the tree of woe

I don’t have a very good long term memory. I remember only about 3 things about my life before the age of 14. Fortunately, one of those three things is slap bracelets. If you are the correct age, you remember the slap bracelets. Actually, you don’t just remember them. You remember the overwhelming obsession with them.

See, kids, slap bracelets were one of the last fads in the era known as “the era of lame fads.” This was when the only kid on the planet with a cell phone was Zach Morris, and nobody had heard of the Internet yet. As you can imagine, we had a lot of free time. One of the things we apparently chose to do with that free time was to take a razor sharp piece of metal, cover it with a very thin piece of cloth, and repeatedly strike ourselves with it, preferably on the underside of our fragile, tender wrists. For some unknown reason, this was deemed as “unsafe,” and our constitutional right to assult ourselves with small, neon colored implements was denied. I remember the outcry, but what could we do? The schools banned them, the parents quickly followed suit. I’m pretty sure Super Nintendo came out a few weeks later, so that distracted us fairly well. Slap bracelets faded into oblivion as quickly as they arose, never to be seen again.

Or did they?

I found a website that actually sells slap bracelets. Imagine my shock. To quote the website,

Slap bracelets are the coolest thing! They’re fashionable, fun and can make a great addition to your custom goody bags!

That’s right! Slap bracelets are the perfect fashion accessory to go with your Hammer pants! Just be careful not to spill your Crystal Pepsi when you slap on the fun! Slap Bracelets: The official shiny object of Double Dare! All joking aside, I will admit that recently, my custom goody bags have been lacking a certain something.

I like it when I see someone’s brand new Facebook status. You know, when it says something like “Updated 3 seconds ago.” I feel like I’m doing something exciting rather than wasting time on Facebook.

I’ve decided to abandon my last book. It wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I’ve started writing a cookbook. In the style of Hemingway. (If you want the real recipe, it is here.)

Honey Glazed Salmon

“It is time for us to make the honey glazed salmon.” said the cook. “After we make it, we will eat it. Eating it will make us healthy and strong.”

“You have gone forty days without finishing a meal, cook.” said the boy.

“Yes, I know.” said the cook. “But today is the forty first day. If we cook right and true and honorably, we will have a delicious meal to eat.”

The cook got out a shallow glass dish. He put honey, sherry, soy sauce, lime juice, gingerroot, and mustard into the dish with the salmon. The salmon sat in the dish.

“Why do we eat salmon?” asked the boy.

“We eat the salmon, because the salmon is good. The salmon gives its life to us so that we may have life. We must love the salmon like a brother. I love you, salmon, but I am now going to eat you.”

The boy gave the cook a weird look.

The cook coated a grill rack with cooking spray and arranged the salmon fillets, sides not touching. He cooked them 4 inches from the heat source until they were cooked to desired doneness — 8 to 10 minutes. He used a wide spatula to carefully turn the fish only once halfway through the cooking. He placed the salmon fillets on warm dinner plates. He served them with rice and garnished them with sliced scallions.

As he carried them to the table, he felt his hands start to cramp. “Why are you cramping? You must not cramp, because if you cramp, I will not be able to carry the food to the table so that we may eat and the salmon may give us life.” But the cook’s hands cramped, and he dropped the plates to the ground.

The cook sat on the ground by the salmon. The boy picked up the plates and put them in the sink. The boy cried, and said, “Tomorrow I will make another meal with you.”

“No,” said the cook, “I am not a good cook. I will now sleep, and tomorrow will be a new day.”

There were several ways that the social hierarchy was established when I was a kid. In the summer, one method was through the usage and ownership of Super Soakers. The ranking, from bottom to top, was as follows.

• No Super Soaker: You were ridiculed, and not to be included in epic water battles. Many people had more than one super soaker, and it wasn’t uncommon to be able to borrow a SS50, thereby saving face.
• SS50: This was the lowest grade of super soaker, but was still undeniably a super soaker, and you were granted access into “the club.” You were cool, but barely.
• SS100: A high grade super soaker. If you owned this, you were among the elite. This super soaker was desirable due to the interesting design and, having a larger bulk, was also more useful to use as a blunt object if necessary.
• SS200 and up: To alter a quote, “There’s nothing so like a General on a battlefield as a twelve year old with two gallons of water strapped to his back.” This was the ultimate Super Soaker, but it did have drawbacks. Chiefly, they rendered you immobile, as it’s hard to run, or even walk with a tank of water hanging from your shoulders. Kids with these guns tended to stay put near the middle of the battlefield, whirling around in place.

I was lucky enough to own a SS100. The importance of these water guns to the social standing of a child in the nineties cannot be overstated. Like a peacock’s feathers, or Apple products in Berkeley, Super Soakers publicly demonstrated your dominance over the rest of the herd.

I seriously hate “Spring Ahead” with a deep passion. It ruins my entire weekend. It’s like time itself is messing with us. “Oh, you thought it was what time? Because while you were sleeping I just went ahead and skipped two o’clock. You’re welcome.”