May 18, 2005

Friendly get-together strange trip

By
Herald Editor

      Three days from now, I'll be in a blinking neon Bates Motel room a few lamp shades above seedy. There among the fiendishly bad floral paintings and Gideons Bible will be my two partners in crime.
      Despite the Mickey Spillane setting, this is far from pulp fiction. The reality is three best friends in a strange place for a weekend of cheap beer and lowbrow laughs. No Maltese Falcon or femme fatale. However, we might kill a few quarters if the hotel arcade has Ms. Pac-Man.
      After two weeks of phone calls, Matt, Ryan and I mutually agreed to a specific calendar date - in other words our wives said OK. However, in true guydom fashion a few finite details remain, like should we aimlessly drive around a city of 20,000 people in hopes of crossing paths or meet at the IHOP?
      Truthfully, our real dilemma revolves around whether a trio of 35 year olds should buy "Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith" tickets from a 12-year-old in a Boba Fett mask. Given Matt's cheapskate nature, we'll probably rent "Spaceballs" instead.
      To paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emerson, a friend is a person with whom you may think aloud. How we survived childhood listening to one another, I'm not sure.
      All three of us grew up in a no-stop light town halfway between boredom and tedious. We started out in 1975 eating our share of Play-Doh together in nursery school. However, my overindulgence in red dye #7 meant a repeat year. My mom still insists my retention hinged on not being "emotionally ready" for the rigors of kindergarten cut-and-paste.
      As young boys, we shared an affinity for dirty fingernail sports and testing the laws of physics. Our Toughskin jeans should have come direct from the Sears Husky Boys clothing section with Keep on Truckin' patched knees. On any given summer day, we might jump Snake River Canyon on a Huffy or play overhand Lawn Jarts.
      However, it was thinking aloud that really got us into trouble.
      It would start with an innocent scientific hypothesis: Could a Berserker beat a Kensai in a fair fight? After an hour of bashing each other with cardboard swords and shields, our Dungeons and Dragons 12-sided die conundrum remained. Then someone thought aloud: "Hey Matt, you're dad is a shop teacher, I bet he has some wood." An astute observation from a future magna cum laude graduate.
      Unfortunately, we actually asked Matt's dad for said wood. His customary response to our hairbrained inquires was a matter-of-fact: "what the hell are you going to do with that?" Surprisingly, it was also his response to "where do you keep the acetylene torch?" and "do we have a 200 foot tow rope?"
      To this day, the Berserker vs. Kensai outcome remains an unanswered enigma.
      When it comes to higher education, we shared the salad days of junior high and the frozen pot pies of college. No doubt the specter of our high school football coach making us warm-up to Jane Fonda Workout before each game will raise its ugly head this weekend.
      Yep, good times ... good times.
      While we have stayed in touch since standing up in rented tuxes at our collective weddings, life happens. Careers. Kids. House mortgages. One day Ryan and I actually said 401-K investments during a phone conversation. It seems like yesterday we were writing dirty Mad Libs, and now we're analyzing mutual funds.
      In the end, it doesn't matter if our motel advertises free color TV or the greasy spoon has equally dingy knives and forks. All we need is cheap liquid refreshments, priceless memories and a place where friends can think aloud.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com