Forty years together. Can it be true?Bill's Briefs, Bottom Highlights Thursday, April 25th, 2013
Social Chaos: Bill's Briefs
As with all seniors, a key word or topic will stimulate me to remember with perfect clarity past events of all emotional hues and importance; but then, when I add in the time frame, I’m amazed to realize they occurred 30, 40 even 50 years ago.
A shocking (to me) example occurs with the appearance of this article April 25 when I will be re-enacting in my head that day forty years ago in Tokyo when an incredibly handsome man asked me for a light (talk about originality!) and I was happy to oblige. His English was poor as was my Japanese, but somehow we clicked. His name was Yohei and we have been partners ever since.
Has it been one long honeymoon? Of course not. We have worked hard compromising or simply ignoring problems that weren’t worth ruining an evening or much less breaking up over – like my snoring or his obsessive attention to my salt intake.
What are we going to do to celebrate? Not much. He’s in Japan. As a dangerous, retired foreigner he cannot get a visa to live here, only visit. So we’ll have to settle for a long phone call. Previous to that, I’ll send a Rite-Aid card with an icky-poo poem which he will not understand; in return, he’ll spend hours making me a card from some exquisite hand-made paper on which he’ll write an impenetrable haiku with sentiments so lofty and in calligraphy so unreadably refined it will have meaning only to a Zen high priest.
In both cases, however, the point will be made. It’s been grand. Let’s go for another forty.
April’s March madness. Dodgers leave Brooklyn. Who knew?
I am constantly mocked for my lack of sports knowledge. I try, but it gets so complicated. For example, April 1 all forms of the media announced April was the start of the baseball season; then followed constant references to March madness. It got worse – that turned out to have nothing to do with Macy’s Spring Sale, but about basketball!
In the midst of the March madness, the Padres (our local team) had a baseball game to celebrate April. They were playing the Dodgers who seem to have moved from Brooklyn. No wonder I am confused.
To improve my manly image, I ventured forth to the stadium to attend the game. For several blocks before I arrived, I was accosted by a multitude of men and women of somewhat dubious respectability offering to sell me their tickets all of which were sworn to be of the highest quality and in fantastic seating sections. I did not succumb. I strongly suspected they were over-priced and far from the goal posts. I wasn’t born yesterday.
I fought my way through the crowd of happy, but not terribly well-mannered youths, to the long line in front of the ticket booth where eventually I asked for a ticket. The outrageous price demanded shocked me and so I attempted to discuss and compare the various other seating choices. After a very few minutes; however, the people behind me grew increasingly restive; unkind remarks were made and finally a huge brute actually shoved me aside.
I was about to protest, but the look in her eye told me not to bother.
Having tried my best, I went to a movie. I heard we won, so that was nice. Go Padres!
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