Month: May 2023

Nostalgia

Every once in a while, Netflix gets it right and they actually add a movie that I want to watch. Imagine my joy when I stumbled across one of my all-time favorite movies, George Lucas’s 1973 hit American Graffiti.

Where do I begin? The cast?
Ron Howard, six months before he would debut as Richie Cunningham on Happy Days. Cindy Williams 3 years before she became the infamous Shirley on Laverne and Shirley. Richard Dreyfuss. Mackenzie Phillips, Suzanne Somers, and Harrison Ford were all in their first big role. Add to the mix Wolfman Jack and you have a heluva cast.

The cars?
John Milner’s chopped ’32 Ford Standard coupe. Bob Falfa’s (Ford) badass ’55 Chevy Belair. The mysterious ’56 Silver Thunderbird with the porthole windows driven by Somers. Steve Bolander’s (Howard) cherry ’58 Impala. Oh man, for a Detroit muscle buff such as myself, it is a veritable wet dream.

The story?
It is 1965 Modesto California. It is a typical Saturday night and the locals are blowing off steam. Typical of the time, looking “cool” was the law of the land and, given the puritanical nature of the time, there was not much else to do except ride around in cars, go to arcades and sock hops, and create a harmless ruckus while driving around. We are introduced to the players; the too-old-to-be-hanging-out-with-teenagers guy with the hot car who is always being challenged to race. The local young people that have menial 9-5’s and live for the weekend. Gangs, car clubs, and packs of teenage girls defying Daddy for a few hours. Add to the mix that this is no typical Saturday night for a small group of teens, for it is the eve of them leaving for college the next morning. Relationships are called into question(should we see other people?), feet are getting cold as one promising student is thinking of not going. They are all grappling with change and fear of what the future will hold. I won’t ruin the ending for you other than the inevitable drag race ends up altering the plans of two of them.

It is a wonderful character study about fear and uncertainty. Of the familiar and the question of whether it is better to be comfortable or to try something new. All against the backdrop of 1960’s America.

And there it is, that is what I love about the movie. The era.

I was born in 1965. A mere 3 years earlier my mom and dad were likely in a similar scene. My dad was a car fanatic and he belonged to a club. He was an amateur stock car driver. He was also a bit of a hellion with that fast Lincoln of his. Cruising the strip, bantering with other drivers with my mom under his arm is totally conceivable. My mom telling him to slow down, not get a ticket or into an accident, and to have her home before her father “grounds her” is also very believable. They lived the movie. The two of them could have been dropped into the set of that movie and nobody would have blinked. The guy in the white tee shirt with the Camels rolled into the sleeve? That was my dad. The girl in the Pencil dress and sensible shoes? That was my mom.

I often fantasize about being a teenager back then. While they may have thought that they were pushing the envelope, we now know that their version is pale compared to today. It can almost be considered tame and wholesome. But they didn’t know that.

They also didn’t know what would happen just a few short years later. Vietnam would escalate. Draft cards were coming. Parents and authority figures, particularly parents, became the enemy as generations clashed. People would be forced to tune in or drop out. EVERYTHING would change soon for the innocent, harmless locals.

But there is always the movie. A reminder of a better time. A more innocent time. A time that ceased to exist not long after. Oh yeah, did I mention the CARS?

In my head

I have been in a phase of self-improvement characterized by an uncharacteristic amount of actual progress. I’m not sure if I’ve ever revealed this fact about myself here, but despite my genuine desire to do and be better, my follow-through needs work. I can attribute this to a few factors. I try to do too much too fast, I can’t undo all those years of bad habits and ingrained negative results, I underestimate the magnitude of the task and get intimidated, and I fail to recognize the power of the biggest obstacle of all, my near-crippling anxiety.

I was on Adderall until the national shortage ended it for me in December, 2022. It was quite a move for me to start taking it, I am staunchly anti any mood- altering medications. Short of diagnosed schizophrenia, I will insist that the world deal with me in my actual state, as fucked as that may be. Deal with it. But I was informed by my PCP that a low dose of Adderall has anxiety-reducing effects on some so I tried it. I was pleased with the results. It wasn’t a massive change, it just slowed my overthinking down a bit and got “out of my head” somewhat. The shortage ended that, and now that I am not working in an office setting I’m giving it a go without the med.

I am so much worse now. Now, I’m becoming the guy I’ve always feared. The one who avoids situations because of all of the gremlins that lurk in all scenarios. From daily activities or making plans to avoiding the possibility of beginning a relationship for fear of being rejected or hurt, I procrastinate when I can and often experience dread and even fear at the prospect of doing things that are normally comfortable for me.

Today, I did 2 things I do every Spring. I rode my motorcycle to my mechanic to get my yearly service before riding season starts. I was tentative to get on my bike, my mind was toying with my confidence and flashing images of crashing in my mind. What? I LOVE riding my motorcycle and I am very confident in my skills. I got there no problem, I was comfortable and competent. But I invested way too much mental angst. It threw me.

My second task of the day was to do my first detail of the season. I enjoy cleaning cars, it is very satisfying and I also find that I do some of my best thinking while doing it. But today, and for days preceding, I was concerned that I didn’t have the stamina, that it would be too tiring, that my back would bother me. What? I’m in GREAT SHAPE right now. My stamina is fine as is my back. And yup, you guessed it, it went well and I feel fine.

I hope that the Government never forces me to go back to work full-time. I can’t even begin to imagine what actual responsibility with consequences will do to me.

Or, I could see my doctor and find out what the actual fuck is happening with me. I don’t like this and in conformance with my new mindset; I want to do and be better.

On associations

Even when I’m doing a good job of not dwelling on the past, it still rears its ugly head. If I had to guess, it is almost always in the form of association.

I came across the movie Johnny Dangerously on HBO MAX today. There really aren’t words to describe how much I love the movie. It’s just the slapstick, parody silly shit the doctor has always prescribed. I know every line. Of course I watched it.

So where does my mind go? Ernie.

Ernie is not his real name. I wouldn’t give up his real name. It’s a nickname and a funny one at that. His premature receding hairline and oddly shaped head gave him a striking resemblance to Ernie of Ernie and Bert fame. He was a good guy and, like everything else in his life, he rolled with the nickname. He never had it easy. Girls eluded him, he never got his shot at Stand-up Comedy, he lost his brother to a tragic suicide soon after High School, his relationship with his family was very complicated.

I was there for all of it. We were, after all, best of friends. After High School, we both attended the same College. I was a year ahead of him so I spent my Freshman year without my sidekick but once he arrived, goofy smile and Pork-Pie hat in hand, we were inseparable. When we weren’t in class, we were in the cafeteria, smoking, drinking coffee, and socializing. If we weren’t in school we were probably playing hooky and underage drinking in our favorite bar down the street.

I shared my difficult times with him also. When my relationship with my father took a bad turn, I stayed at his house many nights. I was very close to his family. They treated me as another son.

We leaned on each other and got through those times. Often with the aid of laughter. Never underestimate the power of a warped sense of humor. Comedy specials on HBO, cartoons and movies were our refuge. We shared a love for Bloom County. I think the lovable oaf Opus the penguin was a relatable character to us. We could quote both the cartoons and the movies line for line. And we did that a lot.

Johnny Dangerously was our favorite. Now, it brings back the sense of loss of how we drifted apart for so many years. Of not seeing him, along with the rest of the guys that I spent all of my time with in my late teens and twenties, since we all went the married with kids route.

And,of course, the shock and heartbreak of learning that he was recently arrested for sexually abusing his own son. My friend (can I still call him that?) is going to spend the rest of his life in jail.

Between the shock, disgust, anger and countless other confusing emotions, I still cling to the memories of a better time. Thanks to associations. Silly movies, in this case, stand for the good and the bad times alike.

The straw

I have to hand it to you. You’ve done something that few have been able to do. You’ve brought me to a place that few have made me go.

I once called you my best friend. That is a lot for me to say because I don’t let many people into that inner sanctum, that place close enough to me where I become vulnerable. You earned my trust, my loyalty, and the status of being beyond question. “True Blue” if I recall correctly. So I didn’t worry about you. When we were in a room together I knew that there was one that had my back.

Boy, do I feel foolish now? You were holding the biggest knife.

Looking back, I don’t know when it started. But I sensed the vibe. But there was no incident of note, no regrettable conversation or words wished unsaid. Yet we drifted apart. Still, we always had the fraternity. We were Brothers after all, and that is an unbreakable bond.

When it was your turn to assume the Big Chair, it was left to you in flawless condition due to my efforts. Because it meant that much to me that you succeed. I delivered a charge to you in which I praised you as a friend and wished you the very best.

You in turn took the moment for yourself and left me with an extended and unshook hand.

I wish that was where the indignities had ended. I hoped beyond hope that it was an oversight. That perhaps, the moment had overwhelmed you and it was and you were unaware of how you offended me. But as you progressed upon your path, the animosity towards me and ambivalence to your flock continued.

The vibe became a distinct and profound “fuck you.”

Well, your last request, should I call it a decree, told me that I was at a crossroads; do I continue to absorb the disrespect or do I finally say enough?

I say enough. You cannot count on me for support. You may not ask me for assistance. You may not expect my loyalty to the fraternity to supersede my own self-worth.

I have a hell of a line. But you, my former friend, have crossed it.