DT Visits Costco, Part 1

(I've decided to chop this post into 2 parts, since it's kind of long...)

This past weekend, Judy and I took a road trip to visit her brother, who lives in the "cradle of civilization," Staten Island, New York. Staten Island is a classic place, and worth visiting if you miss the 80s.

Bring your "wifebeater," sweat suit, and hair gel.

Anyway, on our way home, I decided to be a good son and stop at my mother's house. Shortly after we arrived, the skies darkened, winds turned the leaves on trees, and a bizarre light suffused the area. In a matter of minutes, the power was out and we were in the basement rummaging for candles.

All weekend long I felt very in touch with my mortality. Perhaps it was because we hadn't seen Judy's brother in a while and his hairline had receded a bit, or perhaps it was because when we sat down to play Risk we found tallies of games played years ago. I don't know exactly. But for whatever reason, I had this feeling that my daughter was growing quickly, and that people I love were getting old while I wasn't paying attention.

I felt the power of time.

And on another level, thoughts of my own mortality paid me a visit as I lay in bed unable to sleep at 2am on Saturday night. The bedroom window was open, and sitting on a concrete wall in front of the house, a girl spoke on her phone.

Her half of the conversation went something like this:

"He will be WASHED. I'm gonna WASH his ass!" Pause. "BITCH, I already been in jail so don't think I fucking care. He's gonna git WASHED."

I crept over to the window holding my breath, and looked down. She shone yellow under the streetlight, her back to the house, hand waving in the night, alone, yelling into her phone. I was waiting for a gunshot. I was hoping her mother would come and find her or something...

So the thing is, once the power went out at my mom's house, I suddenly felt the urge to "stock up" on supplies. To get stuff. I said to Judy, "Let's go shopping." I don't think I've said those three words, in that order, to Judy, ever. She looked at me as if I was about to die or something. She was seriously concerned.

"What's wrong with you?" she questioned.

"Nothing," I said. "Let's go get stuff."

"What stuff?" she wanted to know.

"I dunno. I just feel the need to get some stuff. I'll know what I need, when I see it."

And so 15 minutes later, my mom was flashing her "membership card" at some 90 year-old security guy, and we were strolling into a Costco.