spontaneity

Sitting around the house, decorating for Christmas, the David Lee Roth video for “Goin' Crazy” pops into my head.

“Ahhh…breath mint.”

This is the world I live in. I inhabit.

Not always such a horrible place, I guess. Insanity would pale in comparison sometimes. At others it would be an improvement. But most of the times it would just be another excuse for not trying. And that just can’t happen any more.

Being spontaneous. It can’t be forced. Hence spontaneity.

So I jumped up in my shorts and soccer socks and dashed outside. The old crowd is gathering at the bar across the street. The shag bar. Is there such a thing as a Shag Christmas, I start to wonder as I stand out in the frigid air. The wind is blowing in from the ocean, making it feel 10 degrees cooler than it actually is. A couple is making out by their car. They stop to stare at me -- the guy in shorts and soccer socks. I feel the top of my head, I have a ski cap on. The one I bought at Mardi Gras last year. Saints. It’s much warmer than the other ones I have. And bigger. Might be the fact I haven’t washed and dried it yet. I take it off my head, give it a whiff. It has a slight odor of stale beer. That makes me think of standing on a ladder during a parade. Holding up a couple of kids. Drew Brees glides toward us in his float. It stops in front of us. He tosses 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 footballs directly at us. My cousin-in-law drops all of them. After six or seven minutes, the floats moves on again. That’s a pretty good memory.

I try to think of other memories. Just random snapshots. It should help keep my warm. There was the time I went to the Grand Canyon with Rebecca. We got in my Firebird and just drove. No reservations. It was summer. We talked nervously. I had bought a box of condoms for the trip. Actually the first time I’d bought them in my life. Ha. In the drug store I bought a magazine and a box of Slim Jims with it. Can’t ever just go in and buy condoms. At least the first time. Dork. We went to the Grand Canyon. She took photos. I didn’t. I wish I had now. Even though I’ve been back there many times over. The first time with Josh, way back when. We get one of those cheesy, haven’t been renovated since the 1960s hotel rooms that Flagstaff is so full of. It was over 100 bucks, I remember that. We went and bought beer and wine coolers. I don’t think we drank any of them. We nervously talked some more. Then turned on the TV. And fell asleep.

Seeing Barton Fink with Sharon. Ha. It was a date. Go to the library, check out a laserdisc. I suggested it. She looked interested at first, then bored. Later on, I took her to see The Hudsucker Proxy. She said it was awful. Ha. I loved it. “You know…For kids!” Not everything about her was so perfect.

Wandering about on campus. Happy and carefree. I don’t even know why. But we stopped and took a photo in front of the music hall or whatever it was on campus where the music classes were. It’s one of only two or three photos I know of that exist of me and my real first girlfriend. We’re smiling and happy. I dig that photo.

Walking around the Goodwill in Petersburg, Virginia, I was bored. It was summer, I remember that much. As I browsed the shelves, I stumbled upon some Christmas stuff. “Odd,” I thought. But there it was. “Santy”, the old plastic Santa Claus that we had growing up. Well, it’s still there. And my mom still busts it out, most of the time, at least. I snapped it up. It cost 99 cents. Probably the best 99 cents I ever spent at a thrift store. Why? It still makes me smile, even during the worst times. And there have been quite a lot of “worst” times since I found it.

We were in a hotel room in New Jersey. Probably an hour or so outside of the city. She was jumping up and down on her bed. Yes, we had two. She was so cute. So awesome. I wondered if she meant it when she said she hated it when friends try to be more than friends. Finally, she tired out and plopped down on the bed. “Where are we going?” she asked. I smiled. In the office, I always dared her to be more spontaneous. That enjoying life required it. She scoffed at the idea. She liked things safe. Planned out. Orderly. I didn’t. Still don’t. Then, one day I said it, almost as a challenge. She accepted. Saying “I’ll do anything you want. Just one time. I’ll trust you.” I smiled and said, well, next week we’re both off on these days. Let’s take a road trip. “Where?” she said. “Not telling,” I replied. “No fair, I said I’d go,” she pouted. “But, you have to trust me,” I retorted. “OK.”

Now, I was kind of perplexed. I had a week to figure out something cool. And I figured it out really quickly as I scanned the agate page that night on deadline. Opening day. New York Mets. Al Leiter pitching. That night, after work, I went to eBay. I found some tickets. I bid and won. They were nose bleeders, but they were mine. Got them shipped next day Fed Express. They came. A few days later, we were in my Celica, going North.

“Ok,” I finally relented in the hotel room. “So you don’t think I’m just a weirdo, we’re going to see the Mets. Al’s pitching.” She freaked out. Jumping even faster than before. It was magical. It seemed right. We didn’t start dating for another four months. After trips to North Carolina, South Carolina, Atlantic City and Colorado. I wonder, too often for my own health, if she at least kept that piece of what I showed her. That spontaneity is a good thing. I need to go somewhere. Soon. I think Little Rock, Arkansas, is where. It’s driveable. Only need five days total. That’s two days off. Two sick days and a holiday.

Ha. Of course, then it’s not spontaneous anymore. Or is it?