You can know anything. It's all there. You just have to find it.

-Neil Gaiman


Tuesday, July 8, 2008


Due to the last post I wrote, I started thinking more about my summers as a kid and how we used to entertain ourselves. We didn't have Wii (Atari just came out) or cellphones or laptops or PLAYDATES (ugh, I hate that word)or any really organized activities of any kind. We basically ran wild and learned to entertain ourselves and made up our own games, and it kind of makes me feel sorry for kids today. Of course, we did watch our fair share of television, but we spent the majority of our time outside.

Besides playing Kick the Can, 500, Simon Says, Ghost in the Graveyard, Ding-dong Dash, and Smear the Queer (a disturbingly weird game which sounds British in origin) there were organized games like Badminton, Bocce Ball, and Jarts (which are now banned, for obvious reasons). Apparently small launch-able spears and alcohol do not mix well.

We also used to dance. And by dancing I mean this was the time period when Michael Jackson's Thriller came out and we were all amazed by how this guy could dance. Nobody had ever seen anything like it. Especially all the crotch grabbing and hip thrusting which I knew was freaky and wrong in some way but could not explain. It was just WEIRD and UNCOMFORTABLE to watch, especially with parents around.

Me and my brother were obsessed with learning how to do the Moonwalk. The only time we could come close to imitating it was if we were on the linoleum kitchen floor wearing socks. But we kept practicing. One summer day we were out in the backyard, trying to show my sister Kelly how to do it and she manage to Moonwalk barefoot right into a pile of fresh dog doo. And then she started to cry because when you're a kid and standing in mushy crap in your bare feet that's the only obvious response. She starts dragging her feet in the grass, trying to fling feces from her toes.

My brother says, "Now you're doing the poopwalk."

I'm going go home tonight and practice my moves....on the kitchen floor in socks, of course.

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