Tagged by Borego
Well, I’m not sure which meaning of ‘tagged’ she intended, but she did tag me with a request to list the last seven, last things I did lastly …. or some such. So here they are.
I. The last Coke® I had was many years ago. I put peanuts in it. Tasted pretty good but the peanuts did not help the taste enough to make me want to drink another one.
II. The last time I was in Vermont was 1966. I bet it has changed since then. I bet it has not changed that much since then. I’m willing to bet there are still trees and bridges over streams and picturesque lakes and maybe a pet sematary (or maybe that was in New Hampshire or Maine).
III. I used to talk to cows. They seldom spoke in return. The last time was when I was a young boy. My parents had spirited us away from the watery paradise of Florida to spend a summer living on a relative’s farm in Kansas. It was supposed to be idyllic; I suppose it was, for the cows. I missed the ocean. I learned that sometimes grownups lied. Like when they told you (and you were naïve’ enough to believe it) that if you put salt on a pheasant’s tail he would sit still and you could capture him. I learned to speak, sometimes at length, to cows that summer because they were the only audience I could find and I liked to talk. Still do, but mostly I talk to tuna now.
IV. The last straw was stuck in a Chocolate Shake from McDonald’s Garapan. I drank it all. I liked it, but I noticed that unlike Micky D’s on the mainland, the product is not always the same here. In Garapan or on Middle Road I have had chocolate shakes that tasted like …something else other than chocolate shakes, not bad but certainly different, and completely different from the last one out of the same machine. Maybe I should apply for the Choco QC Guy position down at the Golden Arches.
V. The last movie I watched in a theater was just a couple of days ago when I took Alexander, age 3, of the moderately short attention span, to see Ratatouille. It was LOUD. He lasted about one third of the way through and announced that he had seen enough. I agreed, as I too had seen just about enough of the Chef de Rat as well. Turns out he only wanted a quick bathroom break, then wanted to return and give them another chance to bore him. He was wrong (but hey, he’s only 3). We should have stayed in the lobby or gone back to the car or just stood outside and stared into the sun, any one of which would have beat the wildly implausible plot and silly dialog. While the theme of personal achievement was appreciated and the animation was well done, it was loooong and we only watched two thirds before leaving. And as usual in the local theater, it was played WAY TOO LOUD. The best part was when the tub belly creature mashed the “I” in PIXAR down and replaced it with a desk lamp in the pre show credits. That showed some creative thought.
VI. Have you noticed that these ‘lasts’ seem to be getting longer? Has anyone made it this far? The last tattoo I got was ….never. So far so good. I’m with tattoos about like I am with chicken pox. They are unpleasant while in the making and the scars are far too permanent a thing. Besides if the Nazi’s ever get back into power, a tattoo can cause you to end up as a lampshade in some train station office. I don’t mid LOOKING at a tattoo, I just don’t want to be on the receiving end, thanks.
VII. The last time I was in a car crash was in the 1970’s I was driving my ’61 Austin Healey 3000-6 with the electric overdrive full on at far too fast a clip when fate, in the form of a worse driver than me, hit me head on leaving me in the hospital for several months and the sports car in an unidentifiable ball of crumpled metal and dangly parts. I was not wearing a seat belt and did not wear one again, except when piloting a plane, for many, many years. I was thrown from the car taking the steering wheel and the windshield along with me by brute force, but I survived. There was no place for me to be, except fatally crushed, had I been strapped to the frame of that previously sleek British roadster. I took that to mean I should not tempt fate and wear a set belt in the future. I know what the odds are. I also know that odds have two sides. I mostly grit my teeth and don the dastardly webb-ed thing now, but it makes me think every time I hear it ‘click’ about the time I didn’t make it to Vermont.