So, despite staying up very late last night (and very late for me means, I can chat with my buddy Jeff in Germany or Gino in New Zealand, because they're already up and in the middle of their days), I woke up early this morning, and thought I would check out the swap meet the started up in town. I drove past the building last week (when I was hanging out with my nephew, grooving to tunes*), and was surprised to see a swap meet there. So I checked its hours last night, and drove over immediately this morning to check it out.
I don't know what I expected to find, but I sure didn't expect to find . . . nobody. Absolutely nobody.
And I don't mean there weren't any customers. I mean, there were booths set up to sell various bits of junk--my understanding is that it's a Hispanic enterprise, intended for that clientele, since the signs weren't in English and Spanish, but just in Spanish--but there was nobody manning them. No vendors were in sight. I could hear somebody talking (en español) in the back room, but I could have walked out with two armfuls of unlicensed (or expired) medications, and no one would ever have known. Instead, I called Big Anklevich and told him about it. Quite an adventure (he said, ironically).
My nephew had his last basketball game today, on the team where he's the star player (there's also a second team he plays on, where he seldom gets to shine--and isn't all that good--but I try not to go to those games), and though they lost (and have lost every game this season), this was the closest they've ever come, with a score of 42 to 36.
Then my OTHER nephew had a basketball game, and I have to admit that I zoned out and read through most of that. Sorry, I know that's heartless, but he rarely even gets the ball, let alone makes a basket.
After that, we went out to eat, and while I'm glad I went, at the time I was worried about missing my writing window, since the damn library closes early on Saturdays, and that it was going to cost a lot of money (I'm a cheap bastard, you see, hence the women lining up outside my door). But there are fewer dinners out ahead than there are behind, so it's good that I came along. Then, they needed to stop off at the pet store (which took forever), and then wanted to take my mom to Walmart to get her Sunday dinner shopping done (which took forever times three).
By the time I got home, it was getting late, but I hopped in the car and headed on over to the library. I sat down, and didn't even mess around on the internet (like I usually do), I just got to writing.
I got into it really quickly, thank goodness, and got into it, writing it all the way to the end. And wow, I don't know that I've ever had such a fast turnaround on a story before--literally coming up with the idea yesterday, and finishing it today (now, in my opposite-of-defense, it's a really short story, and probably needs another bit of detail and a few more paragraphs bridging the two days' work)--and it reminds me: Big Anklevich did the exact same thing this week, starting a story on Wednesday and finishing it on Thursday. So, you see . . . we are brothers!
I should do a post/rant/podcast about how unfair it is that girls are so affectionate with each other, and guys aren't allowed to be (if you don't know what I mean, then you, sir, are a liar and a rogue). Sometimes, you need--aw, who am I kidding, I need--some kind of human connection, more than just a nod or a high-five, of the sort girls always seem willing to give to each other. But regardless, I never tire of discovering my friend and I have something in common and exclaiming (in a vaguely Eastern European accent), "You see? We are brothers!"
It's one of my favorite things, and I have a feeling the image above (I just created) will be back again and again.
But anyway, I almost forgot the point of this story. I typed "the end," then started texting Big to tell him my word count. And the lights above me started to flash. The library made their announcement, "The library will be closing in five minutes, please take all your check-outs to the kiosks now." So, I knew I had five minutes to get the word count, save the story, and email it to myself. At the top of the computer, a countdown began. I got the words (just over a thousand), I posted it into an email to myself, and--
And the computer logged me off. No final warning, but with three minutes left, it just turned off, right then and there.
No.
I had been, no joke, less than a second from hitting Send. I had created the email, put in my own address, and was clicking Send, when it all went away.
No (again).
I looked around. There were two or three other people at desks, working, and their computers were shutting down too. But this had never happened before--the countdown is there to tell you how much time you have left, so that you save your work before it reaches zero.
I got on my phone to text Big what had happened, so angry and disappointed in myself. If I hadn't done the word count thing, I would've had the email sent. If I hadn't texted him my word count, I would've had the email sent. If I had, I dunno, picked my nose or farted one time fewer, I would've had the email sent.
But then I checked gmail on my phone . . . and wouldn't you know, there was the email, just in Drafts instead of my Inbox. And I breathed a sigh of relief.
So, I survived . . . by a nose.
Oh, and yeah, I did cry today, seeing a TV spot for THE CALL OF THE WILD. It looks like it could be a good movie, despite having a jarringly-CG main character . . . but at the end of the commercial, my man Harrison Ford patted it on the head and said, "You're a good dog," and well, that's all I needed.
Girls who are friends and dogs with owners . . . they seem to get it.
Words Today: 1120
Words Total: 10,362
*Did I blog about this? I don't think I did, since it was before February, when I have to blog every day. But I drove my nephew up to the capital and let him pick half the songs we listened to on the way. My rule is, if it's a song I hate, I get to veto it, but if it's a song I don't know, I'll let him listen to it, and hey, maybe it'll turn out to be a song I like. It HAS happened, believe it or not.
So, we're driving around, and some Girl Power track with a Soul vibe starts up, and my nephew says, "Don't change it!" and I start listening with him. It turns out, it's a song called Good As Hell by Lizzo. It's a song I've never heard, by an artist I'd never heard of (before that day), but my nephew knew it, and about a third of the way into the song, he starts singing along, unabashedly, able to do the super-high parts because his voice hasn't broken yet. And instantly . . . I am loving this song.
Just walk your fine ass out the door!
And do your hair toss,
Check my nails;
Baby, how you feeling?
Feeling good as hell!
Baby, how you feeling?
Feeling good as hell!"
By the second time through the chorus, I too, and doing the "Feeling good as hell" part in a falsetto, which only encourages my nephew to sing louder. And he laughs just about every time we do it, because he knows we're getting away with something (after all, it's a song with such kid-friendly lyrics as Yes, Lord, tryin' to get some new shit, In there, swimwear, goin-to-the-pool shit), and that makes me laugh uproariously, all the while trying to pull off the soprano "Feelin' good as hell!"
And in that moment, I gotta say, I had never felt closer to the kid. It was this crazy moment of realization--one of those that I've written about, but seldom actually happen--where I understand, on a fundamental level, that this moment is Special (in my stories, it's usually an epiphany like, "Oh my god, I'm never going to see her again" or "And at that moment, I understood that one day, my Uncle Rish was going to die...that we all would, and soon").** And I posted on Facebook, that, I had little doubt that singing that song in the car with him would one day be my most cherished memory of the boy.
In fact, the next time I saw The Girl, I thought maybe I'd tell her about it, and see if it made her smile. Or like me. Or something. But I had forgotten the name of the song, or how it went (that honestly was the only time I'd heard it). I assumed there was only one Lizzo song, but when I asked her, she sang a bit about getting a DNA test (which I later listened to, thinking, "Well, if I liked one song by Lizzo, I'm sure to l--" Nope. It was utter shite), and that wasn't the one.
When I described it to her, she knew which one I was talking about, and I finished the story, and she said, "That was awesome!" which was very sweet, but I could tell she was only humoring the old, nerdy grandpa that stares at her with such pathetic longing, every time she happens to see him. And hey, I ain't picky: I'll still take an insincere "that was awesome," because, hey again, at least it was an interaction.
Anyhow, a few days later, I'm taking the boy home from his basketball practice (I always take him to the Monday and Wednesday ones, since his mom is working at the county jail those days), when the song comes on again. Kayden has an iPhone, so I told him, "Turn on the camera, and video us singing this song!" And he did. In my mind--and it's all part of this desperate and hopefully-not-pathetic (but probably very) attempt on my part to feel relevant and young--if I posted something like this online, people would see it and think I was cool. So we belted out the song again, and I think I had the whole chorus down, so it probably came out better than the first time we sang it.
But the second it was done, my nephew opens up the file to look at it, and because I'm driving, I don't get to see it--"Keep your eyes on the road, Matt"--and the boy discovers that, because he was the one holding the phone, the microphone picks up his voice way stronger than it does mine. And that upsets him . . . so he deletes the file.
Arrrrgh. I didn't even get to see the video, let alone share it with y'all. I guess he's already at that age where he doesn't want to take pictures of himself or see himself on vide . . .
Oh. My nephew is just like me.
I'm sorry.
**Jeez, I've never had a postscript have its own postscript before. But one time, a friend of mine was having a really hard time in her life, with pain and fear and loneliness and responsibilities all piling up, and she chose me to unburden on. And she started to cry--but not the restrained, keep-it-together kind of crying, but the unabashed, chest heaving, snot-from-the-nose crying that you don't let anybody see (which I'm sure I'll experience on my own any day now, and do not look forward to), but she was letting me see, and be a part of.
And I realized at that moment, "This may be the most intimate thing I've ever had a person share with me." It really was a special thing, though I'm probably not explaining it adequately. And maybe I shouldn't have. Sorry, if that was inappropriate.
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