11 years, Skipping Town, Good-bye Spider-Man?
I have promised Jamie I will go to bed in 15 minutes. I suspect that even when I told her this, I knew it to be a lie.
We are headed out for Houston tomorrow. A quick trip. We're off to see Richard W. of our merry, hazy days of higher education join in holy matrimony with a girl I've met twice. Once, while I was eating squash.
We are at that age now, when even the Richard W.s of the world are making honest women of their long-suffering girlfriends, the Peabo's have stumbled into fatherhood and some of us realize that Sunday marks the 11th year of togetherness with our significant other. 11 years. Can you dig it? The only other folks who I can think of topping this in my age bracket are: Jen & Reedo and Shannon & Josh.
11 years means:
a) I have no advice to give anybody in the dating pool. Especially when one considers my dating record prior to Jamie. So, you know, don't bring me your dating stories of woe. I will give you the jaded/clear-eyed instructions of a long-burdened grouch who thinks you're over-thinking things.
b) I have had a reliable source for knowledge as to the location of my keys for more than a decade
c) likewise, my shoes
d) having someone on hand who can now account for more than 1/3rd of my life.
e) being stunned that we still don't seem to run out of topics of conversation
f) having to admit that maybe the dog is not your best friend and that maybe the lady you wake up with is probably your best pal (which does nothing to diminish your love, respect and admiration for the dog)
g) not worrying when your significant other takes "your" car
One of the curious items about returning to Austin is the reconnection with folks and realizing how long you have known them.
JAL stopped by the Sunday cookout, and I introduced him as "a guy I played soccer with in 4th grade". Patricio stopped by, and I explained "I met Pat in the dorms in '93. 13 years ago."
Other Leaguers include Nathan, who I met longer ago than '93. I believe '91 (I need to schedule the Nathans up to Austin for a visit...). Reedo I met as far back as '86 or '87. Mangum, I'd hazard to say I met in '95, but whom I got to know in '96 when he criticized not my choice of bands, but the fact that I wasn't listening to HIS favorite Talking heads album when he stopped by. The criticism goes on to this day.
Today Jamie I had lunch with a former co-worker we have in common, Les B. Les B. worked with me at UT, and, later, with Jamie at Human Code. I have known Les since '97. That's 9 years. Les is doing well, cut off a goodly chunk of his hair, runs a recording studio behind TFB on SoCo, and is still very much Les.
The League is getting old.
We are getting old, all of us. Time to start picking those items on your list you really DO want to do before merging with the infinite.
Mine involves having my own game show. Preferably inheriting "The Price is Right" when Barker retires.
Today I was unpacking previously untouched crates full of my "collectibles" and had a brief moment of clarity. I appear to have collected a lot of Spider-Man action figures at some point. I do not remember intentionally collecting Spider-Man toys. I like Spider-Man. He's neat. But I don't necessarily want a room full of Spider-Man toys. I think.
What I do not want is: to keep boxes of stuff in this house which I never look at. I do not want to sit, Gollum-like on the boxes, feeling that I MUST keep the toys. What does one do when one hits the end of the road with a portion of his/her collection? When one says "Gee, my tastes in this stuff have somehow become even more compulsively nichey, and somehow, I think I can live without the Green Goblins all over the place"? Especially knowing that those Green Goblins cost money... But having to admit that maybe that one IS really cool...
The correct answer is: Sell it on eBay, I think. There's a "Will Sell Your Stuff on eBay" shop not to far from my house. I think it will be devoid of foxy Catherine Keener-like shopkeeps, but I am considering bringing the a portion of the collection down there before I get a job. Jamie likes it when I sell my stuff and I have money. But then she wants to spend the money on luxury items like food and electricity.
Is it truly growing up to be able to say goodbye to your Electro action figure? One could make a case.
But that one probably also didn't just hand Superman wallpaper border in their office.
I'm not sure what to call it. Let's call it "Ned".
I am now late for bed.