Mabel and Harriet were out of town for the weekend so Mitt and Keef took advantage by visiting their favorite Oriental restaurant. It was pure torture for their cholesterol but it was their only weakness. “The ladies had better not find out,” Mitt sighed. “Ooh hubba hubba, the elixir of happy happy joy joy!” Keef exclaimed, ogling the mustards and sauces. They knew they were headed for trouble but couldn’t resist. Hey you may be too good for the fork people,” the owner told them, “but at least they know when to stop pushing their luck.”
Mitt and Keef are the oldest and very best of friends. They’ve known each other since they were little kids in Lindenhurst, even before they were old enough to be in school. Over the course of their virtually lifelong friendship, they’ve had all sorts of adventures together, both good and bad. They’re now middle aged husbands, and fathers of teenagers. One Friday night their wives, Mabel and Harriet, nagged them into going to bed extra early so they could get up before sunrise the next morning to weed their gardens. Bright and early on Saturday they went outside to get started on their assigned chore. A couple of hours had passed quietly without any notable incident in Keef’s yard. Eventually they got to Mitt’s yard. After about fifteen minutes Keef stumbled upon quite a find. It was an obviously old key, made in some obscure anachronistic style. Eventually they went inside Mitt’s house and casually mentioned it to their dumbfounded wives. Mabel’s jaw dropped in amazement. Little did they know how truly distinctive a find this was. She was quite knowledgeable about antiques, having grown up with them. The key he found while weeding in the garden was clearly an antique. They all knew quite well that neither couple could possibly afford such an obscenely expensive luxury. They assumed that someone must have somehow dropped it there. Perhaps a visiting friend or neighbor was the victim of some mistake. After quite a lot of entirely harmless daydreaming, the dumbfounded foursome came to a decision. They understood quite well that they couldn’t keep it. They asked friends about it and were quite careful to put ads into the South Bay and Penny Saver, the local newspapers, trying to find its lawful owner. Of course they all whined incessantly, ruing the ultimate moment of truth when they would have to part permanently with this mysteriously enchanting artifact . It seemed somehow to have possessed quite an overwhelming charm for them. If nothing else it was a major change of pace for the quartet, considering how uneventful their circumstances usually were. Every time a phone rang, they cringed, knowing that it was only a matter of time before their distinctive adventure would inevitably have to pass. Eventually the key’s rightful owner showed up. He was a friend who had absent mindedly dropped it at a recent party one night a few weeks before. At least now that the suspense was all over, they could all calm down and relax. For a short time they lived vicariously in a world of adventure and luxury. Once it all ended, though, it would be time for yet another succession of dull ordinary mundane chores.
I can most certainly understand that there have always been excessively talkative people. Over the years I have been subjected to so many of them. If I should ever happen to be required to sit right next to someone like that I should hope to keep it as brief as possible. I have often been subjected to someone who starts talking and can’t be stopped. Whenever that happens I make every legitimately possible effort to humor him and to get it over with, by way of as little trouble as possible. Everyone who knows me even only somewhat knows about my notorious problems with impatience. I’ve never been able to stand excessive volume or anyone who’s too talkative. There are many people who get a kick out of having a chatterbox available, and who would even consider it an exceptional opportunity to cultivate a new friendship. All I see, though, is yet another problem with my being unavoidably backed into an unwelcome corner. Most talkative people, as far as I know, seem to mean quite well. There are also the genuinely deliberately pushy, nasty, boorish clods. The former are only annoying but it’s not unusually hard to figure something out about how to deal with that kind of trouble. The latter, of course, are exceptionally difficult to handle. My temper under those circumstances gets really nasty. Yet another major problem with someone who rambles on incessantly is that he often chooses a topic of conversation about which I know little or nothing. I have been subjected to several exceptionally annoying soliloquies about subjects from sports to politics. I don’t know the first thing about either of them, or any of several other things either, so it’s pointless even to try to get me actively engaged in a conversation of that nature. I also don’t want to hear about some stranger’s family or friends, neighbors, connections at work, or his past. It’s a truly uncomfortable experience. Although I invariably desperately want to get away from someone like that, I’m virutally always forced to concede defeat, at least temporarily.
Each and every single day lately I have been forcibly confronted with all sorts of unbearably nauseating repugnant sights. People on the internet are constantly showing pictures of people with all sorts of exceptionally bad physical deformities. They show missing skin, limbs, breasts, and all sorts of other drastic handicaps. It’s gotten to the point where by now is entirely out of control. I happen to think it’s quite an exceptionally good idea, up to a certain point, to show bad things in all their deformity, if it forces people to think and to do the right thing. I was around fifteen years old when the Viet Nam War ended. No one ever hid the scary pictures, posters or newsreels from us kids because people wanted to win support for the claim that we should get out of the war. I truly think we should do exactly the very same thing now to show people, whether they like it or not, the evils of things like homosexuality, abortion and euthanasia. I don’t happen to think we should allow people to be even the least bit ignorant about anything of this nature. Before anyone is so certain that he’s making the right decision about whether to condone things like that, he should know all the relevant facts first. I can understand, up to a certain point, why people who are trying legitimately to collect money in order to support research toward a cure for a disease or handicap would want to show everyone how bad it truly is. What I object to, though, is the fact that these images seem to be absolutely everywhere lately. It’s gotten to the point where it often appears to be more a case of voyeurism than of genuine concern for getting anything done.
The last time I went to the beach specifically in order to spend the day swimming was, believe it or not, on Groundhog Day. Mary Anne, Steve, Mark, some friends of theirs and I went there for a Polar Bear Club fund raiser. If we were ever to go there around this time of the year, on a bright sunny day, eating watermelon and having a leisurely enjoyable time, and suddenly from out of nowhere, hail were to start falling onto us, it most certainly wouldn’t be even the least bit difficult to find something else to do. Of course there’s a pretty good chance we wouldn’t stay on the beach so maybe we could go to someplace like either the Coffee Nut Cafe or Gentle Brew in order to get something really nice to eat or to drink. Those are both exceptionally good coffee shops on Park Avenue in Long Beach. We could even do what we did after our jaunt on Groundhog Day. We could very easily come back to the house and have a few drinks or coffee, or both, right here. It would be difficult to get there but at least we could stay indoors and have something enjoyable to do until the storm abated. Since the beach is only around a half mile walk from here it’s never the least bit difficult, although there would be quite a few other disgruntled people to have to deal with under such a harrowing set of circumstances. The only thing that would make it unbearably aggravating, would be that, since the beach is so close to here, we would most probably have walked there. That would mean that we’d have to walk away in such unbearably miserable weather. Even in a car, we’d be forced to drive so unbearably slowly in order to avoid any trouble. For people who have to travel an even reasonably significant distance to the beach, of course, things wouldn’t work out the least bit well. Of course that’s all assuming it’s only a moderate hailstorm. If it gets very bad, we’ll have to hide under the boardwalk.
Reginald and Rachel Weidermeyer were quite a most unusual couple. Their best friends, Harvey and Shirley Garrity, were the only people who could even so much as presume to try to understand them. The Weidermeyer’s were so eccentric that over time, they managed to become the talk of all of Lindenhurst, New York, their hometown. Their house on Lido Promenade East was quite a labyrinthine maze, with all sorts of large spacious rooms, quaint old fashioned furniture and decorations that seemed to have been at least a hundred years old, and an exceptionally high ceiling.
Reginald and Rachel Weidermeyer were quite a most unusual couple. Whenever anyone visited them he was invariably treated to the couple’s version of “Love’s Old Sweet Song(Just A Song At Twilight)”, with Rachel’s singing solo in her off-key soprano to Reginald’s accordion accompaniment. The Weidermeyers’ clothes were always quite out of style and they spoke in some obscure anachronistic slang which no one else seemed to be quite able to figure out. The Garrity’s were quite fond of them though. Harvey and Shirley always got a kick out of all their peculiar antics and quirks, and never neglected to rush to their defense whenever confronted with any complaints about them. Each Saturday the couples made quite a point of taking the two and a half mile walk to Fireman’s Park over on Wellwood Avenue where they sat around for a few hours at a time and enjoyed a nice relaxing morning and early afternoon.
Reginald and Rachel Weidermeyer were quite a most unusual couple. Even when they went out in public their clothes, speech and mannerisms were just as off kilter as when they were home. Their problem most certainly wasn’t that they did anything that could possibly be construed as even the least bit mean or dangerous. They were simply incapable of being inconspicuous. All their antics were part of some other world, a world in which only they, and their two good friends, could be expected to get the point of things. It was truly quite a happy, friendly and joyful relationship, all thought. Why, then, should they mind especially if no one else could handle their silly world? Reginald and Rachel Weidermeyer were quite a most unusual couple. At least it worked out to everyone’s advantage.
Guadalupe (Lupita) Martinez was a young, lovely resident of Lindenhurst, N.Y., and an employee of the Acme Corporation on Wellwood Avenue in the middle of her Long Island village. With all her beauty, elegance, grace, intelligence, sophistication and education though, she thought it quite difficult to find a decent man. One day, her two best friends, Jenny Randy and Sharon Ferdinand, sick and tired of her non stop whining about her supposed impending spinsterhood, presumed to take it upon themselves to fix her up with a real gentleman. After having asked several other friends for help, they managed to end up with Sharon’s cousin Reginald who, they’d hoped, would strike her as at least an interesting decent guy. As it turns out, though, Reginald was a bit of a character, to put it as politely as possible. Having just broken up with his girlfriend, Rachel, he was more than somewhat prone toward irrational tendencies. His emotions overtook him so that he soon fancied himself a long-lost member of ancient Irish royalty. Lupita, though, having known nothing of his weird ways, never suspected anything when she took her friends up on their offer. At 8:00 on Friday night, she showed up, as agreed, at Katie Daly’s on Merrick Road in Massapequa, politely awaiting the arrival of her suitor. She thought it was going to be a typical blind date until she noticed his bodyguards. It turns out that he had really started to go entirely overboard with his latest fantasy. There he stood, all prim and proper, before her, in what he assumed was traditional ancient Irish garb. The poor fellow spent the entire night regaling her with stories of the spurious adventures of long-ago druids and other mythological characters, each of whom existed only in his hyperactive imagination. He drove Lupita crazy but she didn’t have the nerve to risk hurting his feelings. She felt awfully bad about how nasty a time she was having. After it was all over she went home, relieved to be free of him. The next day, when she got in touch with her friends, Sharon told her: “At least it’s only a once in a lifetime occurrence”. “You can count on an absolute guarantee of that!”, snapped Guadalupe.
It’s not something anybody necessarily bothers to think twice about but the world has always been overwhelmingly filled with exceptionally impressive fragrances. Over my lifetime I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed the scents of all things relevant to a barbecue, from the food to the charcoal and even the lighter fluid. The wafting aroma of the smoke is quite fine. Of course we simply can’t possibly forget the smell of all different kinds of coffee and tea. The smell of fresh flowers in the spring and summer is amazingly nice too. It’s a perfect contrast to the bleakness and desolation of the cold months. Many people find the smells of after shaves, perfumes and colognes very hard to handle but I also get quite an exceptionally fine impression of them . Although I can understand that things like that can be unbearable for many people I’m so happy in that world. I often hang around in the cologne and perfume departments of stores just to enjoy the fine aromas. Over the years I’ve always kept quite a supply of cologne, after shave and toiletries. If I ever had a significant amount of money, I’d be so seriously tempted to go entirely overboard and to purchase all kinds of things like that. Because of my never having liked animals it might be quite difficult to believe but I find the smells of farms and zoos to be terribly impressive. Somehow quite a wide variety of olfactory stimuli can keep me intoxicated in in such an exceptionally nice way. Like sounds, smells can be irresistible. If one knows where to go he can find very easily that life is often a never ending festival of fragrances from incense in church to candles in places like Pier One Imports. Unfortunately life most certainly has its share of quite seriously nasty smells too, as well as repugnant sounds. It’s all a part of the price that simply must inevitably be paid for the really good ones.