Summer and All Such Good Things

WHOA!

*COUGH* *HACK* *WHEEZE*

Yikes. Sorry about that, folks. It's been a while, hasn't it? How are ya? Yeah? Kids doin' good? Great! I see you got a new car. Nice, it looks good. You look good, too, you been working out? Alright... well, look it was great seeing you... maybe we can get together sometime for coffee or something... you know, catch up on life and everything. What? Oh, I have to go now. Well I have this... thing. No, I can't talk about it, it's classified. Look, you have my number, right? Just hit me up later and maybe we can grab lunch. I know some great places. Yeah, take care.

1 WEEK LATER, AT THIS GREAT PLACE I KNOW...

You know, I was shocked to see that more people actually visited my blog in the months I wasn't posting than most of the months I was. Not entirely sure what that says about me, but I'm taking it as a compliment nonetheless. So, I suppose I should probably post at least once before shipping off to Los Angeles in a month. Oh, didn't I tell you? I got accepted into Columbia College's Semester in L.A. program for the fall. The past few months have been bogged down with apartment hunting, hand wringing, and worry-warting. Not to mention reliving all the high school drama of having a crush on a totally cute girl. More on that if it develops (betting odds are low... or would it be high? Just don't get your hopes up, okay?).

On a different note, I did have at least one little adventure this summer that I feel is worthy of regaling. Before I do, is it weird that whenever I hear the word "regaling", I immediately think of Hamlet's graveyard speech holding Yorick's skull? That, to me, is the essence of the word.

"Alas, poor THX-1138. I knew him, Horatio."

Before half of you come to my house to dunk my head in the toilet and flush, while yanking my underwear up to physically damaging heights, allow me to indulge in a bit of storytelling...

So, there we were. July was still in its infancy. The days were long and warm, as the sun beat down on the familiar Tennessee grass. These were the campgrounds we gathered to every other summer to celebrate life, love, and the ridiculousness that is family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, children, and grandchildren alike came to eat, to laugh, to play, and to completely weird each other out. There is nothing quite as predictably unpredictable as a family reunion, which is probably the only reason they happen so often to so many people. However, at the same time, there is nothing quite as warmly familiar, either, as watching an eclectic group of bizarrely-estranged relatives grow up and grow old together, year after year, and to be even a small part of that growth. And somewhere between the hours of Frisbee, the near endless time spent baking in the sun while trapped on a Kayak in the middle of a lake, and the screams of girl cousins being tormented by gross boy cousins, I was having an adventure.

I know what you're thinking, and you're close.

One day, as the children laughed and played without care, and the parents worried loudly at their children's carelessness, I was tasked, along with my cousin, Wesley, to fetch more ribs for dinner. As the two of us were woefully trapped somewhere between the unabashed joy of childhood and the overwhelming burden of parenthood, in the abyss of "responsible young adult", we found ourselves tasked with many things. If a picnic table needed to be moved or an errand to be run or a child to be entertained, we were volunteered against our knowledge and our will. Compliant young men to the last, though, we did what was asked of us.

To aid us in our journey to the local Wal-Mart, one of our aunts lent us her GPS, which until then, I was under the impression stood for Global Positioning System. Apparently, that is simply an approximation, much like a cell phone service that provides "nation-wide coverage." The tiny device, upon which our entire livelihood depended, managed to guide us safely to the Wal-Mart without too much confusion. Wesley and I found the ribs, paid for them, and quickly made our way back to the van, proud of our efficient "man-shopping." As we made our way back to the cabins, we discovered that our GPS had a penchant for scenic routes and trying new things. It took us past the road we normally turn down, and by the time I realized what had happened, it was too late to make the turn. Wesley assured me, though, that the GPS, whom I shall henceforth refer to as Bub, wanted us to take this roundabout journey.

Bub told us to turn down US Rte. 127, and we happily obliged. Being that we were now completely out of our element, we hung on Bub's every word. He controlled our fate, and we trusted him without question. What choice did we have? His job, his entire existence even, revolved around navigating the labyrinth of unpaved gravel that comprises the backwoods of Tennessee. Our job was just to get more ribs. Somewhere along US Rte. 127, the road forks into 127 North and 127 South. This, like so many other streets in the area, was in no way labeled or clearly defined. Thus, as we tooled down the road in search of our next turn, Bub suddenly interrupted with "Please take US 127 South." I was at a loss.

"We're on US 127, aren't we?"

Wes nodded, "I think it wants us to make a U-turn, though." So I turned the car around, and Bub assured me that the next turn would be 3.8 miles down the road. Alright, I thought, we're back on track.

Just then, not even a mile down the road, Bub chimed in, "Please take US 127 South." My forehead wrinkled at the command.

"Okay, what the crap? What does the map show?" Wes squinted at the tiny screen. There was a stuttered pause, as he fished for the words.

"There's a yellow line, a blue line, and a purple line. I have no idea which one it wants us to take."

"Please take US 127 South," Bub reconfirmed.

"WE'RE ON FREAKING US 127, YOU STUPID, SOULLESS MACHINE!"

".........................."

"Recalculating."

Finally, after several trips up and down US 127 (like our own personal NASCAR race, which I think we still lost), we were able to decipher what should have been from the beginning "please turn right." From there, Bub took us down all sorts of exotic country roads, one of which even came equipped with its very own elderly couple, putzing about in a golf cart and stealthily positioned just over a hill, so you couldn't see them until the very last possible second. Eventually, Bub guided us to the veritable swamp-country of Tennessee. Nothing but endless forest surrounding an incomprehensible maze of unlabeled, unpaved backroads.


And then Bub died.


Perhaps 'died' is too strong a word. He grew tired of searching for his satellite connection through all the thick foliage, or maybe he was just a little scared by the bucktoothed natives, who took to rocking a shotgun to sleep in the back of their pickup truck parked in the front lawn. In any case, Bub abandoned us. In the hour of our deepest need, he left us for dead. We had no idea where we were other than "Tennessee....... probably." We resorted to sheer guesswork, as that was all we had at our disposal.

"Left or right, whaddya think?"

"I dunno....... left looks good."

"Beautiful. Left it is!"

"Alright... this road looks like it could be a good one."

"Sure. Whatever this road is."

"Watch out for that dog."

"I think that's a child with a mullet, crawling on all fours."

"Should we rescue it?"

"I don't really want rabies, so... maybe we should just keep driving....... Okay, left or right?"

"Let's try right this time." This would take us in circles or deeper into the redneck abyss, and occasionally Bub would sputter to life for a few seconds, refreshing the map enough for us to inch our way closer to possible freedom. After extending a 20 minute round-trip into a good 50 minute excursion, Wes and I were grateful to finally recognize our surroundings and managed to work our way back to the cabins unassisted. Bub skittishly came back out once he saw we were safe, and we were all too keen on expressing our disappointment. It seemed to us that the one thing a GPS should not do - the cardinal sin of any such tool - is to lead its owners into the unnavigable marshlands of a given territory and leave them at the mercy of an unforgiving Nature and the unsavory locals who have inexplicably survived there.

On the plus side, though, the ribs had already defrosted by the time we got back. It was an adventure not soon to be forgotten.

And, on that note, I promise I'll try to get back to updating more often. I'm sure the move out to L.A. will foster many humorous and fantastical stories which I will undoubtedly regale to you, my oddly faithful readers. And I hope that all of your summers have yielded nothing but joy and adventure and growth and insight which will bless you for all the years to come. So until next time...