23,725 Days

To Recap:

You used to rake the leaves when the wild westerly winds were at their worst in mid-October.

Utility rhymes with futility

Utility rhymes with futility

You would say it in your head and eventually it made its way to your mouth, to your outside voice:

“Utility rhymes with futility”

“Utility rhymes with futility”

Scrape scrape scrape scrape.

“Scrape scrape scrape scrape”

You kissed a girl for the first time in 3rd grade.

You used a cuss word in 4th grade.

You took second place in the elementary school Spelling Bee in 5th grade. You misspelled camouflage: 'c-a-m-a-f-l-o-u-g-e.' Doh!

You should have used the book to study a little bit more.

Mrs. Spellman taught you to respect others in 6th grade. You didn't like her back then, but you grew up to understand she was right and you should have known better.

You liked the Oakland A’s and the Dallas Cowboys for the exact same reason(s): when you were a young, impressionable lad, you lived in Alaska,

Where 2-week tape delay
Was the order of the day
And the only sports they would play
Were the winners of the day
Never you mind that it doesn’t make sense
To still be a fan of either team today…

1972 Super Bowl Champions = Dallas Cowboys

1972 World Series Champions = Oakland A’s

You watched them win in black and white and asked your mom for a subscription to Sports Illustrated, which was in brilliant color. You wanted the weekly magazine so you could follow your favorite player, Joe Rudi.

She bought it for you and you devoured it through and through.

When you were about 12, you discovered the Swimsuit Issue and you wondered why your mom was yelling at your dad about it in the kitchen.

When you went to college at 18 you still had in your wallet the cut out picture from the 1975 Swimsuit Issue of Cheryl Tiegs in a white bikini. It was laminated with clear contact paper, which had dust and dirt and grime accumulated under the frayed, splitting edges of plastic.

She still looks good.

“She still looks good.”

When you were 14, you used to ride your best friend’s stingray bicycle all over town with your best friend seated in the crook of the handlebars right in front of you. You couldn’t see a damn thing, but somehow you never did crash. You both liked the same girl, you know, but she really liked him a lot more and you had too many freckles to be cute enough--to be worthy--of a girl like that.

And, truth be told, you didn’t really want to be cute, anyway. You wanted to be handsome.

Your mom used to tell you that you were handsome. You always thought she was lying to you, and sometimes you even said so.

You had a crush on your best friend’s sister, even though she was way older than you, like almost four years older. She danced with you—made you dance with her, really—when the slow song came on during a teen/pre-teen basement party. It changed you forever. So much so, that there were tears streaming down your face when she held you close as Lobo sang “I’d Love You to Want Me.”

She thought it was weird you were crying.

But only because it was.

You never had a girl dump you, but your heart has been broken enough times that you understand that pain as well as, or better than, most other people you will ever encounter.

You love the song “Purple Rain,” you love the guitar solo in that song, the bass line in that song, the screaming Prince’s vocals in that song. You want to learn how to play along and are still learning.

And you love Rumors, Boston, Jackson Brown’s Running on Empty album. The entire thing. And Styx, and Bread, and America and every single thing The Beatles ever did. Especially Paul. And John. And Ringo. Well, and mostly George, too.

And Rickie Lee Jones. You own it, have owned it as LP, as 8-track, cassette, CD and you purchased it on iTunes. Though most might think there’s something wrong with that, you did it. And you still have all the proof you did it.

Finally…this next detail is crucial: you need to descend on this night under cover of the Draconid meteor shower.

You and your craft will be taken for a falling meteor.

Upon landing, you will have time through the evening to mull over all details. There is only one bright star and it rises and sets with predictable, programmable regularity. And it will rise about 8.5 hours after you reach the surface.

We will return with your replacement when your clock approaches 65 of their large, around-the-star rotations.

Remember: You do not belong. You never will belong. But you must learn how to get along. These details will help you toward that end.

See you in 65 rotations.