In fact, it was fairly basic as far as games are concerned. But even with all the hype built up over the past several months, I couldnât bring myself to press the start button. The music had a cool, captivating tone at the onset of the opening credits that furtively transitioned into a bit of a mysterious mood the moment the words âMEGA MAN 3â appeared on the screen. It was as if the game was asking us, âare you sure youâre ready for this?â I thought I was, but for the moment⌠maybe not. So I stalled and listened, and little by little, the melody grew in complexity, the tone turned darker, all in a build-up into the final hookâŚ
All of a sudden, âBAM!â It hit me in the face with your textbook Mega Man style, to say, âOh yea! This is what you wanted? This is what youâre getting! I was pumped, and I was ready for another round of blue, 8-bit badassery!
Mega Man 3 Opening
From that moment, I knew Mega Man 3 would live up to the worthiness of its predecessor. And if you ask most critics, they would agree in saying Mega Man 2 was the most critically acclaimed and overall favorite of the bunch. But there was always an enigma with 3 that captivated me, an unknown, yet familiar landscape that was both comforting and challenging at the same time (not to mention the kick-ass opening theme song), making it my favorite Mega Man of the series.
And if classical music is your cup of tea, this is an awesome rendition of the classics from Mega Man series
2. Final Fantasy VI – Terraâs Theme, SNES
If I were to mention the name John Williams to you, most of you would instantly recognize him as one of the most famous composers in the world. But what about Nobuo Uematsu? âNobu.. who,â you ask? He happens to be one of the greatest composers in gaming history, a true pioneer of his craft, and the genius behind the music of the Final Fantasy series.
One thing I find fascinating about him is the amount of work and dedication that he put into creating a score for games in an era where these types of compositions were unheard of. After all, we arenât talking about a silly Mario Brothers jingle; these are 3 hour sets that have been played with orchestras many times over. Even for those who arenât avid gamers, itâs easy to appreciate the Final Fantasy games, not just from a musical standpoint, but from their story-telling and by the emotional connection theyâre able to make with a player (donât tell me you didnât cry when you watched Aerith die in Final Fantasy VII). Itâs one of the reasons why so many have come to love the series and have invested so much time into them. Final Fantasy really broke the mold into making a game something more, something that inspired gamers to be greater, and out of all the Final Fantasies, I think VI (otherwise known as III in the United States, but thatâs a long story) was the most impactful in my life.
It was the first time I had seen a video game of such depth in its story and with such a diverse group of characters, whose personalities shined throughout the game, some of which you really grew attached to. There was Locke, the âtreasure hunterâ who would brush off any mention of his true profession as a thief, Cyan, the noble swordsman, Gau with his awesome, primitive theme music from The Veldt, and my personal favorite, Sabin with his Blitz abilities, all with well-rooted backstories. And if Iâm talking about characters, Iâd be remiss if I didnât mention Kefka, the psychotic and sinister villain who fancies himself a God, even going so far as to poison an entire kingdom of people! Heck, to tell you how much detail they put into the music and story of the game, thereâs even a part in the game where you participate in an opera! And for the grand finale, youâre rewarded with a nearly 20 minute epic for the final battle!
Though the game is filled with amazing songs, I believe the most memorable would have to be Terraâs theme that runs throughout the game, starting with the opening sequence where she and two Magitek armored soldiers march into the city of Narshe to find an esper with magical powers.
Final Fantasy VI Opening Sequence
âWait, whoâs Terra?â Sheâs a half-human half esper with magical abilities. âWait, whatâs an esper?â A magical being from another realm. âWhat about all this Magitek Armor?â Well, at this point, I would just recommend you play the game to find out. But in all, her theme expertly encapsulates the mood of our protagonist, somebody who doesnât quite understand her abilities and the magnitude of her skills, as well as the players themselves. Thereâs a reluctance about her, like many of us who have been thrust into situations we didnât ask to be in and who donât quite understand the potential we have within ourselves to be great. But every now and then, we feel called to act, possibly out of necessity, but also because we have to press forward⌠because itâs the right thing to do. Thus, she embarks on her adventure, not quite sure what of peril sheâs walking towards, and we are with her every step of the way with a song helps us understand her plight.
Terra’s Theme from Final Fantasy VI
1. Donkey Kong Country 2, Diddyâs Kong Quest – Sticklebrush Symphony, SNES
Donkey Kong Country hit the Super Nintendo by storm. The 3D renderings pushed the SNES to the limits of its processing capabilities, and not only did it become a breakout hit, but an instant classic for the SNES, cementing its place as one of the all-time great consoles. As we talked big hype about Sonic in the early 90âs, by the mid 90âs, Nintendo had taken back the crown with Donkey Kong Country. And as a Sega Genesis loyalist, I too had to eventually succumb to the greatness of the SNES, as hard as it was for me to do so.
However, as great as Donkey Kong Country was, itâs hype wouldnât last forever, for around the corner was the 32-bit era and the advent of 3D environments, lead by the all-powerful Sony Playstation. By the time Donkey Kong Country 2 came out, it seemed as though the SNES was on its last leg. There were no further leaps in graphical capabilities to be made like we had seen with the first Donkey Kong Country. The system had been pushed to its limits, and it was nearing the time for Nintendo to retire the SNES and make way for the next generation of consoles. It was something my friend Matt and I didnât seem ready for.
It was late January and the year was 1996. While everybody was watching the Super Bowl that afternoon, we had a different motive. As two kids about to make the transition into Jr. High, we knew our lives were changing. Soon, things like girls and sports would occupy our minds over Super Nintendo and other aging video game consoles. But in a way, we were like the famous quarterback Uncle Rico, knowing his best days were behind him, yet still holding on to that vestige of a dream. That realization was hammered into us once we heard the Sticklebrush Symphony in the Bramble Blast level of Donkey Kong Country 2.
Iâm not sure how or why they came up with such a melancholy composition for a level where you barrel blast your way through a briar patch, but not only does it work beautifully, you almost forget about the dangerous thorns surrounding you due to the poignancy of the song. It was the very first time I experienced the feeling of nostalgia, that longing for the days of old, when things were simpler, where we didnât have to worry about the complexity of three dimensions or the ever-changing culture and environments of not just the video game world, but of a kid in transition into a teenager. In that moment, while I was playing through that level and the rest of the world was fixated on a football game, I wanted nothing more than to have that moment of battling the Robot Masters of Mega Man 2 once again with my father, or exploring the islands and caverns of Star Tropics and finally beating the alien nemesis Zoda for the first time. Although I could (and would) replay those games, the feeling would never be the same as when I first engaged them.
Bramble Blast Gameplay
While we make new memories, we never quite get those moments back, a comfort that lies in the past that isnât quite guaranteed for the future. And thatâs what Donkey Kong Country 2âs Sticklebrush Symphony represents; that feeling I receive looking back at the games I used to play, a throwback to the 8 and 16-bit eras of gaming. All the songs mentioned above and so many more bring back the nostalgia, the joy of being a kid fulling engaged in a game with not a care in the world except for conquering the next boss in our way, and Sticklebrush Symphony is the ultimate tribute to the greatness of that time period and to the game developers, composers, and pioneers of that era. Itâs why it remains my all-time favorite.
I donât know if itâs just me, but I have a feeling they donât make video game music the way they used to. There was an art to the simplicity, a repeditiveness that was appealing and comforting. The sense of adventure it brought made games more than just a game, but an avenue to feed our sense of imagine, to explore the limits of our creative minds.
Video game music will never quite get the credit it deserves. Youâd certainly never hear any of them being played on the radio or receive a Grammy or any other major award. But perhaps, thatâs what makes them so good. They’re special to those of us who grew up with them as if theyâre a part of us as it is a part of the game, and as gamers, I donât think weâd have it any other way.
Now that weâre into our 4th week of quarantine, or is it the 5th⌠6th? Man, I donât even know any more. All I know is, Iâm running out of things to do. So, it might just be time to bust out the old Nintendo once again. That is, as long as find time between the Real Housewives of New York (aka, RHONY) and Beverly Hills.
Ughz.
But whenever I do manage to pick up the controller, nostalgia hits me in three different forms.
An intense amount of rage, frustration, and cursing re-emerges.
The obsessive/compulsive side of me awakens to turn me into an unstable psychopath.
Iâm brought back to sanity by the sweet and soothing sound of NES music.
The music in video games is a vastly underappreciated fragment of American society. Sing the first jingle of the Super Mario Brothers theme and the person next to you will instantaneously recognize it. Whether itâs Tetris, Zelda, or Street Fighter, those 8-bit melodies have been ingrained in their heads. Itâs quite clever, provided the limitations of sound quality, and these retro-era composers donât get anywhere near amount of credit they deserve.
Having grown up in the throngs of the 8 and 16-bit eras of gaming, I know first-hand how well these tunes add to the mood and tone of any setting. Any avid gamer remembers the moment you finally get to the boss in a level and suddenly, the music turns to a grimmer, edgier, and more frantic. Your heart begins to beat rapidly, your concentration level peaks, and you sit up in your chair to lean into the TV, as in, âthis ainât a game no more. Time to get down to business!â
With such influence on my childhood making me into the man I am today, I couldnât go without paying tribute to some of my favorite video game tunes from the retro era. Thus, here are a few of my favorites from Grizzly Chadamsâ years of young.
Part of the reason why these are my favorite are the personal connection I had to each of the games. I remember details of my childhood, where I was, how it made me feel, and the stories behind playing them. And knowing there are a lot of great soundtracks out there from games I havenât spent the appropriate time playing, and there are many others of which you may have had your own personal connections with, please chime in with some of your favorites. I just hope you are able to enjoy a few the stories behind mine.
10. Street Fighter II â Guileâs Theme
This was probably the hardest one to choose, knowing that there would be so many other games that Iâd have to leave out. Classics like the Castlevania series, Contra, Ducktails, or the entire Super Mario World medley all had great tracks, but eventually, I had to make a cutoff, and before I change my mind once again, Iâm going with Street Fighter II.
Iâm not sure there was a kid who wasnât obsessed with Street Fighter II in the 90âs. But thanks to Mortal Kombat, (a much inferior game for a multitude of reasons, but that would require an entirely separate blog), parents were a little uptight about games that revolve around committing acts of violence upon others. So, when one of us were lucky enough to get our hands on a copy of the game, we cherished the experience to its fullest extent, for there was no guarantee as to when our next chance to play it would be.
In a way, the enigma of playing such a game âbannedâ by the parentals added to the entire experience, but thatâs not what made Street Fighter II great. Not only were the fighting mechanics crisp and balanced, but the amount of detail that was put into each character, from fighting style and personality to stage layout and character theme music really solidified the game as the gold standard of the fighting genre. Getting to try out all the characters added to the entire experience, for there was genuine respect for each one (except for Sagat, who was extremely cheap. His stage was the worst!).
That laugh still pisses me off!
And although Ryu was always (and still is) my favorite character, I think Guile wins the award for the most iconic stage in the game. The military setting with the fighter jet in the background combined with the pro-America theme song makes you believe that as soon as Guileâs is done sonic booming you into a crate, heâs going to hop in that plane and ride off to kick some M. Bison ass!
The full version of Guile’s theme song
Overall, Guileâs stage and theme song fully represents what makes Street Fighter II the all-time classic it is.
9. The Legend of Zelda, Opening Theme
With most games, thereâs always a little bit of a wait before you got to the title screen. They may roll in with some developers credits and a second or two of black screen, a chance to ease in before you press start. Not the case with the original Zelda for the NES.
As soon as you press the power button on your Nintendo, âTHE LEGEND OF ZELDAâ with its iconic waterfall background pierces your eyes and the theme song blasts you in the face. Itâs only there for a moment, as the colors quickly fade as if it suddenly turned to nightfall and a tombish rhythm beats on to tell you the backstory, the threat of Gannon, and how itâs up to you to save princess Zelda.
As a 4-year-old seeing this for the first time at my grandparentsâ house, I was petrified at the daunting task ahead of me. âWhat happens if I fail? I donât want to dieâŚâ Yet, I was much too intrigued to look away⌠too invested to turn back. Princess Zelda needed my help, and there was no way I was letting her down. So, I pressed start, and the adventure did not disappoint.
Simple and to the point, there isnât an intro that makes quite the impression as The Legend of Zelda does, not even 34 years later.
8. Maniac Mansion
Almost considered a hidden gem of the NES, you play as Dave, an all-around cool dude who must sneak into a mansion to save Sandy, his babe of a girlfriend being held captive by a mad scientist under the spell of an evil meteor! In order to pull off his diabolical plan, Dave, being the cool guy he is, solicits the help of two friends chosen amongst a group of eccentric teens with various skills to help you break into the house and solve a plethora of puzzles in the mansion and get to Sandy.
But wait? How do you know Dave is such a cool guy? By his theme song, of course.
You see, each kid is equipped with a CD player that repeats a tune that conveniently mirrors their personality. Bernard, the nerd and frankly, most skilled of the group, has a clunky, almost robotic theme while Razor, the leader of her own punk rock band, has as you would expect, a sharp and driving melody the likes of which would send you into the mosh pit. While all the kidâs themes add to the gameplay to keep the action fresh, Daveâs is hands the best one. Itâs a cool beat, not to heavy, not too mellow, just a rockinâ tune to keep you cruising through the mansion, closer to your goal of saving your girl.
7. Star Tropics, Sub-C theme
The year was 1991. My dad had just moved us from Mississippi to start a new life and for the moment, we were homeless. So I, along with my mom, dad, and two sisters lived out of a motel in Lewiston, Idaho. All my friends were gone. The land around me was strange and my familyâs stress level was rising, but I was not deterred. I was focused. I was determined. And after a year of practice, pain, and trial and error, I had finally delivered the final blow to defeat the evil alien Zoda. In that double queen bed room at the Sacajawea Motor Inn, I had beaten Star Tropics. It was undoubtedly the best day of my 5-year-old life.
Anybody who grew up in the 8-bit area knows how much more gratifying it was to beat a game back then than it is today, but thatâs another blog for another time. Having spent 20% of my life up to that point devoted to it, I quickly developed a lot of great memories playing Star Tropics, easily making it my all-time favorite game for the NES. Itâs unique mix of adventure style gameplay with puzzles that naturally blend with the gameâs environment was like nothing that had been seen before, and something that hasnât been recreated since. And out of all the different parts of the game, nothing takes me back to the feeling I had as a kid quite like hoping into “Sub-C” and hearing the theme song.
The original
Sub-C is a submarine-like vehicle, your means of hopping from island to island in the game, where the real adventures await. And thatâs what the song truly encompasses, the feeling of starting a new adventure, the exhilaration behind it and the intrigue of not knowing what monsters youâll run into along the way. I love the tropical setting the game immerses you in. Itâs a world thatâs colorful and inviting, yet full of peril and excitement, for you never know what type of quest each village chief will send you on to help his island people, and what monster await. And each time you hop into Sub-C, itâs off to another village, off to another adventure, and off to more fun.
A little Star Tropics Gameplay with the Sub-C Theme Song
To me, Star Tropics is a masterpiece of a game, one that I donât think ever got the amount of credit it deserved. I was so glad to see that it made it into the NES Classic so others could experience its greatness.
6. Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball
It all started on a Spring Cub Scout outing in the 4th Grade. I canât exactly remember the reason all the Cub Scout Den Leaders met at Alex Barkleyâs house on that Saturday, but what I do remember is that Alex had a new Super Nintendo gameâKen Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball.
Me, I wasnât too high on sports games, for games with adventure/fantasy aspects that escaped the rules of the real world always seemed more appealing. However, because they dared to bend reality just ever so slightly, there were a few sports titles that I was drawn to such as NFL Blitz and NBA Jam. Ken Griffey Jr. was one of those games, and as Seattle Mariners fans, we had to play.
Now, I donât mean to brag or anything, but that afternoon, I was whooping up on all the kids, including Alex himself! And believe me, nothing was more devastating than having a friend beat you at your own game, especially with the entire Cub Scout troop watching. Well, Alex didnât take kindly too such a thrashing, and thus began a 20+ year feud between us.
There are many things that make this game the classic it is. Itâs simple controls, though they may take years to master, are easy to pick up. It has subtle humor sprinkled throughout and its fast pace helps keep the action fresh. But perhaps its most overlooked aspect is the running theme song that keeps playing throughout the course of a match. Blending in common themes from a Major League Baseball game that utilize the potential of the Super Nintendoâs soundboard, the soundtrack is driving, it keeps the tension up, and it reminds you not to let your guard down, for a game can turn at any point. Simply put, itâs never over till itâs over, a lesson both Alex and I have learned many times over. No matter how many times it repeats itself, the song never gets old, and you can always count on it to get you into the mood for some good old fashioned baseball.
A little gameplay action to get you into the mood
As we went from grade school, to jr. high and high school, we continued to play, and I would win each time, of course. But Alex practiced, and practice some more. Eventually, he got better, and the matches became closer and closer, until one day⌠he actually beat me.
I couldnât believe it. Out of the entire history of our feud, it had to be an anomaly! But a few months later, we played again, and sure enough, he won again, and the next time⌠and the time after that. It was official. He had taken the Ken Griffey Jr. crown, and there was nothing I could do about it. And for the next several years, well into our adult lives, I did not beat him. Alex had developed a respectable win streak, that is, until my bachelor partyâŚ
After what could be described as an eventful weekend in Vegas with a solid crew, Alex and I were the last ones left standing. Our bags were packed, and there was less than an hour before we had to check out of our room. âYou up for one more game of Griffey,â asked Alex, having strategically brought his SNES classic with him so we could have a match or two. I was a bit reluctant, for I had just been embarrassed with a loss in front of the likes of Austin Moody, Josh Ulrich, and Mike Masters the night before, resulting in a lost bet in which I was forced to drink copious amounts of alcohol against my will. However, I out of honor and respect, I could not say no.
I grabbed the controller, hunkered into position, my eyes narrowed and my postured leaned towards the TV, and as the Major League soundtrack started playing, I locked into focus, vowing that this would be the day the streak ends. My pitches were strategic and effective at producing outs, but so were his. Every time I escaped an inning without allowing him a run, heâd return the favor and deny me the pleasure of scoring. We went back and forth in a defensive clinic of a game that went into extra innings. But that morning, one of the lasts as a bachelor, I did it. It took nearly a perfectly pitched game, but in stunning fashion, I had once again beaten the champion with a score of 2-1.
I’ll never forget that day
Now, it may very well be the last time I ever do it, but at least I proved that it could be done, and it wonât ever stop me from trying again in the future. As the years turn to decades and our families grow, our exhibitions will undoubtedly become less and less frequent. And much to my chagrin, heâll probably continue to having the great pleasure of watching me swear and freak out, as is customary with my video game habits. But even though we live thousands of miles apart, weâll still find a way to battle. And weâll still be rocking out to the killer soundtrack until we turn old and gray.
And each time we play, you can bet your ass the emotions will be just as tense as they were that Saturday in 1994 at the Cub Scout Den Meeting.
Desperate times call for desperate situations, and in a world where TP has become the number one commodity, some people will do anything just to get their hands on a couple rolls.
Not gonna lie, itâs a little scary out there.
Thankfully, we have good people in the TP making business who are busting their essential asses to ensure the rest of us have clean colons at night. If you see one of those fine people (shout out to my friends at Clearwater Paper), buy them a beer. Or better yet, buy them several.
Despite their best efforts however, there are still shortages, and if you come across a pack, consider yourself lucky⌠damn lucky. And when the day comes where you find yourself suddenly stranded with nothing on the roll, then itâs time for plan B.
Me, Iâve been known to be a public pooper. I have absolutely no shame in admitting it. I know some get all freaked out about the proposition, but when itâs go time, Iâll plop my cheeks in a considerable number dwellings, provided it meets the criteria. And if you just so happen to be at one of these âessentialâ places and find yourself in a position where you can freshen up between the cheeks, then damn it, you take it like itâs a matter of life or death!
Forget about the current COVID situation for a moment and look at it from an economical perspective.  Every time you plop your cheeks on the potty in public, thatâs one less trip you have to make at home and about 55 sheets of TP saved according to the national average (assuming you poo once a day. Itâs true! I read it on the internet). Thatâs straight-up money in the pocket! Feeling guilty about upgrading to supersize? Well donât, cause youâre about to make that money back in the stall down the hall. And thatâs not the only benefit.  No extra time spent scrubbing or money spent on cleaning suppliesânothing! In fact, most restaurants pay people to clean those toilets for you. God bless capitalism!
And listen, I donât want anybody giving me a hard time for my bathroom habits, for I know damn well that many of you reading this are planning to retire off the money youâve made sitting on the pot while youâre on the clock. That is, if you havenât already. Some of the greatest professionals out there have made well over 6 figures as chief engineer of the public can, and Iâd be remiss if I didnât mention that Iâve made out like a bandit over the years myself.
That being said, while visiting certain establishments, I do urge you to proceed with caution. Despite my best compliments and the fact that all public bathrooms are equal, George Orwell said it best⌠some public bathrooms are more equal than others.
And perhaps, one is most equal of allâŚ
***
The day started off on a sore spot as I found out for the first time in my 32 years of existence, I would be wearing glasses full time (It’s official. I’m a freakin’ nerd!). Things didnât get any better as I felt a wasteful discharge looming the moment I walked out of the doctorâs office. âCan I make it back to work in time,â I asked myself. âNegative, Ghost Rider.â Much to my chagrin, a Sausage McMuffin and Rockstar energy drink isnât the most compatible combination for your bowels, and considering the walk from the parking lot to the office, that was a risk I wasnât willing to take. âWhat am I going to do? Iâll never make it in time!â
Driving down the street, an inviting sign caught my eye. âJimmy John’sâŚâÂ
That was indeed a possibility, and not a bad one at that. I mean, itâs crazy how quickly they make their subs. I remember the first time I bought one, it came out so fast, I freaked! And the fact that itâs a sub meant I could order my food, receive it in a timely fashion, save it for later, then go use the bathroom, all within a matter of minutes!
See, they even say so on the packaging!
âDude, why donât you just use the bathroom before you order the food,â you ask? Excuse me, but you are a guest of theirs. How would you feel if I came to your house and instead of saying, âhi, howâs it going,â just went straight to the bathroom to pump a grumpy? Oh, you wouldnât like that very much? Surprise, surprise. Have the decency to make a purchase before you use their services! Those guys work hard enough as it is making those freaky fast subs! They donât need any more anxiety on top of that! Gosh⌠no respect.
âŚNow I lost my train of thought. Thanks a lot! Where was I?
Oh yea⌠So, I had to take a dump, really bad. Time was of the essence, and if I didnât act fast, it would be Armageddon in my pants. âJimmy John’s⌠as in, âThe Johnâ. Is this a sign?â  Well, quite literally, yes, that was a sign, a big one at that.
There were benefits, after all. I would finally have the chance to relieve myself, and I would have lunch made and ready to go for later. The reward far outweighed the risk, a no-brainer if you asked me. And chances were, being that it was only 10 AM, I wouldnât even have to wait in line. So, it was settled.
I went in for the big dirty.
âHello, Iâd like an Italian Nightclub, TBO,â I told the cashier with determination. He wasted no time with the transaction going straight to work, just the type of go-to attitude I like to see in a young entrepreneur. The kid was going places, that was for damn sure.
As expected, my sandwich came out freakinâ fast, and so far, everything was being executed to plan. He even made it TBO, just like I asked.
Time out. You donât know what TBO means? If you donât get TBO, then the mayo makes all the meat slide out of your sandwich when you take a bite and⌠listen I donât have time to explain everything. Just do it. There are much more important matters to discuss!
TBO â Tear Bread Out. SMDH⌠such a rookie.
Sorry, back to the story. Next stop, the bathroom. Vacant, the sign said. Everything was aligning perfectly into place, like it was truly meant to be. Cautiously, I entered the bathroom. Here goes nothingâŚ
Now, I donât recall what I did that day I fell off the rock, and I donât know when I officially became best friends with Austin Moody, but like the first time Forrest Gump every laid eyes on Jenny, I do remember the first time I set foot in the sweetest, most beautiful public bathroom in the whole wide worldâŚ
I couldnât help but stare⌠stare in awe while the threat of poopy pants lingered. Iâve been in a fancy joint with a sparkling bathroom, and believe me, Iâve been in plenty of bathrooms with personality, but very rarely do you see a perfect, aesthetic combination of both. Heck, Iâll be totally honest, this was the very first time it ever happened! Any other day, I wouldâve stood for hours in wonder, happily crapping myself in the process. Only the fear of committing a defiling act in such a sacred space led me closer to the toilet.
I hugged the wall, shamelessly observing the many placards that were displayed, a showcase of urination styles depending on personality type. âThey really nailed it on the head here,â I thought to myself, as I saw many of those different traits within myself, and recognized a few other characters as well.
Now that’s hilarious!I gotta say, there’s a little bit of me in each of these.
I think we’ve all been here after a rough night at the bar…
The Ben Woodward, heheh.
I gotta say, I really like Jimmyâs since of humor! I bet weâd be best buds if we ever met. Hopefully someday, we will.
And once I arrived at the golden throne I was quite pleased with the appearance. The toilet seat was clean, dry, and had no signs of those small, dried puddles of urine youâd often see at your typical bathroom. Even the better maintained ones seem to miss the mark when it comes to those small driblets.
Observation two: no signs of fecal matter anywhere in sight. Nothing is more disgusting than walking into a stall only to find somebody had lobbed a grenade, leaving shrapnel splattered across the bowl for the next person to observe. Good luck flushing that away! Or even worse, you find the ones where the previous tenant seemed to have wiping issues, as if their sphincter also served as a paper shredder, leaving a giant, unflushable wad of shredded TP in the middle of the bowl. I never understood how somebody could sleep at night knowing they made a mess of such magnitude for somebody else to clean up. No kidding, the things Iâve seen over the years have been quite bothersome, so much so that I even wrote a screenplay about it (fyi, if anybody is interested in making a movie, HMU at grizzlychadams@protonmail.com).
Alright, enough with the gory details. The point is, with no need to fret about the condition of the toilet, I assumed the position to some much-cherished relief, hanging my head in content. âBoy, I could just sit here for hours, thinking about life, the universeâspeaking of the universe, whatâs this?â
My feet sat upon a placard of sorts, the type you would see for a dedication, though it was difficult to determine exactly what I was looking at, thanks to my newly impaired eyesight. âI suppose if I were to have a public toilet dedicated to me, this would be the one, but whatever it is, they mustâve spent some good money on it. Just look at the quality of that metal!â It was quite a dedication. No.. not a dedication, but a list of facts. Facts about⌠Uranus?
Reading interesting facts about the planets while you poo, what a novel concept! Check out some of these facts. âUranus is windy and can blow at 450 MPH.â I had no idea! Imagine being caught in a Uranus wind storm. No thanks. And how about this one, âYou would not be able to sit on Uranus because it has such a low density,â which is crazy, because I always assumed that the density of Uranus was quite high!
Imagine being a 4th grader assigned to write a report on a planet of your choice. Maybe you felt royally screwed with the last pick of the draft after all the other kids went the âcoolâ planets like Mars or Jupiter, leaving you with Uranus. What are you going to do? Then, you happen to drop into your local Jimmy Johns, and viola, your report is laying literally right in front of you! All that time you wouldâve spent doing research can now be spent playing video games! It doesnât get any better than that!
It was a bit heartbreaking knowing it was time to clean up the deuce residue. I feel a little weird saying this, but I was actually enjoying myself, and thatâs saying something given how dreadful a trip to the bathroom can be if the conditions arenât up to standard or if thereâs a premature break. But just like the marriage of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick, all good things must come to an end.
I reached for the roll to begin the process ofâwhoa, what is this? Double ply all the way… in a public restroom?
Such luxury is unheard of in a fast food joint like this. But once again, where others like them would be tempted to cut corners, Jimmy John’s has risen to the occasion. Incredible.
And talk about a powerful flush! They must have customized those crappers, cause I had never seen so much swirling suction going through a toilet, excluding airplane lavatories, and those things just straight up scare the crap out of me, literally! No wonder they have no problems with left over debris!
Oh, but I can hear all the environmental wackos already complaining. âUghz, what a waste of water!â I say quite the contrary. Think of it this way. On a typical day, I got about a 50/50 chance of leaving skid marks each time I unload on the John. And as a married man, leaving that type of artwork for your wife is not only unsexy, it simply isnât an option. Thus, you find yourself flushing twice, even three times just to get rid of the evidence. And God forbid you have one of those sissy European toilets that do half flushes. Youâd never survive!
Listen guys, itâs not that hard of a concept. All Iâm saying is make the investment. Put in quality work the first time, and you wonât have to go back later to fix your mistakes. Youâd be surprised the amount of time, effort, resources, and most importantly, moolah youâll save.
And no, I did not film the flushing process like many would have liked me to. Sorry to say, but this is a family friendly blog, and that those types of images have not business being in a post like this! If you want dirty, immature content, then Iâm sorry, but this blog is not the place for you.
Keep it clean, thatâs my motto.
âBut why didnât you just flush it again to show us the proof?â Hey, you know me, Iâm not an uptight person by any stretch. But I canât justify wasting a perfectly good flush just for the sake of my blog, especially after all that Jimmy Johns has done for me. It wouldnât be right, and well below the set of standards grizzlychadams.com upholds to. So instead, I simply washed my hands and made my way for the door, sandwich in hand.
But I couldnât let this experience go to waste. âThis deserves proof of sorts⌠a memory.â I whipped my camera out. I had to. You donât pass up the chance to capture a pivotal moment in life like this.
Just like the Nikki Minaj song, “I wish that I could have this moment for life…”
My head held high, I walked out of the restaurant with a sense of pride that day. In my hand was a tasty sandwich and on my face was a permanent smile that not even the likes of Jay Cutler could remove. I entered my car and drove into work; fully confident I would have a productive day.
And thatâs just it. When it comes down to it, a bathroom experience can make or break your day. It can be the difference between a job promotion or meeting that goes off the rails. It amazes me how often this phenomenon goes overlooked in todayâs society, considering how often we drop the kids off at the pool. Something like a clean wipe on the first try or a complete intestinal evacuation can leave you feeling elated, as if you had just received a gift from God. Itâs something very few businesses outside of Jimmy John’s truly appreciate Iâve come to realize. Simply put, they go above and beyond to make sure your experience lasts, long after you leave the restaurant.
So, in this time of stay at home orders and quarantining, where food delivery is almost a way of life, consider supporting your local Jimmy John’s, if only for the bathrooms alone. Â Weâll need them when things get back to normal, cause when youâre in a pinch, theyâll always be there to support you.
I donât know about you, but Iâm getting a little sick of this Coronavirus. Like, not sick as in I need a ventilator or because I drank too many Coronaâs last night, but I mean, itâs really puttinâ a drag on my style! First, they shut down the pub. Then, they went after the gym. And now, the Governorâs telling me to stay at home!?
Yea, that governor…
Iâve never seen our nationâs capital so lonelyâŚ
On a brighter note, I suppose nobodyâs complaining about the DC traffic these days.
And honestly, if you asked, Iâd say weâre managing. I still have enough stock in the fridge to make plenty of servings of my favorite quarantine dish, of which I would highly recommend, especially for those of you on a budget! No kidding, you can create this delicacy south of $3.00! Thatâs a steal these days!
Itâs also given me the chance to become reacquainted with my old friend, television. FYI, 1917 and the Peanut Butter Falconâgreat flicks. 47 Meters Down: Uncaged and Good Burgerânot so much. Actually, Good Burger pissed me off a little bit, but Iâll rant all about that at a later date.
Itâs a blessing and a curse, the olâ tube. Living in a single bedroom in the city, TV privileges must be negotiated with the olâ lady, and I fear my worst fear has been realized. She, to my ultimate demise, has recently discovered her new favorite reality show, Very Cavaleri. Not only is there a lot of seasons to catch up on, but she is insistent that I watch it. Normally, Iâd easily acquiesce to the request as I often do with shows like Vanderpump Rules, except it costars her husband, aka, one of the worst human beingâs in the world.
Smokinâ Jay Cutler.
Iâm sure some of you are asking, âHow bad can Jay Cutler actually be?â Let me put it this way. If I had to rank the 10 worst human beings of all time, Adolf Hitler being #1 and Osama Bin Laden being #10, Jay Cutler would easily land himself a #7 spot by the most conservative of estimates.
If you want my honest opinion about Smokinâ Jayâs reality TV career, Iâd some it up as one small pain in the ass for a man, one giant travesty to mankind!
Ok, letâs not jump to conclusions, but you can understand how such a predicament can put a strain on a relationship. And with the new season of Real Housewives of the Potomac still two months out, it isnât going to get any easier anytime soon. There is a silver lining, however. If we can survive until then, then I think we can survive anything.
All I have to do is survive. Two more months…
But Iâm afraid the weenie is taking it the worst. I try to shower him with love whenever I can, and at first, it was working. We used to be like two peas in a pod.
But I fear heâs taken social distancing to a whole new level. Often, he lashes out like an angst-ridden teenager unable to escape from the constant and close proximity of his parents. It seems as though his aggressive behavior has taken a turn for the worst, as the usual whining for food has quickly evolved into threats and attacks.
I worry about him. I can see the pain and feel the anger every time he chases me around the house, something that occurs at least once a day. Our only hope is that it eases up very soon, but that depends on the easing of this stupid beer bug, which from the looks of it, ainât goinâ away anytime soon.
So, what does one do at times like these? How does one keep himself sane when the world is holding you back? How does one cope with the threat of indefinite quarantine?
There was a time⌠yes, once upon a time, where I had a dream, a treasure trove of thoughts, ideas, and stories to unleash upon the world. A dream like Dr. Kingâs, not quite as ambitions, but a dream no less to grace the world with these stories.
Unfortunately, to my own discredit, Grizzly Chadams has fallen off the bandwagon the past few months. With a heavy workload, the role of Infrastructure Committee Chairman, and a full-time husband and adopted owner to a Dachshund, it seems I had put my dreams on hold. Heck, letâs not beat around the bush, Iâm a busy guy! Think about it⌠everyday I have to wake up, brush my teeth, get dressed, go to work, go to the bathroom a few times, cook and eat a few more, go out for a run, spend time with the wife and weenie, watch some Real Housewivesâthatâs a lot to do all in one day! And thatâs not even counting if things go wrong, like I step in dog poop, have to go to the grocery store, or dislocate my knee!
But during times like these, we all have to step up. Think of all the medical workers working the long hours, the delivery dudes getting food to everybody, or people like my mom who are in their sewing room making masks, and let us not forget all the good people working at the TP factories around the country. I know a few personally from Lewiston Idaho doing their part to keep our colonâs clean. The fine people at Clearwater Paper making the sacrifice wonât go unnoticedânot on my watch. And one thingâs for sure, Iâm definitely buying all their asses a beer next time I see emâ!
Knowing Iâm not as important as those people, I can at least do my part not to be a total turd during this whole thing. And really, for a lot of us, not being a turd means not squandering the opportunity to do the things we always wanted to do, but couldnât because of the lack of hours in the day. For me, I suppose thatâs getting back on track clearing the backlog of blogs I have up in the olâ noggin. And believe me, I got a lot of emâ to share, including pristine conditions of your typical Jimmy Johnâs bathroom, the perfect symmetry of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, and the overrated nature of pop culture entities, such as Chipotle, celebrities like John Legend and Chrissy Tegan, Marvel movies, and Ernest Hemingway (and donât worry, I wonât forget about the underrated things, like Two and a Half Men).
Bottom line, donât forget about your dreams. Thereâs a little bit of Grizzly Chadams in all of us, so unleash it unto the world and do what you were meant to do! Stay tuned, cause you got a lot of blogging coming your way.
The finish line is in sight. Christmas is merely days away, and the anticipation just keeps building! And I for one, am looking for all the Christmas cookies, Christmas presents, Christmas dinners, Christmas parties, Christmas lights, Christmas fights, Christmas traditions of getting hammered with your friends at the bar, Christmas blackoutsâhold on, too much information, heheh.
And last but not least, the Christmas music⌠oh, how I love the music this time of year. The constant injection of Christmas tunes into your audiological veins that keeps you juiced up for the entire season; your blood shot eyes staying set on the prize, another sleepless night from the horror that is the little drummer boy, commanding you to keep marching, keep stumbling from store to store like a zombie as the sound of screaming children blasts through one ear and the perpetual pulse of Mariah Careyâs voice drives through the other. âKeep marching. Keep shopping. KEEP ON CHRISTMASING!!!â
Bottom line, Iâm looking forward to it all! That is, if I donât end up in the insane asylum before the big man comes to town.
Everywhere you go, itâs Christmas music, Christmas music, and even more Christmas music! And donât get me wrong, most of these are great tunes! But we could really use some variety from the 25th rendition of John Lennonâs âSo this is Christmas,â or another Michael BublĂŠ cover. And after the 10,259th time of listening to Mariah Careyâs âAll I want to for Christmas,â the lyrics eerily start to sound a lot like, âI donât want a lot for Christmas, I just want to blow my brains outâŚâ Itâs like thereâs already a spike in suicides this time of year. Why make it any worse?
By the way, does anybody actually like the Little Drummer Boy song? Iâm sorry to any fans, but talk about BOOOOOOORING!!! Why are we insistent to listening to this pile of lameness every year when thereâs actually some other good songs out there? I say itâs time for some change, a break from the monotony of the same 5 songs over and over again. So, here are my top 10 âotherâ Christmas songs that you can put on your next Christmas playlist in order to avoid the nuthouse for at least one more year.
10. The Kinks â Father Christmas
A silly and satirical piece on the true meaning of Christmas in the eyes of a child. A time of giving? A time for sharing? To be thankful for everything we have? Naw, this song cuts through all that crap. Of course, the smarter ones put on a good showing, but in the end, all every kid is looking for is the big payday that occurs on 12/25. And who better to give us this blunt reminder than the classic rock quartet who rose to stardom with a song about almost going home with a transvestite?
9. Weird Al Yankovic â Christmas at Ground Zero
I promise, I have some more serious songs on this list as well, so bear with me. But hereâs another satirical piece that serves as a homage to the dawn of the nuclear age with the red scare and the constant threat of nuclear holocaust! Well, being that I wasnât alive back then, I canât actually attest to the threats and feelings of the time, but I love the throwback, and I find the outlook of nuclear energy through the eyes of the public during the 50âs and 60âs quite fascinating, as well as how it was portrayed through the media.
8. Darlene Love â All Alone on Christmas
Of course, sheâs most famous for her âCHRISTMAAAAAAAAASâ song, which is a great tune, but can be overplayed during this time of year, only to be beat by Mariahâs song. However, hereâs another song of hers that has the same energy, but can come off as a bit fresher, mostly because it isnât constantly ringing into your skull while youâre standing in line at the local Macyâs. Oh, and it also has the boss.
Another silly piece that describes Christmas more in the National Lampoonâs sense. Familyâs arenât perfect, and if weâre honest with ourselves, this time of year can involve a lot more stress, mayhem, and putting up with insufferable family members than the calmness and peace on Earth that is falsely preached to us. But if you look back at all those âdisasterâ Christmases, chances are that you wouldnât have it any other way. Itâs your family. Itâs what makes you unique, and at the end of the day, itâs why you love them as well as this time of year.
6. Jackson 5 â I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause
I donât know if itâs because I was a white kid from Eastern Washington or what, but I had never had heard this rendition until recently. And I was perplexed to find that our 7-year-old neighbors had never heard the song âI Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clauseâ in any capacity, for the name itself gave them quite the chuckle.
Now that I think of it, this song hasnât been getting the play time it deserves during the Christmas season, no matter what version it is. Regardless, Michael Jackson, still in his innocence, exemplifies the spirit of this song better than anybody else Iâve ever heard as a young buck catching his mom smoochinâ with the big man. The 70âs Motown vibe it brings and Michaelâs remarkable vocals puts the icing on the cake. Oh, and the chitter chatter between the kids between versus adds a nice touch as well.
5. The Royal Guardsman â Snoopyâs Christmas
A simple rock classic from the days of the British Invasion that takes us into the world of the cartoon classic Snoopy as a World War I fighter against the Red Baron. Though there doesnât seem to be much to this tune and the concept is rather outlandish, the driving rhythm and the flow of the lyrics is surprisingly pleasing. It all seems to roll together seamlessly, and in the end, your left with a smile on your face and the urge to listen again and again. And strangely enough, when I showed this to my father, I was met with excitement as it brought back memories of him listening to this with his brothers as a kid.
4. Weird Al Yankovic â The Night Santa Went Crazy
The second Weird Al song on this list, and for good reason. Weird Al is a comedic and musical genius. The ideas he comes up with are like that of a prodigy, and his lyrical selections and execution are masterful. âThe Night Santa Went Crazy,â is no exception to this, and Mr. Yankovic expertly takes the grim concept of Santa going into his workshop in a drunken rage and slaughtering everybody in sight and turns it into a hilarious bit that has you laughing throughout. I recommend giving this song at least a listen, and even if the subject matter isnât quite to your liking, you can at least appreciate the talent that is Weird Al Yankovic.
3. Amy Grant â Tender Tennessee Christmas
2. Amy Grant â Grown-up Christmas List
In our family, Amy Grant was the queen of Christmas, and there was only one album to be played during this timeâhers. And to be honest, she actually had a good rendition of original Christmas songs, too. Here are two of her originals, which bring back cherished memories of the Christmas season as a young boy in the corner of south eastern Washington.
Unfortunately, our Amy Grant Christmas CD suffered one too many scratches and was rendered unplayable many years back. And for some sad reason, I canât seem to find that particular album anywhere, which had a most superior mix of songs. However, I am forever grateful I could at least be blessed with her oratorical beauty for at least a part of my life. And thereâs always hope that I recreate the mix later down the road someday.
The Killers â A Great Big Sled
I donât know if anything gets me more excited for the Christmas season than this song. âA Great Big Sledâ summarizes the joy of the Christmas season. Running around in the snow, getting excited for ripping open all our Christmas presentsâthe whole gambit. Understanding that the excitement and feelings of the Christmas season fade as you get older and the sad reality that grown-ups lose the magic of the season, it encourages us to recapture those feelings of when we were young and to take some time to enjoy the season for what it is; to take some time to remember what it was like to be a kid on Christmas and how awesome that was. And maybe, we can pass the spirit along to our kids someday, so they too can carry the torch that is the Christmas tradition.
So, there you have it. A couple of tools to battle against the awfulness that commercial America burns into our ears this time of year. Take this wisdom, go forth, and conquer this Christmas. You may just survive to see another one.
I understand coming up with a good commercial can be a difficult task. You have 30 seconds at the most to introduce your product/service, explain what it does, and convince an audience, who is already annoyed that their regularly scheduled programming has been interrupted, to buy said product/service. But thatâs what people get paid big bucks for. To sell products through advertisement, despite the challenges. And over the years, weâve actually been blessed with some Christmas classics. Remember the M&M guys?
And what about the Coca-Cola polar bears? Another use of cutting edge technology (well, for its time…) to push a beloved American product.
Oh, how I miss the old 90’s computer animation…
Both are simple and heartwarming, and in the case of the M&Mâs, humorous. At the time they came out, they were recognizable, leaving a lasting impression for years to come. And Iâm not a market researcher or anything, but Iâm guessing they sold a few products as a result.
So, what does 2019 bring? Surely, an uptick in quality. And with so many good examples, with such a solidified formula for success, you should at least be average, right?
Wrong.
Itâs like in 2019, they decided to ignore the most basic concept of marketing: determine who your target audience is, or âwho is most likely to buy this product,â and build your commercial around that. I mean, it doesnât take an advanced physics degree to figure that one out. Take this old 90âs commercial for the board game âCrossfireâ for instance:
Clearly itâs a game that appeals to young boys, and the commercial takes advantage of the fact. Two kids, or two âcool kidsâ clad in leather jackets float on hover boards while gearing up for an epic battle. Yes, itâs corny, but as a 7-year-old kid, it was intense. It was radical It had rockin’ theme song, and upon seeing it, the words that came out of my mouth were, ââŚI want that.â
In other words, it did its job. It worked.
Or how about another golden rule: donât piss off the people who might buy your product!
None of which apply to the following…
Exhibit A: Mercedes-Benz.
Just the smug look on this kid’s face gives me the urge to deliver a knuckle sandwich!
Here we have a kid who catches Chris Cringle in the act of leaving his presents under the tree. Now, what would your average, modest kid do if he saw Santa? âOh Santa, Iâm your biggest fan! Thank you so much for all the presents. Youâre the best!â
What does this kid do? This little A-hole decides heâs going to blackmail Santa into giving away his âsled,â aka a new Mercedes-Benz Coup.
For starters, kids may think theyâre smart, but they arenât. Sorry, but they havenât had a job, paid taxes, been dumped by a babe, or learned any of those âlife lessons.â But letâs play along and assume he really did think this was a good idea. âSo, let me get this straight. Hereâs a guy who flies around, breaks into peopleâs houses and leaves presents for me every year. And youâre going to screw with him and prevent all the other kids from getting gifts, because youâre a selfish turd? You really think thatâs a good idea? Gee, thatâll sure keep you off the naughty list for life!â
Actually, it sort of reminds me of a certain scene from a certain super hero movie…
Think, Timmy. Think.
And to make matters worse, Santa totally capitulates! Like, really? Santa Claus, a man with mythical powers, who has somehow figured out how to get to every childâs house in the world in one night, gets outsmarted by this twerp? What an insult to our intelligence! I donât care how jolly Santa is, heâs still a man–a bad ass mother who don’t take crap from nobody!
But really, what adult in their right mind would take crap from a chubby bastard like that! In fact, this is a more accurate version of how Santa would react:
âListen you little shit. You best delete that picture and crawl your ass into bed before Old Saint Nick becomes a lot less jolly shoves a pound of coal up your ass!â Or better yet, heâll go all Pulp Fiction on his medieval ass. âWhat does Santa look like? Does Santa look like a bitch? Answer me! Say what⌠Say what one more time! I dare ya!â
Warning: explicit language and violence!
Hmm, thatâs actually not a bad parody⌠something that would make people laugh, something that might actually get people to buy your product. Maybe, if I were Saturday Night Live, or better yet, a competing car company, Iâd take advantage of the situation, just maybeâŚ
And what the hell is a kid going to do with a car? Not that Mercedes doesn’t make nice vehicles, and as the owner of a Mercedes-Benz, I can attest to its quality, but what the hell good does getting a present you canât use do? So, congratulations kid, you just got daddy a new car in which heâll get hammered and drive to see his mistress before crashing into the median and getting slapped with a DUI, further tearing the family apart. A bit harsh, you say? Apparently, selfishness and screwing people over are values practiced in that household!
And does this commercial appeal to adults? You know, the demographic that might actually be able to afford a Mercedes? No. This is a kidâs commercial, and Iâm not anymore convinced that I should be buying a Mercedes over another car after watching this garbage.
Sorry Mercedes, but you really missed the mark on this one.
Exhibit B: The girl with the Microsoft Surface
It starts out innocent enough, thinking there will be a sweet ending with this cute little girl. Then, she makes contact with the reindeer, using the tablet to communicate. Quite a touching scene. âBoy, you canât really go wrong from there.â
WRONG!!!
Suddenly, she turns into a treacherous little snoot and starts barking out orders. âHow do you guys fly!? What does Santa do in the summer?! Tell me! I demand answers!â Like, buzz off you little snot! And calm your ass down. Santaâs reindeer donât have to put up with that crap! Man, if my mom wouldâve ever heard me talk to others with that type of attitude, youâd bet your ass itâd be a date with the spanking stick! For good reason too! The lack of disrespect in these kids today just blows my mind! And no sense of patience either. Just terrible!
Lucky for us, they cut the commercial right then and there, cause the next words out of the reindeer’s mouth would be, âI donât have time for this shit,â seconds before they proceed to goring her for being such a brat.
The sad part is, this commercial had potential, by relaying the power that the Microsoft Surface has. Unfortunately, youâre left with a bad taste in your mouth. And to think I was about ready to make the shift back to Microsoft after years of being an Apple man. Like, seriously, can I get a #SMDH up in here?
Exhibit C: The Snow Brawl.
Now, as a kid, I would love this commercial, a snowball fight full of unpredictable action and excitement. It sparks the childâs imagination and gets them hyped for an epic showdown of their own! Pretty much a mini Michael Bay movie.
Only problem is, itâs not a kidâs commercial!
Now, this isnât a terrible by any stretch, for I can watch this as an adult and understand the filming capabilities of the iPhone. And itâs definitely well shot, but again, to reiterate the point, they couldâve done better at defining their target audience to sell more of their product, the most important job of any commercial.
On top of that, if youâre a parent whoâs going to buy their kid a brand new iPhone 11, you may want to rethink your parenting strategy.
Now, normally, I would see commercials like this, and say âwell, thatâs dumb,â and move on with my life. No need to get worked up over things I can’t control. But then came the outrageâŚ
Exhibit D: The âinfamousâ Peloton commercial.
A kid leads her mom down the stairs for a special Christmas reveal. âLook mommy, me and daddy got you a Peloton for Christmas!â Sheâs blown away, for thatâs quite the gift. She then begins her first workout a bit nervous, for if youâve ever started your first anything that involves working out, spinning class, yoga, jiu jitsu, etc., the first time can be a little intimidating. But then she does it, and is comfortable with it, keeps doing it, seeâs results, meets her goals, and in the end, her and the husband are reflecting on the couch, watching her videos and reflecting on the work sheâs done. And guess what, they are pleased.
Now, this wonât be a commercial we remember for the ages, but at least Peloton did their homework on this one. They found a target demographic, adults who have families and busy schedules who are looking for a convenient way to get a good workout in. And low and behold, here is a device that allows you to have a workout class in the comfort of your own home at a time thatâs convenient for them, without the need to travel back and forth to the studio.
In summary, they found a target audience and marketed to them accordingly. Congratulations Peloton, a solid B effort.
But guess what? People seemed to lose their freaking minds! âI canât believe the husband is forcing his already rail thin wife to work out!â or âThis commercial is fat shaming!â or âLook at how miserable she is that she has to exercise,â was just a glimpse of the commentary. And this isnât an exaggeration. Story after story has popped up all over my social media, the mob taking over to shame this abominable commercial out of existence! IT MUST BE DESTROYED!!!
Why, just a quick search for âPelotonâ on the web yielded the following results:
And FYI, these screen shots were taken from the top of the page, first search, one day ago
So, this is the commercial America is getting worked up over? A husband buying a workout machine for his wife? Not the fact that we have commercials encouraging kids to act like brats, which actually may have negative behavior effects? What the hell is going on out here?
Is it that inconceivable that there are women out there who actually want to work out, enjoy working out, and would love to have something like a Peloton? Heck, my sister, a very successful working mother has a Peloton, and although I didnât ask her why, I think itâs safe to assume that one of the reasons is that she values being in shape.
And is it out of the realm of possibilities that spouses communicate with each other in a loving, positive way to encourage each other to workout? My wife and I certainly do, and guess what? We also talk about our fitness goals. Why? Not only do I want to look good for her because I love her and she doesnât deserve somebody who looks like a slob, but also because I want to make sure I stay healthy for the years to come (And for those of you who are thinking, âwhat about all those McRibs you eat,â trust me, I run extra hard to make sure to factor those in). And maybe she feels the same. And maybe, just maybe, this couple in the commercial had a conversation that went along the lines of, âYou know, I want to work out more, but it is difficult with the kids, work, traffic and all. Having something like a Peloton would help me get back to the shape Iâd like to be.â
Whoa! What a concept!
And kudos to a man who buys a Peloton for his wife because she wants to work out more. Cause those things ainât cheap!
And look, in some ways I get it. You donât work out, you donât have a family, or maybe you have the time to go to the gym on a regular basis. No harm, no foul, this commercial simply doesnât appeal to you. So, whatâs the next logical step? Say, âok, looks like I donât need to buy a Peloton,â and then⌠then⌠get this. You move on with your life.
But for some reason, people have the need to go out and berate the company with the goal of total destruction. We have to assume that this guy is a total jackhole of a husband who demands his wife slave away on the Peloton for the sole purpose of looking sexy for him! We have to get outraged to the point where we create several news stories about it! Like, really? Are peopleâs livesâ that miserable that they need to take that misery out on others?
Speaking of Misery, heheh…
This is why we canât have nice things! We get all pissed off about a guy buying his wife a Peloton, so we get crap commercials like the little punk blackmailing Santa. We have to put up with bratty snoots talking down to Santaâs reindeer.
Oh, and guess what? If all that wasn’t bad enough, we have another terrible Star Wars movie coming out! Remember what happened last time (Disney has officially ruined Star Wars)? I can only imagine how bad this one’s going to be. WHY MUST YOU TAKE EVERYTHING THAT IS SACRED TO US AND CRAP ALL OVER IT JAR JAR ABRAMS? ESPECIALLY ON CHRISTMAS!? ESPECIALLY WHEN–
You know what, screw this. Christmas is cancelled! Good olâ Grizzly Chadams ruined Chirstmas, again!
Iâm going back to Thanksgiving for my beans. My greens. Potato. Tomato. Back to a time when the world was at peace, if only for a moment. Where we didnât have to put up with any of this crap!
I listened to an old album from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs the other day. I have been fond of the three-piece trio since the first time I listened to their emotional rock ballad âMapsâ in college, but itâs their album âItâs Blitz!â that is nearest and dearest to me. As with all albums, the replay value fades over time, and it had been years since I listened to it. But a recent blog post that revisited some of my old, homemade skate videos retriggered it. Consequently, it began playing itself over and over again in my head, a phenomenon that would continue and drive me further into madness until Iâd decide to confront it.
As I walked toward the metro for my evening commute from work, I popped in my earphones and shuffled through my musical albums until I settled a picture of flying yoke from a crushed egg. It would be a major deviation from my usual routine of watching Fantasy Football draft prep videos on YouTube, a late summer obsession I had developed, fueling my deeper obsession of beating Mike Gibson this year. Yet, it was a deviation that felt absolutely necessary. I stepped onto the green line, found an open seat, and pressed play.
A driving, electronic beat drove into my ears, and immediately I was taken back. I was a young 23-year-old on the brink of moving to Seattle. My head was buzzed, my flannel collection was growing at a rapid pace, and I had but two desiresâto skateboard and party. As I shut my eyes, I could feel my heart pump with the energy I once had as lead singer Karen Ohâs voice opened the first verse, building the anticipation towards the beat drop. My life consisted of counting down the days until the 2009 Sasquatch music festival, waiting for work to end so I could get my daily fix of skateboarding in at the local skatepark, and working for the weekend to get to Seattle for whatever ridiculousness I could pull off with Ben Woodward. It was an exciting time, my first glimpse of adulthood, my first real taste of freedom, and I had the world at my fingertips.
The chorus played out until there was a break in the beat mixed with random synth blips and guitar strokes. It signaled chaos, confusion; the calm before the storm. I braced for it, a beat drop I had heard and yearned for on many occasions. And as the synthesizer released a high pitch squeal and the beat blasted back into play with the advent of the second verse, I reopened my eyes with illusion that I was ready to take on the world once again.
Fast-forward. My flannel collection has been replaced with dress shirts, my hair is grown and styled to form a business-friendly part, and I now have a pair of glasses that accompany my few dustings of gray hair. In the past, my heart may have filled with despair, for part of nostalgia is grasping with the fact that youâll never have that time back. And in many ways, the Zack of 10 years ago wouldâve despised the Zack he had become. But for some reason, on that day, things were different. I was at peace with the past, at ease with the present, and optimistic of the future.
Who knows if Iâll ever have another chance travel across the United States with one of my best friends again. If I did, I certainly wouldnât be able to recapture the silliness of a ghostly possession in Montana or recreate a wild moment like we had at the 1029 bar in Minneapolis, nor would I even attempt to try! And by miracle of the Holy Father, my brush ins with Josh Ulrich have become surprisingly cordial. Now donât get me wrong, Iâll get my opportunities to throw in a dig here and there, and heâll be sure to do the same (Iâd expect nothing less). In fact, at the time of this writing, I am on my way back from a quick visit Boise, and I had the pleasure of seeing my good buddy Josh. And letâs just say, we had our fair share of drinks between the two of us (of course I had more⌠and paid for it as well).
But I no longer crave that type of excitement, at least not on a daily basis. As a married man, my ideal Friday nights consist of relaxing with the wife and the weenie dog, watching a movie with a maybe a cocktail in hand, then turning in early for a head start on the weekend. For how grueling it can be, I actually treasure my early morning routine of carry our little weenie outside so we donât wake up to a puddle of piddle on the floor. And I know that someday, I may have my own little army of Zackâs running around, which will open up a whole new realm of adventure. I can only imagine the memories weâll create, the heartaches theyâll cause, and the love theyâll bring to this world. And if thatâs not something you can look forward to, then I donât know what is!
Within the 10 years from which I heard that first driving beat of âItâs Blitz!â to now, there have been many great times coupled with great memories. On the flipside, there has also been a fair share of heartbreaks, lessons learned, and not so good times. And to be honest, it often feels like those hard times not only outweighed the good times, but lasted longer as well. Iâm not sure if it’s just a trait Iâm blessed with however, but human nature seems to have an easier time clinging on to the good times. And when itâs all said and done, the bad memories seem to fade away in the wake of the cherished ones.
I worked my way up the shoe, tugging on each row of strings all the way to the top, ensuring they clasped tightly against my foot. No room for slippage, just enough to keep the circulation flowing⌠just the way I like it. In front of me was a 1.5-liter plastic bottle. At one point in the morning, it was full of purified, municipally sourced water. Now, all that remained was a small puddle. I pushed the lid to my mouth and sucked the bottle dry, lubricating the surface area of my mouth. I was going to need every drop to diffuse itself into my body if I were to pull off my next feat.
I rose, standing amongst a scattered room, dark and quiet. We seemed to be left without power for the moment, as a flicker of the bathroom light yielded no results. To reduce the probability of a misfire, I channeled my inner Ben Woodward and peed sitting down, one of the few times in my life I made the conscious decision to do so, then quickly pushed the memory to the back of my mind and snuck out, careful not to wake Bill.
The crisp morning air filled my lungs upon my exodus from the hotel, the first step towards detoxification. Walking across the fresh, dew-soaked lawn behind the Cottonwood Suites, the smell of hydrated grass filled my nostrils until I hit asphalt. This was it⌠the Greenbelt Trail. With the swoosh of the Boise River to my right, I took a step forward, then another, steps that eventually turned into a brisk pace.
There was a hint of painâa degree of difficulty to each stride, every bit expected after the abuse my body had taken over the past two days. I welcomed it, accepting it as punishment for subjecting my body to such an overwhelming amount of poison.
It was about as peaceful of a run as youâd expect on a Sunday morning, light foot traffic with the occasional cyclist. The upkeep was impressive, provided the miles long length of trail. I passed through a network of clean, debris-free tunnels and land bridges, accompanied by a solid strip of evenly cut grass with the occasional memorial, dedications to those who made Boise what it is today I could only presume.
Several bridges connected each side of the Boise River. Looking towards the southwest side, several flat, dormitory style complexes lined the adjacent path. It appeared as though I was inching closer to Boise State University. Curiosity striking, I crossed over to explore.
Slowly, the neighborhoods turned from college residential, to academic, and eventually to business. As I closed in on South Broadway Street, one of the main stretches connecting downtown Boise to âThe Bench,â I stood amongst a large parking lot, overlooking a large oval-shaped structure. âAlbertson Stadiumâ it said, âHome of the Broncos.â To many, this was the pride and joy of Boise, a nationally recognized NCAA football team often overlooked due to its geographical location. If pressed with a choice, my allegiance to any Idaho team lies with the Vandals. Yet, I couldnât help but appreciate the marvel of such a stadium in the middle of Southern Idaho. I ran around it, giving it the respect it commanded before retracing my steps back to the Cottonwood Suites.
Albertsons Stadium in the Fall
The cool vapors from the river and shade from the surrounding flora combatted the rising temperatures, keeping the remaining trek back to the hotel a bearable one as my body secreted itself with the byproducts of exhausted fuel. We were due for another scorcher⌠but not quite yet. Propelled by the lyrical selections of Drake and a freshly procured pair of running shoes, I continued the excoriation against my bodyâs capabilities and made a heavy push towards the finish line.
I reentered the hotel room, a fresh can of Rockstar awaiting me in the fridge. âStill cold,â I told myself, despite the lack of power. I cracked the top and took a giant sip. The citrusy taste of sugar and soda allured my taste buds as sweat dripped down and soaked the carpeted floor; not an inch of my body was dry. Bill still lay in bed, a position he could remain in for at least another hour, maybe two. Enshrouded in silence and darkness, I stood, enervated, satisfied, tranquilized⌠reborn. I took another sip of my Rockstar. âThis is what I live forâŚâ
But it was all a pipe dream. Pat, Lea and Gretch were bound to arrive in the near future, and on top of a long, dark shower, an exorbitant amount packing had to be done before they bid us their final farewell.
It wasnât much longer now.
***
Bill and I checked out of our room and headed outside. Though we had been accustomed to the blinding sunlight, there was a slight hesitation amongst us as we walked across the parking lot. âBillâ a faint voice cried out from across the parking lot. We shot a look towards its origin, spotting an open SUV and the silhouette of three bodies, one of which was waving towards us. Our bags in hand, we shrugged off the hesitation and headed towards them, eventually coming into focus.
âBill, come here. Iâve got something for you,â said Pat as he waved him to the back of his SUV. Bill followed his direction. I was right behind him looking over his shoulder, my curiosity just as high.
Pat dug through the luggage in the back of the SUV until he found an old, weathered box. He opened it and began pulling out what looked to be sets of model construction vehicles. âWhat are those?â I asked.
âItâs all of Billâs old toys,â said Pat. âHeâs got his truck, crane and farm equipment that he used to play with as a kid. Pretty cool, huh?â Bill gave them a thorough inspection, too humbled to speak. âI thought itâd be a nice addition to his house in Texas.â Pat motioned me over, giving Bill ample time to soak in the nostalgia of his childhood. âAnd Zack, check these out.â Pat rummaged through the box until he pulled out a photo album.
âHey, these are old pictures of you guys,â I said.
âHereâs us at the cabin in Pony,â said Pat as we guided through the album.
âOh yea, Iâve been there!â
âAnd hereâs one me and Lea after a race.â
âMan, you were looking pretty fit back in the day!â
âWell, I suppose I didnât have as many fried pickles to munch on back then. Now that I mention it, I still donât…â He just had to put in a dig, didnât he? âAnd hereâs a picture of Gretch with a can of Coors Light.â
âI guess not much has changed!â Pat and I shared a chuckle, with a few snorts coming from Bill.
âOh, you guys,â said Lea, trying to hold off the urge to laugh. We managed to squeak a slight grin out of her, despite her efforts to hide it. I caught a glimpse of Gretch through my peripheral. She didnât look the slightest bit amused.
âWhy donât we take a picture of you guys?â suggested Pat.
âThat sounds like a great idea,â I replied. âWeâll add another picture to the memory box!â
Bill and I moved into position. âHey Gretch, why donât you hop in,â asked Pat.
âAh, thatâs okââ
âGretchen, right now!â scolded Lea. Gretch moped her way into frame, barely willing to lift her head.
âOkay ready?â asked Pat with his phone in place. âOn the count of three, everybody say, âfried pickles!â Heheh, just kidding Zack. Alright, one, two and three! Great picture guys. Except you could’ve smiled a little more, Gretch. By the way, when was the last time you check the oil in your car? I think we should check it before we go, just in case you need oil. Gretch, did you hear me? Let’s add a little oil–Gretch, where are you going? Gretch, come back hereâGretch!..â
***
We watched as Pat and Lea left the parking lot of the Cottonwood Suites to become one with the endless blue sky that would accompany them along their journey north. They had given us their final goodbyes, a departure that was subdued, yet humble. Who could blame them, given the climactic events from the previous day? Pat blamed it on fried pickles, but it was a mood that lingered amongst all of us, judging by the lack of dialogue. The sun was back in full force, striking from all directions as heat radiated from the asphalt. Out of all the places in Boise that morning, the powerless Cottonwood Suites was not among the most desired. Something had to give.
âAre you guys hungry,â I asked. My question was met with moderate agreeance.
âYou thinking Chilis?â snapped Gretch. âHalf-priced Apps on Sunday.â I had a suspicion sheâd be apt to the prospect, a coveted tradition held since the 2015 Beer Olympics. Hence, the suggestion.
âLetâs do it,â said Bill. With no objection, we hopped into Gretchâs car, making our way to the nearest Chilis, right across the street from Albertson Stadium.
Recognizing a song on the radio, Gretch turned up the stereo volume. âOh, this is a good song,â said Bill.
âWhat is it?â I asked.
âItâs the new, Blink 182, duh,â shot Gretch.
âYea, they came out with a new CD,â added Bill. âYou didnât know? Itâs pretty good.â
I sat in the back, pretending too like the song. Iâve always been a big fan of the pop-punk trio, their influence only second to Modest Mouse or Kanye West, but there was something off about it.
Save your breath, Iâm merely Bored to Death, and fading fast⌠Life is too short to last longâŚ
I continued to listen and give it a chance, enduring Gretchâs emphatic rendering of the chorus.âJust listen to Gretch, singing out loud, thinking sheâs so cool. Who cares? âLife is too short to last long?â That doesnât even make sense! StupidâHey, whatâs that place?â My eyes pulled towards a large construction site on the outskirts of downtown. A massive spectacle of engineering and architecture stood near completion, its oblique, structural elements and long, transparent windows making this a more fitting destination in Disneyworldâs Tomorrowland rather downtown Boise. Curiosity struck, hoping for the chance to set foot inside for a look into the future, a new era of technical progression.
âItâs the new Simplot building,â said Gretch.
âSimplot⌠Iâve heard of that before.â
âYea, they do a lot of agricultural work. The new building is supposed to have all their farm equipment in there too. Should be pretty nice once itâs all finished.â
âIâd say.â
âI heard theyâre looking for engineers too,â added Bill.
It was true, for Mike Gibson had mentioned it during a lecture about moving to Boise. âLet me just throw out a couple names of some companies that have headquarters here. You know⌠reputable places that, I donât know, you may have heard ofâŚâ He said in a mocking tone. âHewlett Packard⌠Micron… Simplot… Just a few small-time engineering firms, no big deal…â
Despite the harsh language, he truly was trying to get me to move down to Boise where he was residing at the time. However, there could be no signs of weakness, for the Gibson cannot win. He can never winâŚ
âCool.â I responded as the sign for Chilis came within eyesight. Simplot⌠Iâll remember that nameâŚ
âWell hello,â said the bartender in a peculiar manner as we settled into a high table at the bar. âWill it be the usual? A large margarita to start?â
âA large margarita?â Bill and I shot each other a funny look. âGretch?â
âUh⌠er⌠umâŚâ She stalled. âNot todayâI mean, Margarita? I donât know what youâre talking aboutâI never drink this early⌠sure, one large margarita.â
Bill and I looked at each other, on standby for a snarky comment. Weâll just let her have this one. Just this one timeâŚ
âDo you know what else youâd like,â he asked again. We scoured the menu, not wanting to wait a few more minutes for the bartender to return.
âIâll do an order of Potato Skins,â said Bill.
âIâll go for the California Flat Bread,â added Gretch.
âThose boneless buffalo wings look good, and⌠and⌠hmm, let me see hereâhey, fried pickles!
âGreat,â said the waitress. âAnd how are we splitting this up?â
âYou can put the margarita on my tab along with the flatbread,â said Gretch. âUnless you guys want some of this tooâŚâ
âWell, I was going to share some of the potato skins, but if you want something for yourself, then maybe we shouldââ
âPut it all on my tab,â I interrupted. Bill and Gretch swung their heads in disbelief. ââŚItâs just easier that way.â They settled into a nod of agreement, quickly coming to the realization that arguing wouldnât do them any good.
âAlright, those will be right out,â said the bartender before heading back to his post.
âJosh just texted us,â said Bill. âHe wants us to meet him at Payette Brewing after this.â
Josh⌠I gave the thought a short ponder. It would be a while until Josh and I dueled again. Besides, Bill had talked highly of the Payette Brewing Company before, and with my strong penchant towards beer, I was amenable to the idea.
âI could do that. I do like beer after all.â Moments later, we received our food and finished out our meal, the simple communion of friends driving the experience to satisfaction.
***
Josh stood at the helm of the Payette Brewing entrance, patiently waiting as a child would, knowing full well heâd have free reign upon the opening of the candy store. âHey, whatâs up guys? Come on in,â he bellowed as we exited Gretchâs vehicle. âThey have some cool stuff in here!â
We followed him into the brewery, a modern facility with an open, clean, and appropriately decorated tasting room, bridging Idahoâs historical predilection to the outdoors with a modern look that Boise was trending towards. I toured the room with wonder, channeling memories of the Surly Brewery of Saint Paul, Minnesota, evidence that the Payette Brewing Company was quickly emerging as a staple of the Boise community. However, I did have reservations about their incredibly high urinals, so high that I was forced to whiz on my tippy toes.
The lengthy line of taps required a brief conversation with the bartender before I could settle on my selection of the Fly Line Amber Ale. Bill, Gretch and Josh listened in and settled on selections of their own liking. âThatâll be four dollars each,â said the bartender.
âYou can put them all on my tab,â said Josh, beating us in the race to pull our wallets out. I paused for a moment, ready to object, but regressed to a head nod out of respect.
âYou guys wanna check out the brewing facility,â he asked as he motioned over to a set of glass doors behind the bar where only a steel staircase made from traction flooring and a large hopper in the background was revealed. âFollow me,â he said, leaving his seat at the bar without looking back. I did as I was directed, intrigued with the mystery behind the closed doors.
We came to the edge of a small industrial terrace, overlooking the peaks and valleys of brewing equipment that reached far beyond the depth of sight. An endless network of pipes, valves, hoppers, tanks, and boilers stood before us, capable of transporting, heating, and manipulating massive amounts of water and ingredients with the purpose of creating thousands upon thousands of gallons of beer. Josh and I leaned over the railing, taking a moment to examine each section of the brewery, like it was a lookout along one of Idahoâs highways, or better yet, a portrait taken from one of Joshâs mountain adventures.
âHmm, that seems a little strange,â I said, fixated on a series of valves in front of us.
âWhatâs that?â asked Josh.
âThey have three valves in a row right there.â Each of us stared at the assembly in front of us, as if we were a pair of mathematicians attempting to solve an equation that filled a blackboard. âOne of them looks like a check valve, while the next one could be a regulator of some sort.â
âWhat do you use a check valve for?â
âWell, it makes it so a fluid only flows through one direction. And if any crap tries to get in from the other way, it gets blocked and stuff.â
âSort of like a diode.â
âA diode?â
âYea, it blocks the flow of electrons, so they can only flow in one direction.â
I pondered his analogy for a moment, then took another sip of beer. âYou know, I think piping systems and electrical circuits have a lot in common.â
âWell, donât they both control some form energy,â Josh asked.
âYea, the voltage in a circuit is sort of like the pressure in a pipe. A couple volts here and there isnât going to kill ya, but you donât wanna get blasted by 1000 volts or anything like it. Same goes with pressure.â
âAnd the current is probably similar to the speed of water in the pipe, or flow rate, or whatever. And isnât there a formula that relates the two?â
Josh shot me a baffled look. âYou tell me. Youâre the mechanical engineer.â
âIâm talking about electrical stuff. Voltage and current.â
âOh, you mean Ohmâs Law.â
âYea⌠I sort of remember that one from back in the dayâŚâ
âWhat about capacitors. What could those be?â
ââŚI guess capacitors could be like pressurized tanks. They just hold a bunch of energy ready for disposal. Or maybe itâs like a springâŚâ Josh shook his head and each of us took a sip of beer at our own volition. We studied the marvels of human ingenuity for a long while, only breaking at the realization that our two friends downstairs were waiting for our company. Given the limited amount of time I had left in Boise, it was a sacrifice we were willing to make.
Back in the tasting room, Bill and Gretch were checking out the merchandise section, doing steady work on their own beers. A particular shirt had caught their eye, a collection of pint glasses, mugs, schooners, tankers, snifters, and more in the shape of the state of Idaho. Unfortunately, an incorrect shirt size prevented him from making a purchase.
âHave you guys been outside yet?â asked Josh. We turned our heads to the opposite side of the tasting room where large, glass windows revealed a courtyard full of lawn games. âCâmon, letâs check it out. The field held a resemblance to an old battlefield, calm and peaceful, yet filled with scars, remnants of action and excitement during a previous time. A hammock sitting at the southwestern edge of the courtyard grabbed Billâs attention. Gretch followed. Josh and I left them alone with their futile attempts to successfully lay on it while drinking beer.
âWell, look what we have hereâŚâ Josh pointed to a pair of slanted planks standing about 15 feet apart, each with a hole at the upper edge.
âGreat,â I mumbled. âCornholeâŚâ
âWanna play a game?â
âAre there any bean bags?â The question sent Josh on a bean bag hunt. After a short search and a quick conversation with the bartender, however, Josh returned to the courtyard, his head low and shaking side to side. I had a feeling he wasnât able to secure any beanbags, an outcome I was completely at peace with.
âWell, thatâs lame,â said Josh.
âWeâll come back someday when itâs a little more hopping. And who knows, maybe Iâll even let you be on my teamâŚâ
âHa, sure. Weâd probably slay the competition.â
Bill and Gretch rejoined us, having given up on the hammock. They lobbied for a table inside, of which Josh and I were acquiescent to. Another battle for another day I suppose.
âGeez, thatâs one beefy chair!â said Bill as he pried the high bar stool back from the table like he was pulling King Arthurâs Excalibur from the stone. The struggle was real, for it even took quite the effort a muscled wonder like Josh to pull his out from under the table.
âThat must be solid steel! Stainless by the looks of it,â I said after I joined Bill in a thorough inspection of the legs.
âNice, sturdy weld job too,â added Bill.
âHow were they able to get the sides flush?â I asked. âLook, they got the welds on the cross supports, but somehow one of its sides is solid with the vertical legs.â I looked at Bill. He was just as flabbergasted as I was.
âEasy, they just make a butt weld, then machine it down so itâs flush.â Bill and I gave Gretchâs explanation extensive thought, as if we were trying to find an excuse to dismiss her argument.
âThat actually makes senseâŚâ We took another sip of beer and sulked in the refreshing taste.
âSomeday, we should do something like thisâŚâ said Bill.
ââŚYou mean, start our own brewery?â
âYea, why not? I know how to make the recipes and stuff. And you guys are engineers. You can figure out how to make all the equipment work.â Josh and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Neither one of us could argue.
âAnd Gretch could be the bouncer,â I injected. âSheâll get in anybodyâs face!â She shot me a look. I was unable to tell whether she was flattered or pissed. ââŚIn addition to your management and bookkeeping duties, of course. Those are top notch, and a necessity for the business aspect of it all!â
âItâs settled then!â fired off Bill.
âWait a minute,â I retorted. âWhat?â
âDude, weâre gonna start a brewery!â followed Josh.
âYou have a problem with that?â snapped Gretch.
âUgh⌠no, I meanâŚâ I stalled for a little bit. Just imagine, reliving this entire weekend over and over again for the rest of our lives. Could I deal with it? Could they even handle it? ââŚNo. Not at all! Just as long as we get one of those punching bag machââ The room went quiet. Suddenly, I was met beading eyes all around. ââŚI mean, an endless supply of fried pickles.â Phew. Close call. I raised my glass in front of me. âHereâs to our brewery.â
âCheers,â said Josh.
âCheers,â said the rest of us before we clinked our glasses together and finished off the rest of our beers.
âYou guys up for another one,â asked Josh. I looked at my watch, suddenly overcome with a wave of despair.
âDonât know if I can. My plane leaves in about an hour and a half.â I could see disappointment in Joshâs eyes, but received no reprimands. He understood, with full sincerity. We settled for a few extra minutes of conversation.
At the car, Josh and I stood a body apart, facing each other in a moment of silence. An electronic field of anxiety filled the void, the subtlest of word combinations having the chance to spark disaster. âJosh⌠overall, it was a decent weekend.â I stuck my hand out.
âGlad you could make it down,â he replied, meeting my hand halfway and grasping it with a firm handshake. I leaned, succumbing to the natural habit that once plagued the fate of a green Polo-wearing boy in Roddyâs. There was no turning back now. Oh, no! Not the bro-hugâŚ
I felt a heavy pat on the pack, followed by the thud of two pairs of flexed pectorals bumping into each other. âEngineering brothers.â
What in the⌠I stood for a moment, perplexed, then embraced the gesture and returned the favor. âEngineering brothers,â I replied. We released, giving Josh the go-ahead to say goodbye to Bill and Gretch.
âWell, you ready to head to the airport?â asked Gretch. I hesitated for a moment. âNo,â I wanted to say. I wasnât ready, not in the slightest.
ââŚYea. Iâm ready,â I said, lying through my teeth. I had to. Thereâll be another day, BoiseâŚ
We gave our last wave, took our last looks, then hopped in the car, is if on cue from the movie director of life. I watched Josh drive away, on his way across the Boise landscape and back to normal life. Then it was our turn, starting with our journey to the airport, ample time to reflect.
âŚYou know, maybe weâre all more alike than we actually thinkâŚ
They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. I never doubted it, but never had any concept of understanding itâŚ
Not until that night.
The sun, though millions upon millions of miles away, surely has no trouble dealing punishment to anybody brave enough to set foot in Southern Idaho. She is a relentless bully, one thatâll leave you burned, dehydrated, and if careless, completely miserable without a flinchâour sweat-drenched, energy-deprived bodies proof of its inexorable ways. But even the fiercest of warriors require a respite between battles every now and then. And there we were, survivors of the night, still standing after everything she had thrown at us; enough fuel in the tank for one more round.
A sharp pop from my beer interrupted the faint trickle of the Boise river, a few rocks throws away from our hotel room balcony. I took a sip then turned the can, taking the time to examine its exterior, already suffering from severe condensation. Coors Original. Hard to believe we considered this a delicacy once⌠I took another sip and melted into my chair, the taste a refreshing contrast from the IPAâs and microbrews I had become accustomed to in recent years.
Bill stepped outside, laptop in one hand and the remnants of a six-pack in the other. To make room, he stacked his beer on top of a can that had been left on the table from the day before, as if it were the base of a beer staff, minus the duct tape. The practice can be witnessed at your typical college party, as students and party-goers alike will walk around with staffs several cans high, adding a link after each consumed beer. I may have participated in the ritual a few times, but not like Bill. Every once and a while, him and Jay could be seen strutting around the University of Idaho campus, proudly wielding their staffs and causing a ruckus. Each outing wasnât complete until the staff towered over each of their headsâa rite of passage for any partier, the main requirement if the rank of wizard was to be awarded by the end of the night.
Jay⌠The name gave me goosebumps. Bill grabbed one of the beers, popped its top, and lifted it to his mouth. I followed his lead, taking another sip of my own. Man, the times we used to have drinking this stuff… I looked up to a sky littered with stars, imagining Jayâs figure forming in a cluster of them, watching over us amongst the giants. I lifted my beer to the sky for a toastâjust in case. I miss ya buddy. You left us way too soon.
I took in a full breath of air, anticipation for a long speaking engagement. They were all too common on nights like these, especially with Gibson. Add in a pack of cigs and a cheap case of beer, and you could count on it! Just be careful not to bring up politics.
I couldnât count the amount of times we had staying up late with a beer in hand, exploring the reaches of each otherâs conscience on a variety of topics, ranging from football, to philosophy, and every once and a while, women. In fact, once, I discretely remember him staying up with me until 4 in the morning, just to make sure I got over a girl. The night was much colder, but similar to thisâŚ
Before I could speak, the soft plucking of an acoustic guitar came from the computer speakers; a simple rift, slow, but familiar⌠and comforting. Ugly CasanovaâBabies Clean Conscience.Bill has played this before⌠A gem from our youth, written and performed by the front man for Modest Mouse, yet hidden for 15 years under a pseudonym. Turns out, itâs become one of our favoritesâŚ
My words stalled, searching for the right moment to interrupt. The rift repeated itself for a few measures, the sound of a lazy summer day, stocks of wheat brushing against the side of a barn; two friends sitting beside it, embracing youth and its eternal state. A small break in the plucking signaled the entrance to the chorus. I prepared myself.
âŚThis reminds me of home. I didnât say it. I hadn’t the will to speak.
Iâve got a babies clean conscience, I walk around with my head off, And in the state of the big sky The ground holds on to my grandpasâŚ
My eyes drifted down my arm as the song led into the first verse, following a contour map made from layers of perspiration and dirt, soaked, then dried, then soaked again throughout the course of the weekend. I continued, down my sweat drenched shirt and to my dirt-stained cutoffs. My hand, wetted with condensation sifted through my hair, separating the knotted strands adhered together by an emulsification of sweat and river-water. My gaze floated upward, eventually locking once again with the glowing night sky.
Weâve been here. Many timesâŚ
It had been over a year since we had arrived in Pony, Montana, but the sights, scents, and feels remained. The air was crisp in that small Montana town, barely changed since the frontier days of its founding. And with as many horses as cars and a local bar where a beer only costs you 2 dollars, granted somebody doesnât buy one for you first, it would stay that way for many years to come. And on the night of our arrival, Bill, Gretch and I stood outside the Dutcher cabin, gazing upon a starry spectacle, so clear that streaks of the Milky Way were visible to the naked eye.
Within the blink of an eye, the world had been transformedâa world enshrouded in darkness, all but for the cluster of stars above. Atop a bed of water, we gazed upon the majestic sight, soaked in the benefits of isolation, the central tenant of the Boundary Waters experience. Protected by a solid wall of timber, a tributary of lakes, and two Boundary Babes by my side in the small corner of Northern Minnesota, we knew that nothing could harm us. Nothing could corrupt us. And in a world filled with evils and wrongdoings, we knew that for that moment, we could live in peace.
I took another sip, my gaze still commanded by the stars. Hereâs to you, Lauren. The spirit of the Boundary Babe lives onâŚ
A short gust of wind pressed against the surfaces of our exposed skin, reminding us of the soothing presence of stagnant airâone of the many comforts of an Idaho summer. Even in the dark of night, a t-shirt and pair of shorts is all you need, much like it was at the gateway of Hells Canyon the night Jimmy Dawson, Collin Morlock and I sat and watched a shower of meteors broke the calm of a crystal-clear sky, our minds consumed with pinpointing each instance of the astrological phenomenon. Known as the deepest canyon in North America, all it takes is a few minutes inside the naturally sculpted channel, carved through millions of years of geological turmoil to forget that a world actually exists outside the canyon walls.
The memories flowed, hundreds of them it seemed, one after another as the sound of a strained guitar waned forward, one descending note at a time. It repeated itself over the songâs original rift, a musical line that would eventually lead to a conclusion. I listened and stared, petrified in total awe at the infinite ceiling, much like that night on the Palouse, hoping that somehow, I could be frozen in time.
It was another pounding of snow over the plot of fertile farmland that spreads across the southeast border of Washington and Idaho. Perfectly timed during finals week at Washington State University, I furiously trotted through the snow, dead set on a mission across campus to fetch a case of energy drinks in what was anticipated to be another all-nighter. Our thermal systems design project was on my mind, and time was running out. âWe still have calculations to do. Weâve barely started writing the report⌠Thereâs so much workâhow in the world are we ever going to get this done? Weâll never make the deadlineââ I stopped dead in my tracks. Gasping for a breath, I looked up to the heavens, ready to make a desperate plea to God. Instead, flakes of snow fell on my face as I stared up through the fog. There were thousands of them, each making a soft puff as they hit the ground, the only audible sound throughout the neighborhood. Above it all was a bright, yellow orb glowing in the sky and lighting the snow-covered planes of the Palouse. I stayed there for several moments staring, too awestruck to move. âOh, my God. What a beautiful sight.â
I savored that moment as long as I could, but as soon as that thought entered, another one sifted in. I just hoped there was enough time fit everything inâŚ
Cruising up Bryden Canyon Road to another summer party at Joshâs parents, an event that I was destined to get kicked out of. âIâve had 20 shots, and Iâm not even drunk,â heâd say, believing that his farcical taunt would be enough to get me to take another shot⌠which it usually would.
Countless music festivals at the Gorgeâone giant, three-day party smack dab in the middle of Washington State. Overlooking the mighty Columbia River Basin and surrounded by tens of thousands of other concert goers taking it all in, it was easy to get lost in the spectacle, believing whole-heartedly that we were in the happiest, most beautiful place on Earthâand youâd be right.
Sitting in the basement of the Sandenâs house with Brandon, Shaun, and the rest of the crew after a long day of skating, wasting away with a video game after a long day of skateboarding in the Lewis-Clark Valley, waiting for the next day to do it all over again. I took another sip and stared into oblivion, letting the familiar feeling sink in once againâthe feeling of absolute bliss.
It mustâve been a night just like this when Bill and I met. And it wasnât just Bill. There was Moody, the Drizzle, and a whole slew of us. We were merely just a couple kids thenâkids with nothing to lose, nothing to worry about, and nowhere to look but up. And in that little oasis they called the Lewis-Clark Valley, two towns on the Washington/Idaho border separated by the Snake River sat a skateparkâthe perfect place for a few strangers to share a common love, establish a bond of trust, and over many seasons standing atop a piece of plywood with a set of wheels, form lifelong friendships.
Too most, it was an abomination. Its ground was crusty, the obstacles unevenânot even making sense at times. There was a rail, âBig Redâ theyâd call itâmuch too high for the amount of runway that was provided and pushing required to hit it. Miraculously, nobody ever racked their nuts on the thingâexcept for Ben Woodward, of course.
But the park had personality. We knew how to ride it, knew ever little creaseâhow to hit each transition to maximize pop. It was our park, our sanctuary from the symptoms of teenage angst⌠thus, it was so much more than a park. It was a place where legends were made.
We screamed and cheered at the Hot August Nights Comp when Kevin Lentz pulled a 360 kickflip over the hip, only to be outdone by Nate Paschâs melon off the wall and over the quarter pipe. Many a times we stood shoulder to shoulder when unwelcomed visitors tried to start trouble, or when there was a prank or two to be carried out on innocent bystanders. But perhaps most precious of all, once our bodies were enervated from a day of skating and shenanigans, weâd sit along the side of the park, imagining the thrill of sliding down a handrail, or soaring down a flight of stairsâwhatever combination of flips and grinds our minds could devise. Weâd sit on a park bench without a responsibility in the world, silently scanning each obstacle spread across the crusty asphalt on a warm, starlit summer night, and weâd dream.
âŚI could remember it all as if it were yesterday.
Hard to believe this movie was made 10 years ago. And staring some of the finest.
The song resolved into oblivion, the dreams fading from my memory bank as the obfuscation of reality set in. We sulked in the silenceâthe stillness, left frozen in the night. Now, it seemed like an eternity, this familiar feeling, this look that was commonly donned during a simpler time and this prosperity we sought, abundant in life, but lacking in materialistic desiresâthe successful career or the Mercedes-Benz, all part of a life that I was forced to return to in less than 24 hoursâŚ
A life that had been slowly transformed over the last 15 years.
Suddenly, I felt numb, like a frog slowly accustomed to boiling water. The skatepark was gone, replaced by a newer, sexier model. It had been years since I seriously stepped on a board, unable to feel the magic of riding out a smooth transition, rediscover the thrill of grinding down a ledge. And the friends⌠people youâd spend every waking hour with, now lucky to see once a year, if that.
Sitting on that balcony at the advent of my thirties, gazing upon the endless sky, I couldnât help but battle a tear, pondering a cold reality.
My God, how so much has changedâŚ
I turned my head ever so slightly, in fear of creating disorder in the universe. Through my peripheral, Bill peered into the darkness, the ambient sound of a running river filling the void. He wouldnât dare move a muscleâwouldnât dare disrupt the comforting force that gravity exerted on our bodies. And like me, he was destined back to Texas, back to his own version of a career-driven reality.
Age does wonders to the soul. Whether we realize it or not, it develops wisdom within us, one that makes us cringe at the mistakes of our past, better informs us for the future, and eventually, for the sake of removing ignorance, helps us realize when itâs time to move on. And after a weekend engaged in conflict between friends, enemies, and the forces of nature, it helps us realize what a rarity moments like these are⌠that itâs never too late to clean your conscience. Weâre never too old to sit back in wonder.
âŚWeâre never too old to appreciate the calm that comes after a long, summer day.
And in that small pocket of time and space, overlooking a small aggregate of flora amongst the rugged landscape of southern Idaho, maybe⌠just maybe, Bill was thinking the same exact thoughts as meâŚ
âHey Bill,â I said at the risk of destroying the ambience we had carefully crafted. It was the first words spoken since we had returned to the hotel. He paused for a moment, cautiously waiting for the follow-up. ââŚPlay that song one more time.â
Bill reached for his computer. With a few clicks, the simple, acoustic rift once again blotched out the sound of running river water. He sat back, took a sip of beer, and braced himself for another round of deep introspection.
I sat back in my chair, my head forward, staring into the abyss. I took a sip of beer, and smiled.
We left the pub that evening, I a bit wiser, Josh a bit smugger, and Pat with one less friend. Against her will, Gretch had left with her parents, and once again, I was back to face the world, alone but for a single ally, and even that was on shaky ground.
âWhatâs wrong Zack? Looking a little tense donât you think?â I thought about it, long and hard. For the moment, I could see it with clarity, a knuckle sandwich beautifully delivered smack dab in the middle of the nose. But Josh had the upper hand, two beer tokens in his possession⌠two tokens that he was still willing to give me. And up to this point, my disdain for Josh hadnât quite topped my affinity for free beer.
âCâmon buddy, donât be so sour,â he followed with a firm grip clasped upon my shoulders⌠shoulders that clenched upon contact. A man on man massage. Gee Josh, you sure know how to ease the tension. âDude, ZackâŚâ He switched tactics, this time putting his arm around my shoulder, making it easier to justify the knuckle sandwich. âWeâre friends⌠buddies, right?â
âIâm not⌠your Buddy!â
âItâs ok budâŚâ Really? You just went there again? âHey, donât feel bad about me and Pat giving you a hard time⌠You know what your problem is? You take things a little too personally.â Oh, heâs asking for it! Just give me those beer tokens so we can settle this once and for all!
Josh held those tokens tight in his man sack like it was an impenetrable fortress. It would be another several minutes before weâd make it to the Tubapalooza block party, several minutes of which Josh was unable to process that his constant contact was unwelcome, no matter how many passive-aggressive hints were given.
A heaping sound of garbage grew in direct proportion to the density of drunken adults sporting 90âs fashion. Scattered sightings had been creeping about since dinner, and Joshâs incessant reminders of how we shouldâve participated assured us that we were heading in the right direction, at least for beer anyway. âDude, we couldâve done that,â was the typical response after each Spice Girl and Fresh Prince of Bel Air look-a-like we spotted. His eyes grew with delight as he spotted a group of tacky outfits, splattered with bright colors as if they were living out the characters from Clueless. He even had a positive comment for the girl sporting a midriff with a pair of Jenco Jeans, expressing sincere remorse for our lack of conforming attire. Lucky for all of us, cooler heads prevailed.
A few blocks and a dozen office buildings later, we approached the 10 Barrel Brewery, the company responsible for all the racket polluting downtown Boise that evening. The entire block was roped off with a stage near the entrance, and patrons poured in and out like kids at a funhouse. I recognized the mantra coming from the stage as we entered. âF— you I wonât do what you tell meâŚâ the lead singer repeated over and over again, the ultimate plight for anti-authority popularized by Rage Against the Machine. The teenage version of Zack wouldâve reveled in the singerâs stance. Once in sight however, 30-year-old Zack wasnât too impressed with the crapily covered, washed out clichĂŠ to pander to a crowd of intoxicants, or his exposed beer belly for that matter. Sadly, many in the crowd thought differently, and continued to unwittingly feed the singerâs ego.
To my left was Josh. I shot him a glance and he met me halfway with the same, flat expression. We were going to need those beer tokens ASAP if we were to endure this crap.
Yes, itâs inexplicable, but on rare occasions, Josh and I have been known to be on the same page a time or two
âYou know what Boise,â yelled the lead singer, his obnoxious behavior unhindered. âWeâre not supposed to play anymore. They said our set ends at 7 Oâclock. Well you know what?â What? You already said it once… âWeâre gonna keep playing. You know why?â Oh gee, enlighten us, please⌠âBecause we donât give a s— about authority,â he continued, with strategically placed profanity between every other word. âWeâre gonna stand here⌠and weâre gonna party!â
For some reason, the crowd roared, egging him on to lift his arms and flex his non-existent muscles. He nodded his head and brandished a stupid grin across his unshaven face like he was Godâs gift to the town of Boise. âMore like Satanâs toilet paper if you ask me.â
âOk, hereâs a classic for you guys.â Oh, please donât ruin another one for us… The band got set, waiting for the lead singer to que them off. ââŚYouuuuuuuuuuu know you make me want to⌠SHOUTâŚâ Oh, MOTHER Fâ
It was only a year prior that Bill pulled off his epic rendition of the Isley Brothers classic at Bethâs wedding. With a few drops of liquor in his system and the music flowing through his veins, he commanded the dance floor and led everybody in an ensemble of song and dance for a night soaked in sweat and laughter.
Don’t remind of this though… ughz.
And within an instant, that memory was forever tainted by the drunken animal on stage, all for the sake of a few cheap cheers. The three of us moved quickly to the closest beer vendor, a young lady sporting a sharpie drawn mustache. It was a decision undoubtedly pressured by the event coordinators; one she was soon to regret. As we sipped on our beers, listening to the banal band and its belligerent lead butcher the classic, it was almost as if at that very moment, every terrible deed Josh had ever done unto me could be forgiven.
âYou know what BoiseâŚâ said the lead singer⌠âYou know what Boise?â What? What in the hell could you possibly bother us for this time?? ââŚI said, âyou know what, Boise?â Jesus Christ. Who does this guy think he is, Kanye West? âOur set ended 10 minutes ago. But we donât care! Weâre going to keep playing!â The more he insisted on playing, the more convinced I was that there was a reason he was asked to stop at 7:00 PM on the dot. ââŚAnd just for all you 90âs kids out there, we got a classic just for you!â âŚWow, could you be any more generous???
âDude, how much you wanna bet they play the âThis is how we do itâ song?â I asked Josh.
âWhat makes you think theyâll play it?â
âIt literally happens every time I go to a party. They even had it on that stupid insurance commercial!â Iâd seen it several times before, the college party band forced to revert to covers in order to keep the interest of the crowd. And almost by decree, they choose the Montell Jordan classic, if thatâs even a proper word to describe it.
âNaw, they wonât play it,â said Josh. âYou just jinxed it.â
âHmmâŚâ Josh was right. He knew I was always superstitious about these things. âYea, the bandâs bad, but they canât be this badââ
âTHIS IS HOW WE DOOOO ITâŚâ
âOh my God,â I scoffed, hiding my head in disgust.
âThis is how we do it, yea⌠yea. This⌠this is how⌠howâŚâ the band continued to play, yet the singer stuttered into silence. He shifted back and forth, left to right, looking for relief from one of his bandmates. Blank stares were all he received. For the moment, it had seemed as though the once cocky singer was at a sudden loss of confidence.
âUm⌠this is how⌠we⌠um⌠Hey!â he screamed, having reached an epiphany. âUh, who wants to party?â A few audience members cheered in response. âYou know what? Letâs get some people up on stage! They say weâre not allowed to have anybody up here, but we like to party!â Well, well, well. What do we have here, a rebel? âWho else wants to party?â He hollered with a shaky voice, screening the audience for potential partiers. âYou guys look like you want to party,â he said to a few members in the front row before waving them up. The security team stood by in apathy. If they were truly upset about people coming up on stage, they had a strange way of showing it.
An ordinary woman caught the lead singerâs eye on her way to the stage. Nothing remarkable set this aging millennial apart from the rest of the crowd, though she seemed to be singing along to the music with relative ease. The two conversed for a moment while several instrumental measures passed. The singer, wide-eyed and head nodding, ushered words of encouragement, and after a few back and forth twists of his torso and a couple of finger points from the stage, to the band, to the crowd, and to back to her, she finally nodded back.
âOk here we go. You guys ready?â
âWeâve been ready since the beginning of the damn song!â
âWhy does that girl have the mic?â asked Bill. Secretly, I think he knew the answer to his own question. But like the rest of us, he wanted to believe otherwise. She lifted the microphone to her mouth and began to speak.
âThis is how we do it, Itâs Friday night, And I feel alright, The Party is here on the west sideâŚâ
âAre you kidding me?â I blurted. âHe doesnât even know the words to his own song?â
âLamest band ever!â said Josh, with a giant gulp of beer. I joined him, watching this singer groove around on stage like he was still the center of attention, throwing out a âyea,â or a âcâmonâ to keep relevant. We backed away from the crowd in disgust, venturing as far from the auditory sewage as possible. At the moment, the 10 Barrel Brewpub looked to be our surest bet.
People poured in and out of brewery like wine seeping through the cracks of an overfilled barrel. No refuge was to be found. So far, the promotion of 10 Barrel had been shoddy at best, and intolerable at its worst. Adjacent to the brewery was a paved indent, possibly the site of a demolished building. A brick and mortar wall stood tall, protecting us from what lay beyondâthe desolate elements of the wild; dangerous, yet intriguing. We stared out into the distance for a moment as if Idaho were daring us, calling upon us to free ourselves from the ignorance and safety nets of society. Vacant but for a few festival vagrants, we entered.
At the edge sat an empty inflatable slide, much like an outdated carrousel ride in your typical city center. The lack of use was relieving, for any parent whoâd bring their kids to such an event are probably an incident away from a child services encounter. In front of it laid a large sheet of astro-turf littered with hula-hoops and a few brave individuals using them. One girl twerked her body in a smooth, continuous motion like a professional belly dancer, allowing the hoop to slither down to her knees, up past her chest, and back down to the waste with ease. The others⌠well, I couldnât exactly tell if they were drunk or didnât mind looking lame, but judging by their lack of coordination, I imagined it was a combination of both.
âWow, that girlâs pretty good,â mentioned Bill.
âI dare you to challenger her to a hula-hoop showdown,â I said.
âGod,â he replied, speaking in a scoff. âI suck. None of us could beat herââ
âHold my beer!â barked Josh, extending his arm to me, eyes locked on target. I didnât look to see how Bill reacted, only lifting my hand to let Joshâs beer fall into it. If he was anything like me, he was as stunned as I was. âAnd if you take a drink, Iâll kick your ass!â he threatened, strutting to the nearest hula-hoop. Immediately, I took a giant gulp, a necessary evil for the tragedy to come.
A minute was all we could take. No matter the number of fruitless attempts, no matter how hard and how fast he wiggled, the hoop couldnât quite wrap around his waist more than once without falling to the ground. Bill and I took in another gulp of beer. At least heâs fitting inâŚ
âCheck it out,â said Bill, looking over his shoulder. Behind us was a table with a pile of wooden blocks, the remnants of a failed architecture model. He turned around and began rearranging them, as to create his own.
âWhat about it?â I asked, watching as he stacked the nearly identical blocks higher and higher until it formed a large, square tower three blocks wide, each layer angled perpendicular to the layer opposite of it.
âItâs Jenga! Wanna play?â
I thought about the proposition long and hard. Bragging rights were on the line, and though I was confident in my skills, there was always the remote possibilityâWhat if I lose? Can I handle even more harassment from Josh? Hell, even if I win, Iâll still endure a mouth full of berating. Itâs like he inevitably finds a way… âI donât know man. The way I see it, Iâm in a lose-lose situation, even if I end up having funââ
âHey Zack, I bet you arenât man enough to hula-hoop,â yelled Josh, staring as he reached for the hoop that had just fallen to his feet. âHow much you want to bet you canât beat me in a hula-hoop contestââ
âWhat the Hell,â I said to Bill before taking another swig of Joshâs beer. âLetâs play.â
Having built the tower, Bill started the game off, as was traditionally done, pulling a block from the end of a row near the middle of the tower and setting it on topâeasy pickings for the first round. After giving me a nod, I calmly approached the tower and did the same. No need to play it dangerously, no need to get cocky, and certainly no need to get tense⌠yet. âEasy. Your turn Bill.â
Bill followed suit, finding another loose block in the middle of a row and pushing it out of the tower until it stuck out halfway. With little care, he reached around, pulled the block the rest of the way, and set it on top. It wasnât so much his careless demeanor of which he completed the first row, but more of the arrogant grin he delivered that made my stomach turn. âYour turn,â it said, standing in conceit all Tom Brady-like, as if he had the game in the bag. I know itâs my turn. Who cares?
I copied his favored strategy, quickly finding a loose block near the middle of the tower and throwing it on top like I wasnât even trying. The tower had a slight shift before it stabilized on its own, and there I was, standing before it, shooting Bill a deep grin. He scoffed back with slight disgust and continued.
The next couple of rounds went by with relative ease. Only a few shakes disturbed the towerâs stability, though a few irregularities in the cuts made for tricky block removal, not to mention each block was double the size of your ordinary Jenga block. Perhaps the handicap was a blessing in disguise, enough to direct our attention away from the abomination coming from the stage⌠enough to distract us from the humiliation consisting of Josh and a hula-hoop. I canât believe heâs still trying, after all this time!
ââŚCareful,â mentioned Bill, letting out a sigh and a grin. âWouldnât want the game to end so quickâŚâ
âDonât worry about me. I like to take my time, and I donât get cocky, like some people I know.â Bill dialed into the layer near the top of the stack, having eyed a partially removed block since last round.
âYou just need the magic touch,â he said, pulling at the outside block. âPull it out, andââ
The tower wobbled, sending Bill into a state of petrification, his hand glued to the half-removed brick as it oscillated back to stability. But for a sudden gasp, the sound of his heart thrashing against his chest was the only thing reminding us that he was still a sentient being.
âOhhhhh, you looked a little nervous on that last grab,â I said as the tower finally settled. Bill muttered a scoff and pushed the brick back into position before examining the tower for a new brick to pull. He pulled for one in an untouched row near the base of the tower, removing it and placing it on top in silence. âGeez. Not sure why youâre so serious about this,â I commented, making my way into position. âItâs just a gameâŚâ
I stepped up to the plate as Bill stepped away, thus completed the excruciating affair. Alright, this is it. Now itâs personal. No more messinâ around.
I walked around the tower for a thorough inspection, carefully feeling the edges for a brick that could easily be removed without violating structural integrity. My head close and my grip steady, I took my time pulling an edge brick near the middle of the tower. Provided its delicate state, the least I could do was give it the respect it deserved. I just wished my counterpart had done the same.
Itâs ok. Iâm gonna take good care of you. The words never left my mouth, but anybody watching knew full well the amount of care on display as the brick was seamlessly freed from the tower, like a brain surgeon carefully extracting a tumor from a child. With minimal sway, the brick lay back on top of the tower, completing yet another row of bricks. Slowly, I stepped away. It was odd, but Bill stepped up to the tower, not having a word to say. Actually, he hadnât spoken a word since last round. It was almost as if he were⌠nervous.
âThank God,â he finally chimed in. âThe way this is going, weâll be lucky if we finish the game by the time we head home.â
âWhat a snipe,â I thought to myself. âBut, nice try, Bill. Canât throw me off my game, ya dingus!â
He walked around and gave the tower a thorough inspectionâŚ. that damn copycat… He bent at his knees, settling into a squat, eyesight level with the tabletop. Heâs not attempting what I think he is⌠is he? His hand crept toward the very bottom. No⌠he canât be⌠It was a dangerous, yet shrewd maneuver from my former road trip partner, a man I could trust with all my heart⌠until now.
Taking a brick from the bottom row is seen as desperate in some competitive circles, though a successful removal can reap high rewardsâbut not this time. There was no way, given the uneven weight distribution of the enlarged bricks that it could be pulled off. I was amazed, however, at how well Bill was able to keep his composure, even with the tower leaning off-kilter; slowly lifting the bottom brick as if he were an artisan baker placing the cherry on top of his latest culinary masterpiece. The brick touched down and Bill stepped away, the tower settling back to stability. Oh my GodâI canât believeâson of a fried pickle⌠He pulled it off. He⌠heâ
âWhoa, whoa whoaâwait, what the hell is this?â I blurted.
âWhat do you mean?â countered Bill, acting totally baffled.
âOh gee, what do you mean,â I replied in a mocking tone.âDonât play dumb with me! How am I even supposed to put a block up there like that?â I pointed to the top brick, strewn across the top of the tower diagonally across.
âI mean, I just thought thatââ
âYea, thatâs your problem. You thought. Listen, thatâs going to require extra adjustment, pretty much grounds for disqualification if you want to get technical⌠Lucky for you this is all for fun, so Iâm going to let it slide⌠this time. But donât you go cheating on me!â Bill looked past me, unable to acknowledge I was right. I shook my head in disgust. âIf thereâs one thing I canât stand, itâs playing with cheatersâŚâ After a giant sigh, he adjusted the blocks accordingly. âSee, thatâs all I ask for. So much for being a nice guyâŚâ
Ideal behavior? Not by a long shot, but much like Mike Gibson and politics, you have to take what you can get and move on. Itâs the only way a friendship like that survivesâŚ
I took another sip of Joshâs beer in the way Indiana Jones feels out a bag of sand before snagging his treasure. Having found the right balance between concentration and a loose touch, I set the beer down and carefully examined the tower. Jagged planks stuck out, crooked and non-uniform at each level with bearing loads staggered about each millimeter of contact. It was as if I was looking at an architect hell bent on artistic expression, aka an engineerâs worst nightmare. There was absolutely no way this was going to holdâŚ
Below the top level sat an aberration, a small glimmer of false structure, the sleeper on the fantasy football waiver wire that everyone had overlooked. I went in for the kill; it was my only hope.
I grabbed at the block sitting on the endâit wouldnât budge. âToo much friction. Careful Big Daddy.â I watched the tower wobble and let it settle before my second attempt, guided by a solid educational background from Washington State University. My extensive knowledge of static forces and moments would provide an advantage over Billâs gut feelâevery time. âRemember, a little force goes a long wayâŚâ
I poked at the middle blockâslightly looser. It wasnât ideal by any means, but workableâit had to be, or Iâd be doomed. I inched the block further out, using every precaution not to cause a severe disturbance. Easy does it now, nice and slow, and⌠The block stopped. I gave an extra pushâtoo much. The tower leaned, a gradual crash imminent. Quick, other side!
I ran around the table with a roll in my feet, mimicking a speed walker. Even the slightest vibration could spell doom. âJenga,â Bill uttered into my ear. The distraction failed. âJenga,â he repeated. Nice try, Bill. I reached the opposite side of the table and grabbed the pultruding block and held the tower in place. Balance to the force had been restored.
Guiding the tower back to a rigid state, I wiggled the block into freedom, eventually gliding out of the slot like a well lubricated piston. A giant, uncontrollable grin leaked from the corner of my face as I placed it on the appropriate spot on top of the tower. âYour turn Bill,â I said after taking another drink of Joshâs beer, my grin undeterred. His lips quivered, sweat drew across his brow, and his head shook side to side in disbelief, the absence of movement most baffling.
Indeed, it was Billâs turn to act⌠and he was royally screwed.
He staggered forward in abject fear. âOhh, whatâs wrong Bill? You gonna cry?â The heckles continued, each one more vicious than the previous, a series of invectives Bill tried so desperately to ignore as he stared at the ugly mess in front of him. It was hopeless, the mangled tower looking more like the remains of an animal carcass picked apart by a pack of hyenas, leaving only scraps for the maggots to feast. âYou gonna cwyyyyyy?â I continued. âAwwww, donât cwyâŚâ
Billâs eyes lit up with the prospect of a relocatable block in his sightsâor so he thought. He shimmied it in place, testing the limits of stability. âOh, here we go, heâs going in, heâs in for the move, heââ The tower took a hard lean. Bill reacted with a hard flinch, having severely misjudged the friction between the blocks. ââŚShanks it! AHA!â A repulsive laugh left my mouthâa laugh representative of the most vile of heels. Bill stepped back to reevaluate his decision, frustration mounting, barely keeping his ugly sneer contained.
âWhat are you losers doing?â asked Josh, sneaking up from behind.
âDonât bother us, Josh,â I said, giving him more acknowledgement than was deserved. âWeâre in the middle something important.â
âPff, Jenga? Thatâs a childâs game.â
âRight⌠Why donât you go back to playing with your hula hoop?â
âI should. Itâs better than this.â I shook my head and took a sip of beer. Josh did the same, staring down at his afterwards. It had appeared that he had found an anomaly. âWhat is this, amateur hour or something?â
âWhat are you even talking about?â I responded, showing as little eye-contact as possible.
âLook, Iâm almost done with my beer, and youâve barely started yours!â
ââŚYep, looks like I have some catching up to do. Now if youâll excuse me, Iâve got a game to win.â I redirected my attention to Bill. âWelp, looks like someoneâs about to lose. Ahhhhhh, you gonna cry? Please Bill, donât cry. Uh oh! The block is up, the towerâs set, going down⌠going down⌠going⌠goingââ
âŚNo wayâŚ
The tower stood firm, having one block relocated legitimately from the bottom to the top. To its side was Bill, brandishing a look so smug it would make the likes of George Clooney jealous. âOhhhhh, looks like itâs your turn Zack,â said Josh with an emphasis on the obvious, a childhood habit I wish heâd break.
I took to center stage and studied the abominable erection for any weak points. Very few could be found, each staggered block augmenting the intimidation factor, already abounding. I poked around at prospectsânone afforded me any opportunity, far from an ideal situation in front of the likes of Josh Ulrich. âJengaâŚâ whispered Bill into my ear.
âOhh, câmon Zack. Jenga,â Josh whispered in the other, the first in a long line of interruptions, anything they could do to break me. âJenga⌠JengaâŚâ The words penetrated, circulating the blood flow and driving the exhale of carbon dioxide from my lungs at rapid pace. I could feel it as it took over, controlling all aspects of my mind. âItâs gonna fall, Zack. JengaâŚâ
âYea Zack. JengaâŚâ The phrase wouldnât leave my head, itâs attack persistent, vicious, determined to see me fail. âJenga⌠JengaâŚâ Shut up Josh.
âJenga⌠JengaâŚâ Shut up Bill.
âJenga⌠Jenga⌠JENGAâ”
GRETCH!
âWhoa whoa whoa, back off!â I screamed, the ferocity of my voice nearly tipping the tower on its side. Bill and Josh took a step back, their faces long and offended, yet too afraid to show it, as if they had just witnessed a daddy hit mommy moment. âI mean⌠Just give me a little space, thatâs all. I got this…â I took control, stepped back towards the tower, cool and collected. âI got thisâŚâ I spotted a block near the upper levels of the tower, already poking slightlyâmy best hope. I wiggled it in place, feeling the friction between two other blocks grasping its hold on the tower. Maybe if I just pinch the top a little bit, I can relieve some pressure, then viola! Brickâs free. I placed my finger at the top of the tower, applying pressure to the top of the tower and pried away. A scoff of disgust came from my backside. I removed the block and turned. It was Bill.
âWhat? Do you have a problem with the way Iâm conducting business?â I asked, attitude abound. Bill stood there, wanting desperately to blurt his objection, though his unwillingness to protest denied him the opportunity. âI donât sit here and tell you how to play the gameâŚâ I set the free block on top of the tower and walked away, my head stuck in a steady shake throughout the entire process. âGive me a break. Standing there, criticizing how I play the game⌠no respectâŚâ
Neither one of them could believe it. They stood in a stupor, unsure how to respond. If I didnât know any better, Iâd have thought they were insulted. âGo on Bill. Iâm waitingâŚâ
He stepped up to the plate, taking several minutes to carefully examine each individual block, a tiring, yet halfway amusing affair. He tugged at a block near the middle, near the top, near the bottom and all in between. None gave way. Again, he went for a block in the middle, giving it a slight push. The rest of the tower moved with it. âJengaâŚâ I teased. Bill did his best to ignore.
Bill made his way around to the other side of the table and picked at another brick. âJenga⌠JengaaaaaâJENGA!â I screamed like the spokesman in the old SEGA commercials. The brick didnât budge. Shut up, Zack! He wanted to say. His dignity disallowed him from making a scene. So, he continued in silence, picking at the crumbling infrastructure, sucking the last leaflet of life from a dying tree. ââŚJenga⌠JengaâŚâ Each pull and push caused an even more severe tilt to the already deficient structure. Bill took his time, believing wholly in his heart that there was still a chance. There was no room for error, not even for the most skilled of Jenga competitors like myself.
âJenga⌠Jenga!â Beads of sweat dripped off Billâs forehead. Heâs breaking, little by little⌠âJenga⌠Jengaaaaaa Jenga Jegna JengaâJENGA!â Bill twitched. The chain reaction had begun.
âJengaâŚâ The tower leaned towards himâtoo much pull. He pushed back with an unnecessary amount of force. âJenga!â The tower tilted the other way; Bill directed his attention accordingly. âJENGA!â He pulled it back. The tower leaned⌠and leaned⌠and kept leaning. âJENGAAAA!!!â
A giant mitt swatted at the tower, sending a loud crash and a wave of bricks flying in all directions like exploded shrapnelâquite the fit for my explosion of laughter. Bill marched about the mess, pouting, sweltering, steam rising out of his ears and nostrils. He avoided eye-contact; another look at my sardonic face would result in an ugly outburst.
âAhahaha! Loser cleans up!â I couldnât contain myself. Bill turned to face his demon, his reputation shattered beyond repair.
âThatâs bull shiââ
âWhoa whoa whoa⌠Watch your language how bout ya?â
âYou cheated! You totally cheated!â
âCheated? What an accusation!â
âItâs a valid accusation!â
âItâs off the rails! Just like you!â
âAre you kidding me? I saw the whole thing! You held the tower down in placeââ
âHold theââ I paused, unable to properly respond. My head shook rapidly, as if I were trying to remove a film of dust atop my hair, for the libelous allegation of cheating would throw any honest person off guard. âPff, thatâs not cheating! And if it was such a big deal, whyâd you wait until now to say it?â
âDoesnât matter. Cheating is cheating! Josh even saw it.â
âYea, Zack, you did put yourââ
âJosh, your mind was still on playing hula hoop with all those little girls! Besides, how can you have a clear head with all that beer you drank?â Josh was speechless. He knew as well as I that a credible response could not be drafted. Still, I patiently waiting for a rebuttal of substance, plenty of time provided to pound the rest of my beer. Nothing ever came. ââŚThatâs what I thought. And how would you feel if you saw a drunk guy playing hula hoops with your daughter? Creeped out, I hope. Now do me a favor and get me another beer. Looks like you got some catching up to do.â
âDudeâŚâ he said, lifting his chin, his pecks deflated. I disregarded the plea and continued my case, forcing Josh to disappear into irrelevancy. It was his only constructive move.
âNow Bill, I really donât appreciate these aspersions on my integrity. I mean, weâre like⌠almost⌠best friends⌠at least I thought we wereâŚ
âWell, I donât appreciate my âfriendsâ cheating on a game of Jenga!â
âAlright then. Letâs settle this. Bust out the Jenga rule book and show me exactly where it says you canât use the other hand. Show me. Right here, right now.â Bill threw up his hands in disbelief. Even if he could produce what I was asking, I could sense some serious doubt in his charge. âThatâs what I thought. Now just accept it and we can move on. Iâm the better Jenga player.â
âNope. Wonât do it.â
âBill⌠You got outplayed.â
âShut up!â
âI will not!â
âBecause youâre a terrible friendâŚâ
âWhat?!â
âYea, I said it!â
âYou take that back, you son of a bââ
âYouâve ruined this whole trip!â
âOh, me ruin the trip? Like youâre one to talk, Mr. Loose Lips!â
âDonât even put that on me! Youâre mad cause Gretch is always outsmarting you!â
âHow⌠Dare you!â
âShe does it every time.â
âBillâŚâ
âEvery time!â
âIâm warning youâŚâ
âI mean it. Every. Single. Word of it!â
âOh yea?â
âYea.â
âOh yea?â
âYEAââ
âHey!â A jolly voice echoed across the astro-turf. Bill and I turned to a brunette babe walking towards us wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt, potential love at first sight type of stuff. âAre you from Wisconsin?â she asked.
I looked down. Indeed, I was wearing a similar shirt with the words âGreen Bay Packersâ spread across, the same shirt Gretch saw me buy⌠so she went ahead and bought the same exact one. âUh, well, um, yesâno, sort ofâmy familyâs fromâI go thereânext month I⌠I like Wisconsin⌠Yea. I am from Wisconsin.â
âOh no kiddinâ! So am I!â Jenny⌠from Janesville.â Jenny stuck out her hand for a shake.
âHi Jenny from Janesville. I⌠my name isâŚâ Now normally, Iâd consider myself an honest person. I would never, ever tell a lie, barring an admission of friendship with Ben Woodward. Perhaps I was subconsciously trying to protect Bill from potential embarrassment, or perhaps it was something a bit more sinister. Or maybe, just maybe, the approach of a beautiful Packer babe, while heating up certain functions and elevating flow rates in the human body, has quite the opposite effect on the brain. Left in momentary petrification, I blurted the first name my mind produced. ââŚIâm Josh.â
ââŚJosh?â
ââŚJoâyea, Josh! JoshâŚâ
âWell, what do you do Josh?â
âI⌠I runââ Bill shot me a dirty look. Donât even start with your new running shoes⌠ââŚI run uh⌠the car wash!â
âThe car wash?â
âYou know⌠the car wash⌠in Oshkosh.â
âJosh who runs the car wash in OshkoshâŚâ
âThatâs right, Jenny from Janesville. Iâm Josh who runs the car wash in Oshkosh!â
A huskier man walked over to greet us, a true Wisconsinite if I ever saw one. âHey, Greg, Iâd like you meet Josh,â said Jenny from Janesville. âJosh runs a car wash in Oshkosh!â
I extended my hand for a shake. âNice to meet ya. Jenny tells me youâre from Janesville.â
âWell, not originally,â he answered. âGreg⌠from Green Bay.â
âOh, no kidding? My friends Ashley and John moved to Ashwaubenon!â
âRight on!â
âMy momâs from around that area too!â
âReally?â
âYea! My mom Debââ An epiphany stopped me in my tracks. Though it was true my mother grew up near Ashwaubenon where my imaginary friends Ashley and John resided, I resisted the temptation to spread the information. What are you doing? You canât just give out your motherâs personal information like that! ââŚMy mom Deb⌠from Detroit.â
âOhâŚâ Replied Jenny from Janesville and Greg from Green Bay, unable to mask their disappointment. ââŚDeb from DetroitâŚâ After an awkward break, Bill jumped in.
âHi, Iâm Bill.â
âLet me guess. Bill from Beloit?â inserted Jenny from Janesville.
ââŚNoâŚâ replied Bill, his tone several shades somber, head drooping into his sternum before raising his chin to answer. âNorth Korea,â he said with a straight face, as if he were mustering the courage to block years of torture and hard-labor from his mind.
âOhâŚâ replied Jenny from Janesville, her face elongated, any excitement the two may have previously held erased from their countenance. âWell, it was nice to meet you two.â
âYou too, Jenny from Janesville, and Greg from Green Bay.â They backed away with a steady nod, each step taken in caution, not to wake a sleeping giant, until they dissolved back into the crowd under the spell of awful music. Bill and I turned to one another, a slight smile seeping from our facesâthe first one in a long time. âDude, did we get in a fight?â
âDid we? I donât exactly rememberâŚâ A moment passed with a few shrugs thrown between the two of us. We turned back our attention towards the madnessâback to Josh who had reemerged from the abyss with a fresh set of beers.
âDude, Josh, you got another beer? Weâre about to leave!â
Josh lifted his head, opened his face, and arched his spine ever so slightly. It was the look of bewilderment with a side of displeasure. âDudeâŚâ
âDonât worry, weâll help you drink it.â I snatched each beer from his hand and handed one to Bill. âJust be lucky you have such good friends.â Josh stood there in shock, again lacking the right words for a response. ââŚLook, I think somebody wants to play Jenga with you.â Josh caught a glimpse of a girl behind him, examining the oversized Jenga blocks. He receded behind us eager to set up a game and cement his dominance.
Bill and I took sips of our newly procured, freshly brewed beer and surveyed the crowds, commenting on the spectacle before us like a pair of generals watching the final moments of a victorious battle. âBill, you know as well as I do that Iâm not a cheater.â Bill didnât speak, didnât shift his attention, didnât show any signs of deference or derision to my words. He remained forward and listened, like a man of honor would. I continued. âAnd honestly, if there were ever a time that I happened to break the rules, it certainly wouldnât be wittingly.
ââŚI believe you,â he responded, giving a slight head nod. I took a good sip of beer.
âIâll tell you what. I donât want to be a cheater. I donât even like the idea of being thought of as a cheater. You know how I feel about those people. The lowest of the low!â
âI hate emâ too. I wish they were never born.â
âAnd if weâre going to be real with each other, I honestly didnât think I was doing anything wrong during the game. So, if any illegal actions were made, itâs wasnât out of negligence, because letâs face it, when was the last time you played Jenga?â
ââŚYouâre rightâŚâ Bill took a deep swallow of beer before the next words came out. I waited patiently. âLook, Iâm sorry for calling you a cheater. I lashed out at you, and I shouldnât have. That was bad on me.â
âWe all make mistakes.â We both nodded and took a good sip. âIâll tell you what. I probably wonât go out of my way, but if I come across the rules, and I finf out that itâs an illegal move to use two hands, youâll be the first to know. Deal?â
Bill delivered a steady nod with an amicable smile. âDeal.â We bumped glasses for a cheers and took a good sip. I turned around. Josh had taken a reprise from tower building to tend to his phone.
âNow câmon, we better get Ulrich back here before he embarrasses himself again. Hey Josh, I told you, there arenât any Pokemon around here! Get off the App!â Josh shot his face up to a trio of babes snickering past him. Joshâs head lifted, his chest puffed, then exhaled into a slouch, his eyes stuck in a destructive glare. âDonât worry about those babes. Nerds arenât even their type. How about we get out of here, huh? Youâre driving of course. Obviously, you havenât been drinking as much as we have. and you better not play any of that emo music you made us listen to earlier. I swear if I wasnât a teenager Iâd have cut myself by nowâŚâ
***
July 23rd, 2016. 10:00 PM
Grace was in the air. A few hours had past, and somehow, in the weening hours of the day, we had all made it back to each other, gathered around a pocket of cool air settled in Megan Millsâ backyard. We laughed, told tales of the day and of previous days, and took our shot at polishing off the rest of the kegs. Beat down from an afternoon of sun and alcohol intake, not one among us was in a position to disrupt the mellow mood percolating in Southern Idaho. For the first time all weekend, I think everybody had a smile on their face.
Even Gretch.
And to think, Bill and I were at each otherâs throat ago over Jenga⌠JENGA for Godâs sake⌠The name brought back an ugly memory, one I had hoped to forget. Oh yea⌠Jenga. In my hand was the power of knowledge, with only ignorance standing in the way. I gave Bill my word. Damnit, why did I give him my word? I canât go back on that, not if our friendship is worth a hill of beans!
I surveyed the scene. Lea was next to me, the center of attention, as predicted. I liked Lea. Heck, I still like her, to this day! And to be honest, her favorability was on the up and up as long as Pat was crying about fried pickles. But sitting beside her was no longer an option, not if I wanted to keep the ruse of anonymity.
To the left was Gretch, sitting on one side of the two person swing. If I make my move, sheâll surely vacate the premise! So, I made my move.
âI think I want to sit on the swing,â I blurted, interrupting Lea mid-sentence. The result couldnât have been any more pleasing. Gretch jumped off the swing like a bat out of hell. Finally, a little privacy up in here.
The conversation continued. I pulled out my phone ever so slightly and shifted my eyes about. Nobody had suspected a thing. I opened Google and began searching. Jenga Rules. I clicked on the first link that appeared and started reading.
Gameplay:
The player who built the tower goes first. Play passes to the left. âCheck.â
Carefully remove a block anywhere from BELOW the highest completed story. âCheck.â
Use only one hand. ââŚWell, that could mean anything, really. I remove the block with one hand. Technically, I didnât use both handsâŚâ I continued with the rules.
Remove and stack only one block per turn. Remember â only ONE hand can touch the tower at a time.
ââŚCrap.â
It was crystal clear. Bill was right. I was wrong. âI have to tell him.â
I took a deep breath and braced myself.
âHey Bill.â The porch went silent. âI⌠IâŚâ I took a gander. Taylor and Megan Mills⌠hmm, I wonder if theyâre still mad about that time I fed their dog Doritos? Lea and Patâoh, look at Pat just ready to pop like a zit with another fried pickle joke. Then thereâs Gretchâgood God, not Gretch, Miss âIâm too good to sit next to ZackâŚâ My eyes wandered even further⌠further down to a strand of ginger hair and sculpted pecks. âŚJoshâŚ
âWhat is it Zack?â asked Bill.
âOh, I⌠I was just checking some of the cabs for a ride home.â
âAre you guys leaving?â asked Gretch.
âNo⌠not yet. I just thought⌠umâŚâ
âIs there something you want to say?â asked Lea.
âWell, uh. I just wanted to⌠no.â The group shot me a funny look, expecting a follow up. âThere is absolutely nothing I want to say.â I put my phone back in my pocket and silently sipped on beer for the remainder of the evening.
Sorry Bill. Looks like Iâm taking this one to the graveâŚ
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The Trials and Tribulations of a Grizzly Chadams 