That Old Gang Of Mine

This past weekend the real estate office formerly (and currently) known as Garfield Realty had a company barbeque in the backyard of one of the newguys, Mike.  It’s a rarity nowadays for what had been the core group of the office for so many years to get together.  But there we were; me, Luap, Zil, Knarf and even De. For a moment, I felt like I was at an Old Timer’s day at Yankee Stadium but then I realized that I’m the only one who has hung up his spikes.  And it also occurred to me, we were never ballplayers. So I guess it was closer to feeling as if I was at Disney World and was running into Minnie, Mickey and Pluto, et al.  Yes, that’s exactly what it was like.

In any event, it was very sweet, warm and fun to be together again. In fact, the good feelings and affection were so great that De, who hires himself out to sing at funerals and wakes, offered to sing at my service gratis.  I can’t tell you how touched I was.

At some point, in an irrelevant moment, I starting talking about a movie I had just seen starring Hugh Grant.  I was going on about how middle-aged and lumpy he appeared in the role he was playing. The last time I looked, Grant had been playing a callow, charming fellow who got all the girls.  And now he was cast in the role of some washed up has-been. Very upsetting.  As I think about it now, it was just another episode of me overly identifying with what looks like the rapid aging of some public figure. At least I’m not lumpy; in fact, I’m whatever the opposite of lumpy is.

It was at this point that Mike and I had a disagreement over how old, in fact, Grant is.  I insisted that he was still in his forties while Mike was sure he was in his fifties.  We argued a bit and then Mike suggested we bet on the outcome.  I agreed but said I didn’t want to bet money.  So Mike tried to pull a fast one: his idea was that the stakes should be a weekend in my house in the country.  I was pretty loaded, but I was still conscious enough to realize that there was nothing in this for me—it’s my house.  So the stakes were changed; the loser would have to do twenty jumping jacks.

Well, someone looked up Grant’s birthday and it turns out he was born in 1960.  So bad knee and all, I started doing some jumping jacks.  At this point I kind of remember Mike yelling that I was doing them totally wrong.  Which is entirely possible as it’s been months since I’ve done any jumping jacks.  Actually, it’s been about about 650 months.  I also have a vague recollection that someone was filming this sorry event.  Now, the next to last thing I want is to be some dumb schmuck looking stupid on a YouTube video.  So I’m hereby offering a weekend at my house to whomever turns that video over to me.  Kind of ironic, no?


As I remember him…

...and now

…and now


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4 Responses to “That Old Gang Of Mine”

  1. Kitty Says:

    My fondness for this post diminished greatly when I realized you were not going to mention how much I was missed at said event….

  2. iron(ic)man triathlon Says:

    That’s more or less how I feel about everything.

    of course you were missed! (you too Marguerite).

    I’m not sure what the rules are….but I think you have to actually be invited to be missed. if I was still running the place, you would have. I think you may have a bone to pick with you-know-who and you-know-who.

    hope all is great

  3. Ymmij N. Says:

    I happened to see The Rewrite on a plane. (I’m guessing you did too.) It was billed as a comedy, but might just as well have been listed under Fantasy. Grant as you say plays a washed-up has-been, but he still gets all the girls, young and not so young.

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