You were in a toy store in on the Third Street Promenade. I followed you in, drinking a latte.
You bought a Mister Potato Head and I told you I had a tub full of sour cream and would love to dip you in it.
You told me you admired men who like spuds and promised to return in 20 minutes.
I waited as long as I could, but after 4 hours, I had to go.
You looked too honest to tell me you'd be back when you wouldn't. So I'm pretty sure something must have happened and you then realized you didn't have my number.
I've restocked the tub with sour cream, so just reply to this post and let me know when you can come over!
All of Chuck's Children Are Out There Playing His Licks
She said she was tired.
It was understandable. Between the job that stretched into the evenings and the kid who wouldn't sleep through the night, she had a lot going on.
Even when she could sleep, she'd find herself tossing and turning, wondering where all her energy had gone.
So when she complained over Facebook that she needed something to rejuvenate her, her friends all weighed in -- with most people urging her to take a long tropical vacation.
That wasn't in the cards.
But then her girlfriends urged her to go out with them one night. Like they used to.
To a club, where a band that the hipsters fawn over would play. A band they claimed would be household names within a few months. And here's a chance to hear them in a small club with a few dozen other people.
So she got a babysitter.
And she dressed up in the clothes she used to wear 15 pounds and 5 years earlier.
And she met her (still-single) friends. They refused to take her "Mom-car" and piled into the trendy sports car owned by her trendiest, hippest girlfriend.
And they paid $15 to park.
And $11 each to get into the show. And $17 for drinks. (Until some guys showed up and bought them a couple rounds.)
The next day, she took to Facebook to report on what happened.
The music was a lot louder than she remembered. And she forgot to bring earplugs.
The drinks were a lot more watered-down than they used to be. And the band was sloppier (or maybe the bands were always sloppy but she hadn't noticed when the drinks were stronger).
And at the end of the night, she was happy. But even more tired than she used to be.
While it may be true that Rock & Roll Never Forgets, I wouldn't necessarily trust its memory either.
...save every day like a treasure and then, again...
"It used to be better," she said.
I nodded. "Much better."
"I mean, they had to change the packaging and I really liked the old package."
"And the flavor. It tastes different now."
"Not as good."
I nodded again.
We were silent for a long time. Sitting on the big rock that balanced at the edge of the waterfall near the state park that we'd agreed had to be the most beautiful state park in the entire world.
"A lot of things used to be better," she said. "Not just the food."
And I looked around and thought of the many things in our hometown that used to be better and had changed. And the many things in art and music and movies and literature that were so much worse than what had come before.
And I had to agree with her.
We smiled, confident and comfortable in the fact that we alone had a handle on what was right and what had gone wrong.
It was that brief moment when we knew literally everything there was to know. When we had discovered the absolute and total truth.
We were 14 years old.
Soon, we'd be smart enough to realize how much we didn't know. But that one cloudy afternoon, we knew it all.
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