Quick! What do you think of when you hear drive-in? I think of the movie Grease! and John Travolta singing Stranded at the Drive-in after Sandy left him.
Unfortunately, there aren’t many drive-in theaters in America anymore. I used to love going to the drive-in. I remember sneaking my friend in by putting him in the trunk, so we wouldn’t have to pay for him.
The drive-in was always a unique way to watch movies. I used to go to a drive-in in Twenty-nine Palms, California, where you could roller skate and watch a movie simultaneously. Well, I was telling my sons about my drive-in adventures, and they couldn’t understand what I was talking about. I always like to broaden their horizons, so when I failed to explain to them how much fun we used to have at the drive-in, I wanted to take them to one, but I didn’t think there were any drive-ins left in our area. But I googled “drive-in” and discovered there was a Cascade Drive-In in West Chicago.
I took my sons just so they could see what a drive-in was like. Things were a little different from the last time I went. You can now listen to the movie on your car radio on AM or FM! They still had gray steel speakers on the poles, but they didn’t work. All cars are supposed to drive with their headlights off, but mine stay on whenever I start the engine. I sat on a lawn chair so my sons could sit in the front seats. Boy was I sorry! The compact car next to us contained an entire family. And they were so crammed into their little car that they were complaining during the whole movie.
Well, my sons and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but we decided never to go to the drive-in again.
I was with my sons yesterday and my oldest son suggested we go to a haunted house for Halloween. So we went. Because I’ve become my father and I almost always do things that my sons suggest we do. My sons can pretty much talk me into doing just about anything–provided that it’s not too expensive or too dangerous.
After last night, I realize that about the safest place you can be in America is a haunted house, despite its eerie appearance and all the blood and gore. I must admit that I wasn’t too thrilled about going to a haunted house since I recalled my traumatic first and only trip to a haunted house in the third grade that was sponsored by the eighth graders. We were guided through it blindfolded. I was fine until someone grabbed my hand and forced it–yes, I instinctively resisted–into a bowl of something slimy. I could feel whatever was in the bowl slithering between my fingers. A voice informed me that I was touching Frankenstein’s brain. I wasn’t really afraid. Okay, I was afraid to laugh and hurt anyone’s feelings because I wasn’t afraid after touching dead brain matter. My best friend Patrick later told me that the brains were really just spaghetti. I never went to a haunted house ever again.
Anyway, I had fun at the haunted house last night because I got to see exactly how brave my sons were. Not! They were fraidy cats! When it was our turn to go in, they insisted that I go first. I didn’t even get scared! Okay, I did get startled whenever someone slammed open a door as he or she in all his or her glorious blood gore jumped out at us. But I wasn’t really scared. Not really. I mean it was just the loud noise that made me jump. Kind of like when I saw Halloween at the show when it first came out. The movie didn’t scare me at all. Except when the entire audience of the sold-out show screamed in unison and my date dug her fingernails into my thigh. But except for those five or six times, I have never gotten scared!
I never used to drink coffee until I discovered its magical powers of keeping me awake after sleep-depriving nights and its ability to make me look pensive and meditative while reading in the coffee shop. While I do enjoy the coffee that baristas offer, I always prefer to drink my own home-brewed concoction. I don’t know why, but my coffee tastes better to me than even the most expensive gourmet coffee at any coffee shop.
I love to lounge around the house in the morning sipping at my coffee while I read my e-mail before I go out for my morning run. I used to have a Mr. Coffee with a timer that my mother-in-law gave me for my birthday, but then she died, I got divorced, and my Mr. Coffee stopped working.
So, I decided to splurge on a new coffee maker. I bought a Cuisinart Grind and Brew coffee maker in 2003 and enjoyed its coffee until about three months ago. It had a timer, so I was able to set it up the night before and literally wake up and smell the coffee. About two years ago, my beloved Cuisinart stopped functioning like new and I tried to fix it–following in my father’s footsteps–but I was lucky to put it back together again without improving its performance. The only thing I got out of the experience was a headache, minor cuts on my fingertips, and a very lame blog entry. But I continued using the coffee maker until about two months ago when I could no longer disassemble the grinder to wash it. I tried everything to pry it out, but it was more stubborn than me.
Finally, I decided to buy another coffee maker. This was my chance to try a new brand, but I loved my Cuisinart so much that I decided to buy the exact same model again. I bought it in 2003 for $125 plus sales tax. So, I expected to pay much more in 2008. Surprisingly, that model was still about the same price at most stores, but I like shopping online and I noticed that amazon.com sold it for $119, with no sales tax and no shipping charges.
Then, I noticed that they also sold a refurbished version of the same model. I was incredibly surprised to discover that a refurbished coffee maker cost more than a new one: $144! Obviously, I bought a new one. I received it at my door within three business days! I happened to be home at the time and the UPS guy put the package directly in my own hands! I was glad I bought the new model because Cuisinart had improved its performance ever so slightly, but enough to make a notable difference that was apparent from the first cup of coffee. In fact, I burned myself with the very first sip. I didn’t realized the my old coffee maker was no longer making very hot coffee. Wow! Hopefully, I’ll get at least five years out of this one.
Now that I’m playing at the UIC Chess Club, I’m starting to recall how I used to play chess. The last time I played chess seriously was in high school about thirty-two years ago. Somehow, my chess skills have gotten rusty! The chess atmosphere has changed a lot since then. I kind of miss the cigar smoke while playing chess.
These players in the UIC Chess Club are really into chess, but their attitude is completely different from mine. When I got into chess, I felt impelled to learn everything possible about the game. I learned the history of chess, the important chess players, the terminology, and the classic chess openings. As I played the last two Tuesdays, I tried to remember some of the terminology, but no one knew any of it–or even seemed remotely interested in learning terms like rank, row, file, or column.
One player touched a piece and said, “I adjust.” I said, “You mean, ‘J’adoube.'” My remark was met with a blank stare. Hmm.
One player asked advice of another, and I never heard anyone talk about “control the center” or “castle early.” This was like culture shock to me. Later, a few players discussed the merits of learning book openings, and the consensus was that learning openings wasn’t necessary to become a talented player. I was so rusty that I lost most of my games. I was surprised that I won any games at all. I would inadvertently give away pieces or set myself up for a knight fork. When I was playing chess, I used to open P-K4; now it’s E4. This will take some getting used to. My biggest surprise came when I had to take back a move because I was in check. No one says, “Check!” when they check your king. I’m so rusty that I didn’t realize that I was in check.
Well, I improved when I returned the next Tuesday. I try to be realistic and try to evaluate just how well I played when I was in high school. Even back then I made bad moves or gave up pieces. But I’m sure I will improve with a little more practice.
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My brother Danny called me so I could give him a ride to the hospital in order to get a medical procedure. He gave me a three-week notice, but he didn’t specify what medical procedure he would undergo. But he did ask me a few questions about my health and health care. Well, I’m 52 and he’s 50, so he mentioned that we were both at the age were a prostate cancer exam is recommended. My brother has been going to the doctor a lot the last few years. He asked when I last went to the doctor. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I went to see a doctor. I have had a lot of bad experiences with doctors, so I try to avoid them. For as long as I can remember, I would get acute pains in various parts of my body.
Once in high school, I felt pains between my ribs around my heart. It felt as if someone put a broomstick between my ribs and was prying them apart. I was about seventeen. My mother thought I was exaggerating and told me the pains were all in my head. But they weren’t. I kept complaining about the pain to my mother until she finally took me to the doctor. When I described my pains to the doctor, he stared at me blankly and said that they were just growing pains. That was the end of my doctor’s visit. The pains persisted for about a week, but eventually went away just as mysteriously as they came. And, thankfully, I didn’t die–obviously!
About twenty years ago, I felt a sharp pain in one of my testicles. I continued my daily run despite the pain. I have this uncanny ability to block out pain. The pain increased so much that I eventually made an appointment with a doctor. He told me that I should wear an athletic supporter when I went running. That was all the advice the doctor gave me! I said, “But I feel a lot of pain!” “What are you worried about?” he asked. “Cancer,” I said. He then told me that I was too old to get testicular cancer. I felt much better after that information.
Another time, the white part of my eye had turned completely blood red. When I woke up and saw my eye–oddly, I didn’t feel any pain while I slept–I panicked. I called my optometrist and he told me to come in immediately, probably due the urgency in my voice. When he examined me, he said, “It’s nothing to worry about.” “What do you mean? My entire eye is red!” But there was nothing he or anyone else could do for me. Eventually, my eye cleared up.
So when my brother called me, I tried very hard to remember the last time I saw a doctor. He asked me who my doctor was. Well, I don’t have a doctor. Do you want to know why? Because he died! My doctor and I were both about the same age; I could tell because we both had the same chronological reference points. He used to tell me how I should watch my diet and exercise and all the usual doctorly advice. One day, I had the flu really bad and I tried to make an appointment with my doctor. He wasn’t available. The next time I saw him, my doctor told me that he had had a heart attack. I thought, “Doctor, heal thyself!” This was the doctor who was advising me on how to live a healthy life! About a year later, I had one of those mysterious, sharp pains in my side by my kidney. I immediately called my doctor to make an appointment. He wasn’t available. And he would never be available for appointments ever again. He had died of a heart attack the week before. That was the last time I saw a doctor.
Chicago USA 