Denny Crane

Brad Weaver was my best friend growing up. We were destined to be close as children because our parents were best of friends. Our fathers wrecked red ’57 Chevys together. The trickle effect, that space of time in which friendship begins to shift, started in high school but it wasn’t until we married and moved into the real world that we sadly lost touch. I haven’t seen Brad since…I guess my mother’s funeral which was back in ’94. I heard he married. I heard they desperately wanted children. But there were complications — I’m not certain of the details — not certain I ever was. But after years they eventually turned to the challenge of child adoption. I know little of adoption other than it is a long and sacrificing process. But eventually my old friend got word that the were to be the proud parents of a little girl. At which point Brad’s wife got pregnant with twins.

Got an email from Brad last week with attached pic. Good looking kids.
Darren Bennett was a college buddy. His father was dean of Students, his mother taught English. He and I lived on Benson, third floor with the uppity up of our collage social club. You see, at a Christian college there are no fraternities or sororities, there are co-ed social clubs. Frats and Sororities promote sex, drugs and rock n roll. Jesus does not like sex, drugs and…well he does dig rock n roll. Where was I? Bennett, yes.
We were buddies. After college we went our separate ways. I married the perfect Christian girl then three years later had the perfect Christian divorce. For the most part…well, let’s put it this way, after the divorce there were only two of my former college friends who stayed in touch. One was gay, and outcasted himself, the other was Darren Bennett.

A recent email from him had attached the Bennetts’ first born.

In keeping with the theme of all things children, Sunday night we spent the evening trick or treating with the clan Lorey.

I think it is safe to say that in this one outing the powers of persuasion of the Pirate convinced the good nature of the Blue Power Ranger that this was a night not for saving the innocent but for pillage and plunder.

The Sorceress Lorey lit three candles in the forge (which would later threaten to burn the entire house down) to bring the heroes home safely.

Thus with the approval from the leaders of clan Lorey, the keepers of tradition and wisdom…the grandparents of said Pirate and Power Ranger…

We took trick or treating by storm.

But do not be naive in thinking the night was without incident. There were the attacks by giant purple spiders…

…and towering, if not slightly bloated, Frankenstein monsters. And it was during these times that the older, more wise members of the group were forced to step in. To…save the day if you will.

Captain America and his sidekick, Stupid Red Faced Guy, led the troops in battle for candy.

Papa Lorey, the great and grand wizard, wielding his Churro of power as well as the Good Witch Melanie were not without battle scars by the nights end.

But in the end all was well, evil was thwarted allowing the Blue Power Ranger a moment’s peace to unmask and proceed to eat his grandfather’s magic Churro.

And thus it was time for the long journey home. An uneventful journey…

…with the exception of the Evil Pirate’s utter refusal to stop pulling Captain America’s ear.

Ahh, the spoils of victory. However, not an Atkins friendly treasure in the bunch.
Yesterday saw Internet challenges. Our new servers blocked my IP address. They gave me two reasons, one due to spam coming from our IP address from a nasty little adware program and two from my entering multiple wrong passwords into my new ftp server. Two red flags and we were blocked. But it was fixed within 30 seconds of speaking with tech support so I have no complaints with the people of Gearworx.
I spent yesterday eating meat and cheese as is the Atkins way and reading this little book I’m looking to adapt. My agent called yesterday to inform me that the writer and producers were excited to meet with me and wanted to meet today. I told her to push it back a week as I’m still only a third of the way through the book. Fast writer, slow reader…go figger. So I read last night. I’m nearly halfway now. Perhaps by weeks end and no promise that I’ll be able to turn the thing into a movie…although I’ll certainly do me bestest.
Dean called mid-day to tell of us their Lab, Gus’s passing. An elderly but kind hearted, good-natured fella. Not surprisingly he was the best of us all.
There’s that old legend about death coming in threes. I guess Gus made three because last week had me collecting calls from both college and high school and the friends of Christmas Past.
Scott Lathram lived behind us when I was growing up. Several years back Scott left the Kentucky State Troopers to become NASCAR driver, Tony Stewart’s, chopper pilot. Scott died in a plane crash last week.
Brett Bear was a freshman college comrade who went on to become Headmaster at Columbia Academy. He died in car wreck last week.
Hearing word of these two deaths didn’t make a big impact on me. I was certainly sad for their wives and kids but it was little more than a footnote in my day’s events. But one must consider that I’ve become something of a hardened old bastard and sometimes need time to remember that I’m human. Because over the weekend I did recall how close we were. Then throw in the passing of a gentle Labrador and suddenly I’m struck with nostalgia.
My freshman year in college was spent with my high school pal, Barry Fortner. We befriended Brett. A gentile giant. Giant is misleading. He was a muscular monster. Brett was older than the rest of us and perhaps not insecure about it but he certainly kept the information close to the vest. Unlike most of us, who had mommy and daddy to pay for college, Brett had to make arrangements for his own future. And he made those plans with the military. Four years he’d given to our good country. Many late nights would find us dreaming of the days we would overthrow the college. As time went on we drifted into the social clubs that suited our personalities but we stayed close and that was rare. Normally social clubs were very clique-ish. By the end of our junior years our plan to rule the college was complete. Barry had been voted President of Chi Beta Chi, Brett was voted President of Phi Kappa and I was President of Sigma Rho. Of course, instead of returning my last year I ran off and got married and our plans of college domination had to be carried out without me. Once I left we lost touch. I would chat with Barry via email over the years and would hear this or that about Brett but life and friendship had moved on. Brett was a good man and I’m certain he’ll be missed.
And as for the high school connection, Scott Lathram and I were buds. We camped out together in the back yard, tree house, unfinished basement of my childhood home. He taught me to drive when I was 12 or 13. Scott had an old Volkswagen that had been stripped of its body. Looked like a giant go-kart and he’d tear around his backyard in it. As a friend I was allowed behind the wheel on many occasions. We got into much mischief together. Scott even taught me how to jerk off…well, he didn’t touch me in ways that made me feel uncomfortable but one night the two of us and a friend were camping out in our unfinished basement and in the wee hours of the morning from the privacy of his goose down sleeping bag Scott proclaimed, “I’m gonna beat off!” Our friend added, “Me too!” Not wanting to feel left out I announced, “Me three!” Of course, this term was alien to me. I couldn’t see what they were doing but I caught the gist. They were attacking their Johnsons. Seemed harmless. Seemed doable. Thus I went on the offensive as well. I can recall thinking…sigh…this is fine but in the end, what’s the point? Eventually the point came in a big explosion and the invention of a new hobby.
Scott and I lost touch after high school. And I suppose the last time I saw him was in ’96 or ’97 when Mel and I returned home for my grandmother’s funeral. I saw his State Trooper cruiser parked in the drive of his parents’ house and swung in to say Hi. It was strange. This wasn’t the goofy kid I’d grown up with. This was an adult. Chest stuck out. Very…police man. I kept wanting to say, “Dude, it’s me.” We soaped windows together. We stole Hustler magazines and hid them out in the old shed. We toilet papered half the houses in the neighborhood. But Scott had found adulthood and had fully embraced it. I do recall him telling me that he had recently left the force to fly helicopters. And that was the last we spoke. I’m certain the old boy will be missed.
New life enters, old life — although some taken before their time — departs. A reminder that we should embrace life…live it to the fullest…and stop bitching so much.
And on that note I shall bitch some…Melanie and I will drive all the way to downtown LA to vote. For some odd reason our absentee ballots never showed up. Melanie is convinced that it is a democratic conspiracy. Probably. This is Los Angeles we’re talking about. It’s easier for a rich man to pass through the canal of my butt than a Republican to get an absentee ballot in LA.
That said I leave you with the quote of the day.
“What can you say about a society that says that God is dead and Elvis is alive?”
–Irv Kupcinet