Fudge

Ever have a moment that you think back on and it still makes you cringe? You know what I mean. Either you sent out a bad email about someone to that person by mistake, or you had a most unfortunate slip of the tongue at the most inopportune moment. Well, the latter is what happened to me some 10 years ago, and it still makes me involuntarily wince when I think about it. I’ve probably got a hundred moments I could write about, and this is certainly not the worst, it’s just one of the funnier moments.

Just out of high school and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, I obtained a job at Wal-Mart until I could settle on a career path. My job at Wal-Mart, though grossly underpaid, was one of the more fun jobs I’ve ever had. Sure, I hated it at the time, but looking back I had a lot of fun. My post was the electronics department. For the most part, I caught on quick with technology, and I like to think I was able to actually help some of the customers who were there seeking it.

Until I started working there, the last video game system I owned was the original “Nintendo Entertainment System” that I received for Christmas back around 1987. I saved enough money while working at Wal-Mart to buy a Playstation and a couple games. This is valid to the story, I assure you. Not only did I like playing video games in my spare time, but I wanted to be able to give customers honest advice and feedback when they had questions about our various game systems. Since buying a Game Cube and Dreamcast along with the Playstation was out of the question, I figured I would at least have firsthand knowledge of one game system that we sold. Another game system that was out around that time was the Nintendo Game Boy; a handheld video game system that you could take with you anywhere. I got one of those as well since they were much cheaper than the big systems.

Enter the nice lady looking to purchase a game system for her son. She was a nice lady that had absolutely no clue about video game systems, other than she didn’t want to spend a lot on one. I asked how old her son was, and for the sake of continuing the story without being hung up on me not remembering arbitrary details, we’ll say she told me he was 10. I then proceeded to find out a bit more information, such as did he want a hand held game system that he could take with him on long trips, or something that he could hook up to the T.V. and play only at home. I advised her that the best systems of each type, in my opinion, experience and for the money, were the Playstation and the Nintendo Game Boy. I then told her about each system’s pros and cons. I would switch back from telling her about the Playstation, and then about the Nintendo Game Boy.

I apologize to reiterate a small detail, but she was a very nice lady. If I were to say anyone “looks” like a Christian, this lady was it. As my memory recalls, she had on a white cashmere sweater that seemed to radiate some kind of glowing light as if she were a saint. All I could think about was trying to get this nice lady all the information that was in my head so she could make the most informed decision as a consumer. I started to really get excited that I was able to so flawlessly list every specification of each system as if I had designed them myself. I could tell my information was being properly received, because the nice lady was giving me all the right feedback. She was making all the right facial expressions of a consumer receiving an education in game systems. I was in the zone.

That’s when it happened. Some of you may have seen the handwriting on the wall from two paragraphs ago.

I was so involved in my descriptions of the game system that I made a fatal slip of the tongue. A reenactment, if I may: “Playstation does this, Game Boy does that, Playstation does this, Game Boy does that, Playboy….er….Playstation….” I didn’t need a mirror to know that my face immediately turned a raging crimson within mere seconds of those words falling out of my mouth, I could feel it. My mind went blank, but my mouth kept moving. I don’t know what else I said after that slip up, and I don’t remember if she ended up buying either system. I just remember that during that moment, time slowed down. Everything I said was slow motion, and only the word "Playboy" was enunciated with pristine clarity and utter perfection. Not only that, but it was emphasized as if it didn’t come from my vocal region, but from my diaphragm, and with great conviction. Think of A Christmas Story when Ralphie blurts out “Fudge”. That’s exactly how it was in my situation.

I noticed what I initially thought to be a slight embarrassed smile try to grace the nice lady’s face, but now I’m quite sure it was her just trying to stifle a full on laugh. After she left, I kept replaying that moment in my head. What bothered me the most, was wondering what she thought. Did she think I was just a typical perverted guy that has nothing else on his mind? Did she think I thought she belonged in such a magazine? Did she see the tricky connection between the two game systems so similar in name to the aforementioned magazine? For the remaining hours at work, and continuing on for years to come, the slightest thought about that evening would cause me to cower like a dog about to get beat. I don't remember ever seeing the nice lady in the store again after that, or in the magazine, for that matter. Who knows, maybe you're reading the story right now, nice lady.

A Tradition Lives On

It’s been one week, and I honestly didn’t know for sure that I would ever write, let alone post, this one. I wasn’t sure what angle to approach this from since I didn’t want to convey an inaccurate viewpoint. I suppose at the end, it’s best to just write and not think. It just seems to be easier that way. I’ll go ahead and apologize again ahead of time for making this so lengthy (as well as a bit technical). As I’ve said before, I really don’t know any other way to tell a story.

Just about everyone who knew my dad knew his car. It was a 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air, 2 door post, hardtop. Two-tone baby blue and white with American Mags. Black tuck and roll interior, 350 small block and a newly installed 700R transmission. I go into detail because even as I type this, I like to picture it for myself. I could go on and on about the minute details; everything from the cracked speedometer lens to the factory radio in the dash. From the flip down tail light gas door to the blue interior dome light. I literally knew this car inside and out. It was, after all one of the more paramount possessions in the household. I know that probably sounds a bit over-the-top to some of you, but it’s the only way I can think to describe it. Besides, the car had a lot of history. In our family, classic cars are somewhat of a tradition.

I’m not 100% certain on all the details, but I’ll try to tell it as I know it. My dad originally acquired the car for $25 from a friend. I remember him telling me the boy he bought it from brought it home, and his father told him to get rid it. I don’t know how old he was, but I’m pretty sure he was in high school (for some reason 15 was in my mind, but I could be wrong). He made a variety of modifications to the car over the years. Early on, he made it into what was basically a drag car that he drove on the streets. He gutted the interior and installed two fiberglass racing bucket seats (can you see mom sitting shotgun in a fiberglass racing seat? It happened!), and installed a 327 with tunnel ram, a 4 speed transmission and headers. He also took the front end off, and installed a fiberglass tilt front end. The hood scoop had a meticulously painted Rat Fink on it courtesy of my uncle. I’ve only seen a couple of pictures when it was in this state, and I just wish I could have taken a ride in it back then. According to firsthand accounts of people who were lucky enough to ride in it, the thing was a rocket on wheels. He used to tell me he couldn’t just drive it to the grocery store and back or it would foul the plugs. It wasn’t just meant to be driven around; it was meant to be opened up, foot the floor and blown out. Sure, it was legal to drive on the streets, but it wasn’t built for that.

Later on he returned it to more of a daily driver. He put the bench seats back in it, a much more modest 350, automatic transmission and real metal hood/fenders. This is how I remember it growing up. Of course, it was still a hot rod, and always would be. I remember lying under the car, working on it with him and seeing that Thrush bird looking back at me from the glass pack mufflers. Any time we would take a ride somewhere in it, and then return home, he would give me a special treat after we pulled in the garage. He would rev the engine real high allowing the glass packs to “backrap” (or “Make it ‘backfire’ dad!”). It was loud, it echoed and popped, but it was the greatest thing in the world to a 5 year old boy. It just sounded like a race car.

As the years went on, he continually worked on the '56, turning it more into a classic car that could be driven around, and even taken out of town. I enjoyed watching, and helping, the car evolve. It became a car that he was even able to enter in a car show (I’m thinking it might have even won something, but I’m not positive about that).

Unfortunately, after dad got sick, the car lived in the garage. He did a little bit of work on it at first, but for the most part it just sat on jack stands with a car cover on it. He had a laundry list of plans for that car, but just never got around to it. As the years went on, the condition of the car progressively got worse. Oxidation set in and the tires started to rot. It was sad to look at the car in that state, but it stood for something to look forward to. Dad and I would sit there for hours and just talk about the things we were going to do to the '56, “soon”. It was often times a favorite topic while we smoked our cigars. I almost feel a bit guilty about the times he helped me work on the Camaro, but we never really did anything to the '56. I keep thinking that we could have been spending time on his car instead, but it’s not something I regret. In fact, one of my favorite memories was us working on the Camaro together just this year (*Deep breath* focus).

After dad passed, it was only fitting that my brother get the ‘56. I’m so excited that it’s been handed down to him because I know he has the means to complete the list of things dad wanted to do to it, and make it the car he envisioned. Not only that, but he’s able to provide a perfect home for the car.

One week ago today, we finally got the car loaded up to be taken to Arizona. I can’t really explain the emotions or thoughts I had that day, because I don’t really know if I had any. I wasn’t sad, but I was. I was happy that the car would finally get the care it deserved instead of continuing to degrade in the garage. Seeing that blue and white beauty out in the driveway without a car cover on it for the first time in years, I did feel a little sad, but it’s the end result I had to keep reminding myself. I’ll never forget hearing that engine rumble to life for the first time in close to 10 years. I couldn’t do anything but smile. As I climbed behind the wheel and took the short but satisfying drive up the ramps of the trailer, I couldn’t help but thinking dad was smiling right along with me.

Take good care of her, Greg. I can’t wait to come down and see the progress it’s making!

The Cake

On our drive over to Chico this weekend (and subsequently, unbeknownst to me at the time, San Francisco), Annie was telling me a story about a girl she knows. I don’t know if I’m doing the story an injustice by giving only the pertinent parts, so, sorry Annie. The story is the base of my blog, but not the focus, so I don’t want to go into too many details.

The girl is also pregnant and saved a bit of cake from her baby shower. She enjoyed the cake so much, she sparingly consumed it over the next couple of days (something I do as well). Apparently after a night of craving the cake, she woke up to find no cake in the fridge, and a crumb filled plate accompanied by an empty glass of milk on the kitchen table.

I began thinking about that story, and how different Annie and I are. I told her that cake probably would have remained in the fridge until the battle of wills to clean the fridge collapsed for one of us. I then began to think about how funny we are about things like that. If there is only one of something left, it will stay there until turns into a fossil. It’s not laziness or un-cleanliness (at least I hope people don’t think that), but neither of us can bring ourselves to eat the last of something. I won’t say it’s true for everything we buy, but mostly rare treats.

Bread, milk, eggs; those we will finish before they go bad since they are a weekly item. Don’t get me wrong, cookies, chips and candy will be eaten to completion as well, but it usually goes something like this: ¾ of a bag of chips will disappear in 2 days, and the last quarter will last a good week, or until a new bag is purchased. Cookies will take about 3 days for the first ¾, but that last cookie may or may not ever get eaten. We will have one piece of leftover Halloween candy sitting in the big ol’ bowl on the counter until February. One shot glass full of orange juice will usually remain in the carton until it becomes orange wine. We are both aware that we do this, but neither of us can stop.

I don’t know if we’re saving it because we want to be courteous to the other person, or if we just want to get every last bit of satisfaction out of whatever special treat it is, so we want to make it last. I had a jar of hot peppers that only I eat. I ate all but 3 in the first two days, and the jar sat in the fridge for 2 weeks until Annie bought another.

When I was growing up, there were 5 other people in the house, and I wasn’t the one who went shopping, my mom was. So I don’t know if it was common courtesy on our part, but no one would eat the “last one”. This was especially true for things that were a rare treat for us. I had a reason back then though, because I didn’t go shopping. I couldn’t just grab another package of cookies, or bag of chips. I think I’ve always been this way, but only in the last 6 years of living together have infected Annie with it.

We’ve even discussed it before, and made a pact to eat whatever we see when we want it, and damn the other person’s feelings. Needless to say, it didn’t work. I would be sitting there eating the last plate of pasta and not even be able to enjoy it because I felt guilty. In between bites I would continue to offer to share. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” {munch munch} “This is really good, I can put some on another plate for you” {munch munch} “I’ve still got a few bites left” {munch munch} “Want the rest?, I probably can’t finish it anyways”{munch munch} (who’s pasta “munches”? you get the idea).

So no, I couldn’t see myself sitting at the breakfast table in the morning while my wife was sleeping, eating her last piece of cake; I’d be a wreck all day long.

Surprise Of A Lifetime

It’s definitely not inconceivable to believe that I would be totally speechless when Annie surprised me with San Francisco 49er tickets out of the blue, but that’s a theme that will take us through this next story.

Ever since I was old enough to walk (and quite possibly before that), I’ve been a 49ers fan. I can certainly thank my Mom for that, as she’s probably as big of a fan, if not bigger than I am. She’s the one that taught me about football growing up. I remember watching games on Sunday and learning from her the basics of the game.

I was lucky enough to be raised during the 80’s; the 49ers greatest decade. I watched all the greats like Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Roger Craig, Ronnie Lott, and Tom Rathman. I watched Coach Bill Walsh take the team to 3 Super bowl titles (ok, I really only remember watching one, I was too young for the other two). My first real Super bowl memory was the 1989 Cincinnati/San Francisco game. I was dressed out in my full Joe Montana uniform, complete with shoulder pads, jersey, helmet and blue jeans stuffed with toilet paper for thigh pads. I was so into it that I even used up my mom’s mascara for eye black. The game was intense, and I can remember sitting on the floor during Montana’s last drive, glued to the screen and hoping for, and witnessing a miracle. Joe Montana led a 92 yard drive that ended in a touchdown to John Taylor with 34 seconds left on the clock to win it 20-16. I didn’t cheer and holler. I didn’t jump up and down. I was speechless. The utter magic I just witnessed was too much for me to comprehend at the time, and I remember just watching in awe. To this day, it still goes down in my book as the best Super bowl ever. It would also forever seal me as a member of the 49er faithful.

The two subsequent 49er championships were great to watch as well, but they didn’t give me that nail biting finish (55-10 over the Broncos in ‘90, and 49-26 over the Chargers in ’95). I was always proud to say I’m a 49er fan, even through the 90’s, where at the end of the decade I was witnessing a collapse in the organization. Each year brought hope for the next, and then the next. They made it to the playoffs a couple more times, but never returned to the great team I grew up watching. Through all of the good years, and bad years, I’ve never wavered in my support for the team. I proudly claim them as my team in good times and in bad. However, one thing I’ve never been able to do was watch them play live. I’ve never been to the legendary Candlestick Park.

This is where the story really begins.

Two weeks removed from our return from Hawaii, I knew Annie and I were going to take Monday, 11/9 off. We planned to go to Chico on that Saturday, and have a football party on Sunday with all of Mel and Rachel’s friends. It sounded like a lot of fun, and would probably be our last trip anywhere before the baby is here. Saturday we got everything packed, and I packed light. A couple pairs of shorts and my 49er jersey (along with the regular unmentionables) were all I needed. After all, we were going to be hanging out in the house watching football Sunday. This Sunday’s game would be against the 1-6 Tennessee Titans, so I was hoping for a win to get the 49ers back on track. We got packed, and Annie told me to load up our small BBQ, since Mel told her theirs was broken. I didn’t think twice about it, and got it loaded up. We were on our way, and ended up in Chico around 5:00. When we got there, I said hello to everyone and sat down to visit. Arica and Leanne were there to greet us as well, which is always a fun surprise.

As we were visiting, Annie left the room briefly and returned with a plain black long sleeve shirt in her hands. She said “I got you this shirt to go under your jersey”. My first thought was she was embarrassed that my Jersey was a bit see-through (due to the holes in the material), and didn’t want to have to subject everyone else at the football party to that. She then said “Because I hear Candlestick Park can get a bit cold and windy” (as in the wind blows, not curvy). My brain came to a screeching halt. Then she says “Because we’re going to the game!”, as she produced four tickets with Joe Staley on the front. I stared in disbelief at the tickets, and then just looked up at my jubilant wife who was clapping and jumping up and down. “Get out” I say, “When?” She says “Tomorrow!” Then my brain slowly starts back up, and I wonder to myself how we’re going to the game when we have a football party at the house tomorrow. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stared at the tickets and let the impact of what I’ve just learned slowly sink in. Apparently, the reaction I’d displayed was subpar, because when I gathered myself enough to look around the room, I just saw a bunch of disappointed faces. That’s when Annie announced “I guess this is Jeff excited”. But I was excited. I was beside myself, but couldn’t express it. I was once again speechless. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to be sitting at Candlestick Park the following day. It just didn’t make sense to me for a while. I think she caught me so off guard, it just confused me. Slowly throughout the night, the excitement began to set in. I knew there was no way I was going to sleep that night, but I didn’t care. I was off to see the 49ers, live, in person. I would be in the same stadium that some of the greatest players in history made some of the most memorable plays in history, including “The Catch”.

We woke up around 5:30 to get ready for the game. It didn’t take much to get me up and going, as I was so excited. We left the house around 6:30 and got to the stadium a little before 10:00 to begin tailgating. Thanks to some friends getting us a preferred parking pass, we were able to park only a few rows away from the entrance to the stadium. I was in a state of awe through much of the pregame. I was standing there looking at the stadium, and it just looked larger than life. We used my little BBQ to cook some sausages, and had a few beers before the game. The atmosphere was amazing, and it a lot like a family gathering. Everyone we encountered were great people that were excited to see the team they love too. We didn’t encounter a single person that was mean spirited or belligerent.

After we tailgated for a couple hours, we made our way into the stadium. Our seats were on the home side near the end zone, on the lower level, row 7. I couldn’t believe how great the seats were. We were close enough to see the players’ numbers without binoculars. The atmosphere in the stadium defies description. It was electric. I can’t even come close to describe it, so I guess I’ll just say go to a game and you’ll know what I mean. I was so full of excitement, I had to put my sun glasses on during player introductions lest I let the emotion welling up in my eyes be seen by the people around me. Especially when they introduced my favorite player, and the place erupted into a frenzy that shook the entire stadium. I couldn’t even hear the announcer say “Number 52, Patrick Willis”, because as soon as they showed his picture on the big screen, the place went nuts.

The game started and promptly ended. I sat there wondering where the last 60 minutes of football went as I saw the Titan’s quarterback taking a knee to run out the final seconds on the clock. It went by entirely too fast. I yelled my lungs out when they were on defense, and didn’t make a sound when they were on offense. I sat in that seat from player introductions until they shook hands and walked off the field. No trips to the concession stands, or to the men ’s room. I wanted to absorb every second of the experience as possible, and I can honestly say I did. The game ended with a 34-27 defeat, but I left that stadium with a smile on my face. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy after a 49ers loss, but I was still in a state of awe.

As we waited for the traffic to clear out of the parking lot, we hung out for a few more minutes doing a post game tailgate party, and I just kept staring at the stadium. I couldn’t believe I was actually there. It’s something that probably sounds silly to most people, but I grew up seeing that place on T.V., and never imagined I would actually go watch a game there. I don’t know why, we don’t live far away, it was just never something I thought I would do. Annie had a great time too. She’s been getting into football this year, and it’s been so fun to be able to watch it with her. We had one of the most memorable times this weekend, and it’s something I will never forget.

I have to give Annie all the credit in the world, along with Mel and Rachel for being able to pull this off. Annie had planned it back in September, Mel got everything arranged. They were able to keep this secret from me since then, which if you know Annie you know couldn’t have been easy. She’s the one that like to shake the presents under the tree, while I’d rather not even look at them until Christmas morning. The anticipation had to have been killing her. I have never been as surprised as I was that night she showed me the tickets. They fully caught me by surprise.

One last note to close the theme of the blog: The game was on Sunday, and today is my first day at work. I can’t hardly answer the phone because when I try to talk, my voice is gone. I yelled so hard at that game, I think I “left my voice in San Francisco” (that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it?). So 3 days after the game, and at the moment of this blog, I’m still speechless. Thanks for a most memorable experience, girls!

On Brewing Beer

Most of you know that one of the multiple hobbies I have is brewing beer at home. I have to admit that I haven’t done a batch in a very long time. The last batch I did was when we were living with my parents, and my dad and I made a porter. It was one of my best memories, and something I’ll have forever. In reality, it was a borderline disaster. I decided to try making my own lauter tun out of a couple of water coolers and some PVC pipe (stay with me, I’m not meaning to lose you with jargon), but halfway through the process we sprung a leak and ended up losing a little bit of the beer. It was messy, there was beer on the ground, and I burned my hand, but we kept going. A couple weeks later we had the beer bottled, and a couple more weeks later we were enjoying a nice frosty glass of our creation. It didn’t turn out bad, and dad seemed to love it. It wasn’t the best batch I’ve ever made, but it was certainly the most special. I think for that reason alone it tasted so good. I’ve actually still got a few bottles left that I can’t bring myself to drink, and doubt I ever will.

Now that we’ve moved into our new house, I’ve got all of my equipment sitting in the garage, and I’m starting to think again about doing another batch. Maybe I’ll make a tribute ale or something. I’ve since gotten more equipment, and a lot more room to make it, but I just lack the drive to get everything going.