books

Saturday Night Special

Brendon and George put their house up for sale early this winter. They live in our neighborhood, and although we are not particularly close with them, or any of our other neighbors, we were tasked with hosting their going away party once their house sold after months of sitting on the market. Shirley volunteered for the job and informed me while we were in Puerto Rico on spring break while I had my guard down. I didn’t put up a fight, even though I should have, and the party was on.

Brendon and George were married sometime ago and live adjacent to a lesbian couple. Brendon use to water his flowers in the nude. This was problematic for a number of reasons and led to a confrontation between him and one of our elderly neighbors named Jack who ended up calling Brendon a cock sucker. I’m still trying to figure out why this upset Brendon and George so much. Regardless, Jack was not on the invite list and the attendees were comprised of the lesbian couple, Carrie, who broke up with her long time boyfriend Bill and was forced to move out of our neighborhood as a result, along with Maggie and her daughter. To say I was dreading the party was an understatement, small talk, sign me up for that! People I don’t know at my house, sign me up for that! Max was excited, but mainly because he loves Maggie, who to her credit is attractive. How do I know our dog Max likes Maggie, because the red rocket comes out when Maggie is around, Max has a hump pillow and it doesn’t come out when he’s humping his pillow, but it does when Maggie appears.

To start the night I grabbed a high octane beer and then volunteered to bring Parker to his friend’s house so I could minimize my time at the party. After dropping Parker off I stopped at a party store and grabbed a tall boy of Jack Daniel’s punch and drove around for a while so I could consume it prior to returning to the party. Aiden was still at home, a casualty of not being as popular as Parker. He primarily stayed in his room to masturbate, but did come down for some food. When Aiden isn’t jerking off or staring at his phone, he has been working out at the Y in Caledonia. Even though he eats ice cream every night, tons of candy, and lots of chips, he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him and is getting pretty toned. When he came down he attracted Brednon’s attention. Brendon began flirting with him which was quite off putting. (Shirley noticed it as well, it wasn’t my imagination) Brendon has a number of boyfriends and his older by 15 years husband George acknowledged at the party that he has to accept Brendon bringing another man into their relationship. As I was grabbing some food I heard George discussing the Jack incident with someone but had not had enough to drink at that point to come to Jack’s defense. Based on what George had revealed and the way that Brendon was eyeballing my son, I think some of Jack’s distrust in Brendon and George was warranted.

Jen and Peg are the lesbians who live adjacent to George and Brendon (I’m not making this up) or should I say use to live next to them. George and Brendon sold their house to a poly family, I had no idea what that meant, but now I do. It’s even more fucked up than being married to a dude and bringing another dude into the relationship. The reason I think it took Brendon and George so long to sell their house is that they were looking for a buyer that would really tell the neighborhood “FUCK YOU” and they found one. While I overheard a lot of stuff at the party, the fact that Jen and Pegg didn’t talk to Brendon and George for the first four years they lived next door was probably the most remarkable. I wanted to ask them, “how were you able to do that? That’s what I want to do, never talk to anyone I live near”. I have a general look of fuck off most of the time, but the fact that my wife thinks she is Miss Congeniality counters all the work I put in at being an asshole. But when you have two people who are together and they both give the fuck off vibe, it is how you don’t talk to your neighbors for 4 years. (wearing a lot of flannel and denim also must help). I’m still not sure which one is Jen and which is Peg, but one of them is so meticulous that they bought a separate mower to mow the property line because Brendon and George don’t give a shit about their lawn and don’t have it treated for weeds. They feared that if they used their zero turn on the property line it would infect their lawn. (Not sure if they did anything to prevent the spread of AIDS across the property line)

As the party was going on I put my drinking into high gear. This happens less frequently now that I am old, but I was on a mission. Brendon and George invited a couple to the party that we had never met and so I steered clear of them and talked to Jen/Peg quite a bit. I also talked to Carrie a decent amount but stayed away from Maggie for the most part so my red rocket wouldn’t come out. Eventually Brendon and George left along with the couple they had invited and Maggie had called it a night long before that, deeply saddening Max. I was in full black out mode at this point of the night and remember just bits and pieces, one of the things I remember was going upstairs. Veteran move by Shirley to stay downstairs and hope I would pass out. Unfortunately, I didn’t and according to her, I came down and demanded that she come upstairs so we could have sex. In my compromised state I was expecting that she would comply with such a reasonable request and make our guests leave, what wife wouldn’t want to have sex with their over served husband? I think there is something in the old testament about wives having to do that no matter how many guests you have to kick out of your house. The next day I felt what I always feel when Steve appears, anxiety and regret. Steve is my alter ego, when I begin dancing, get ready for Steve. The crazy thing about Steve is he is a fun loving guy who likes everyone. However, once Steve crosses a certain line everyone roots for Steve to go unconscious, which frequently happens. Should there be an apology to Carrie, Peg, and Jen? Probably, but Dutch people, especially this Dutch person, like to bury things deep, real deep, and not discuss them. By apologizing I would be acknowledging that there was something wrong. The good news is that Peg and Jen seemed to be fine with no apology, because since that Saturday they act like it’s business as usual, a cursory wave and that’s about it. I love my neighborhood.

Time Squared

Shirley has been going to New York on trips for a few years now and it all started back when her cousin moved to Brooklyn. Her cousin served as a tour guide for the trips that involved Shirley’s sisters and cousins and Shirley did a good job of romanticizing NYC even though I knew going there to sight see would likely inflict significant PTSD. Well, I finally bit the bullet and planned a trip for the Jansma’s for the weekend after Shirley and Aiden’s birthday (11.13.10 for Aiden and 11.13.?? for Shirley). We flew out of GR and as I was getting ready to board the plane I asked myself are there husbands who ask their wives if they can buy WIFI when they are on a flight together? The idea of asking my wife if I can buy wifi seems almost as ridiculous as asking if I can buy another pair of Airforce Ones (I have four pair currently, my latest edition are white with a pink swoosh, I love them). However, I am sure there are men who do ask, and those men are the same men who have to sit down when they pee.

We flew out of GR at 6pm on Friday night and landed in Laguardia a little after 8. We had roughly five or six miles to get from Queens to where we were staying in Manhattan and it took an hour and a half to get there. The cab driver suggested that any backpacks be placed in the trunk so that they didn’t block the vents but Aiden decided to keep his with him for the express purpose of blocking the vents. It was like the center of the sun in the back of the cab but Shirley and the cab driver were completely comfortable. The hotel we stayed at was quite close to Time’s Square and after checking in we embarked on a trip to go people watching and catch a late dinner. As we neared Times Square I was overwhelmed with the amazing food options, Red Lobster, Olive Garden, and TGI Fridays just to mention a few. However, we wanted to get authentic cuisine and settled on a pizza place to get some of that New York pizza everyone speaks so fondly of. Unfortunately, we made it back to the room in time to stream the Tyson/Paul fight.

Our Saturday itinerary was to begin with a trip to the 911 memorial and then we would play it by ear. We walked around the area and then decided we should hit the observatory at the top of one World Trade Center. It was a sunny day with completely clear visibility and the views were breathtaking. I could have stayed up there for a bit longer but Parker was getting bored so we headed down and decided since we were close to where the ferry was to go to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, we should probably knock that out while we were over there. In order to get to the ferry you have to endure some hard core soliciting from a number of unsavory individuals. New York hats, sweatshirts, and “fresh” fruit were the primary wares these folks were trying to peddle. Fortunately, I give off a fairly obvious “fuck you” aura so most people leave me alone. However, I frequently wear Lions, Pistons, Tigers or U of M apparel and this makes people think they have some type of in with me and that if they mention the particular team I happen to be wearing I will buy something from them. This couldn’t be further from the case. While I will gladly talk to a perfect stranger about Cade Cunningham’s turnover issues or Jared Goff’s lack of mobility that can be compensated for by his pinpoint accuracy and one of the best offensive l lines ever assembled, anyone who doesn’t genuinely care about my take on any of the sports teams I root for, can fuck off.

Aiden really wanted to get off and tour the area where the Statue of Liberty is but we convinced him otherwise due to the fact that it would have involved disembarking from the ferry and then getting back in line and boarding another ferry to go to Ellis Island where we would have to do it all over again. Ellis Island was amazing and would have been even more amazing if my kids weren’t with me. I have to admit, I got kind of emotional seeing what the immigrants who came to our country went through to get here, what they endured when they got here, and how great of an opportunity it was to be allowed to immigrate here. I was maybe 20% through the first area when my family began calling to inquire about my where a-bouts and tell me to get moving. Eventually I gave into their demands and reluctantly left the wing of the museum to go meet up with them. We had walked miles and miles and decided to return to the hotel for some rest before we met up with Shirley’s cousin at a park near our hotel where they had a Christmas Bizarre going on. The 60 degree temperatures didn’t seem very Christmasy and the throngs of people being herded into the park made the holiday spirit even more difficult to generate. Dinner was at an Italian restaurant that was underwhelming but we managed to locate an incredible gelato place near Madison Square Garden that more than made up for our lackluster dinner. Now the first thing I noticed, and I admit this isn’t normal, was that it would be nearly impossible to run around our hotel. In addition, I try to get some form of exercise in almost every day, walking 12 miles wasn’t exercise in my book but I was too tired when I got back to the hotel on Saturday to go for a run. So, Sunday morning I got up early and made my way over to the East River for a run. It was pretty awesome to run with the Manhattan skyline in view along with the river and various other landmarks. It was relief to get my run out of the way and when I got back to the hotel we decided to head to Central Park. Again, the weather was sunny and in the 60’s, pretty remarkable for mid November. Central Park was incredible.

After Central Park we were toying with either going to the MET or hitting Fifth Avenue where all the famous shopping is located. Shirley wanted to go the MET but since it was also Aiden’s birthday weekend he won out and we hit Fifth Avenue. I had to pee real bad and regretted not hitting the Central Park lavatory on my way out. There was a port a potty near a construction site but it had a lock on it. Locking a port a potty? So, I ended up buying a drink at Chipotle so I could get their bathroom code. As I was about to enter the bathroom some homeless guy was going to enter it, with an entirely different code none the less, but he let me go first. However, there was someone in there when the homeless guy opened the door to let me in. It was some rough looking older women who was spraying something into her mouth but it probably wasn’t breath freshener. I returned back to the Mediterranean lunch place thinking that the Chicken Shawarma bowl that I told Shirley to get me would be waiting. Turns out she ordered me the wrong thing. I lost my shit to a degree but kind of hid it. In my defense, this was way more time than I was use to spending with my family. That Saturday felt like three Saturdays, I remember thinking to myself at 11 am Saturday morning that it felt like 4pm. Not that I don’t like my family, but I am use to doing stuff I like on the weekends that typically doesn’t involve spending time with them. (they don’t really like me either so I don’t feel all that bad about it).

After we had hit our late lunch we went a little further down fifth avenue and ended up touring St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Again, my kids were an encumbrance to truly enjoying the experience. They had a bunch of Saints all over the place and a little bio on them. However, my kids didn’t have the patience for me to read all the bios. I had heard Saint Carl was the Saint of dad’s who are extremely annoyed by their families, and I was hoping to find him. After our Fifth Avenue tour we made our way to a subway stop that would take us back to the hotel so we could recharge before going out for dinner and a broadway show. Initially I had suggested we go to the Knicks Nets game a MSG that Sunday night, but Shirley thought Book of Mormon was a better option. Shirley had gone out to hit the Christmas bizarre again while the kids and I went to Nordstrom Rack by our hotel in hopes of finding some deals on cologne. My kids have somehow gotten into designer fragrances. However, even if we had found the JPG gold fragrance

at a reasonable price, the line was way too long to purchase it. When we caught up to Shirley I told her I needed to pee (poor planning on my part knowing what I knew about the availability of public toilets in NYC) and I looked in the beer garden she was at for some sign of a toilet, but it was like being in the dessert and trying to find water. She said there was some taco place near there and maybe it had a bathroom and then she proceeded to walk around aimlessly while my bladder almost exploded. Eventually I lost my shit and expressed what I believed to be much warranted frustration. Ultimately, I had to buy a bottle of water at a convenience store so I could get their bathroom code to take a wiz. This time there was a person in the bathroom and they had the door locked. Eventually I pounded on the door and the response was “I’m in here” to which I responded “hurry up” the person came out saying “unfucking believable dude!” Not sure why people like to loiter in public bathrooms in NYC, but I’m of the opinion that one should get in and get out. Finding the taco place I immediately nixed it due to the fact that it resembled the chaos that is the Costco cafeteria on a Saturday afternoon but without the organizational structure the best warehouse club on the planet has to offer. We ended up at a sushi place where I was able to watch most of the second half of the Bills/Chiefs game.

The play we had settled on was The Book of Mormon. For some reason we thought our kids would enjoy a broadway musical since it was by the creators of South Park, we were wrong. We ended up leaving at intermission, which wasn’t terrible since Shirley and I had both seen it before. Regardless, I am sure there were some patrons wondering who in their right mind would bring a 14 and 11 year old to this. The answer would be Shirley and I. I don’t even want to get into the movies they have already watched and who knows what kind of shit they are seeing on the internet. If I had the unfettered access they have I would have never left my room, that’s why I am so proud of them for the ten minutes a day they do.

This morning we had to catch a 5:30 Uber to make sure we made it onto our 8am flight. The ride over to the airport was uneventful and the flight was more of the same. When we touched down a little after 10 I nonchalantly asked Shirley if she could bring the kids to school, not letting on to the fact that I wanted to get to MVP for the brunch basketball run followed by a little bit of tennis. It was good to be home.

Psych!

This past winter when we went to Chicago we played a game on our phones called Psych. There are different categories that you can play, but one is picture this, where you caption a photo that they show you. The object of the game is to come up with the most clever/funny caption so that everyone picks yours. Unfortunately, a number of the photos are of black people that open up the caption to highly offensive racist comments. On top of that, my kids go out of their way to be as shocking as they possibly can when we play this game. They don’t care about clever or funny, they care about being highly objectionable. (not sure where they get that from, I make sure my highly objectionable material is also funny and clever) In addition, if the photos don’t allow them to be racist they will throw in at least some homophobia. That being said, whenever my kids make the inappropriate caption, guess who gets the blame from Shirley? Not my kids, for some reason it is my fault our kids are racist homophobes, not the fact that we live in one of the whitest and Trumpiest school districts in the entire state. I am pretty sure that there is not a racist gene, nor is there a homophobic trait that can be genetically passed along. So I must say a lot of racist shit at home and make terrible comments about fags, right? I don’t, I have probably made three racist comments in front of my kids in the time I have known them, and they were really funny so it was ok.

This is obviously a teaching moment for Shirley, I’m not stepping up and condoning their behavior, but I am also not laughing at their captions, but mainly because they aren’t funny, not because they are inappropriate. The reality is that most stereotypes are rooted in truth and when factually accurate aren’t really racist. A number of years back I was at the MVP pool and there was a black kid getting ready to jump in at the deep end of the Crahen pool which is ten feet deep. I thought to myself “the lifeguards had better be on alert” sure enough, he sunk like a stone and one of the lifeguards had to drag him out of the pool. I based my knowledge of black people’s swimming ability to predict what was likely to happen. It is similar to coming up on an accident scene and seeing one driver who is a white male, and another driver who is an Asian women, no need for the investigating officer to even ask questions, give the Asian women the ticket for causing the accident. Not sure if I have mentioned this, but I listen to NBA radio on XM. I love the diversity, way more diverse than the NASCAR station (they actually have a NASCAR station). Somehow black people’s ability to swim was brought up due to a sideline interview of a player that referenced the beach. The black audience weighed in and agreed they typically don’t like the water and therefore aren’t great swimmers. (wonder if the Nascar station had a similar segment about Asian women’s driving ability?) It was conceded by the black audience that it wasn’t racist to assume a black person can’t swim. Similarly, it’s safe to say white men can’t dance. It’s not racist, it’s been proven through empirical data that white men can’t dance, obviously there are exceptions to every rule, some white guys can get really drunk and think they are good dancers even though they aren’t, but only Justin Timberlake and John Travolta break the rule.

Speaking of our trip to Chicago that allowed my kids to really express the bigotry burning inside of them, this weekend we are set for a return trip to the Windy City. Initially, Shirley indicated that she just wanted to go with the kids. I responded that that would be fine with me. However, I recalculated things in my head and decided that I should at least feign some disappointment in the fact that they wanted to exclude me. So, I circled back and acted like I was hurt by the fact that I was being left behind. Ultimately, it backfired and I was invited on the trip. Spending the weekend with Max and Murphy doing whatever I want, while not that much different from my typical weekend minus the guilt, would have been truly glorious. There is just something about having the house entirely to yourself and not having to worry about someone trying to make you feel guilty about your decisions. At least I will be there to regulate spending and say no, it’s a word the kids and Shirley never hear when it’s just the three of them.