The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions. -Ralph Waldo Emerson
More on this in a bit.
My friends Chris and Mark came over to the house for our annual fantasy baseball keeper league draft, but the draft never actually happened. For a reason unknown to us, the league keepers weren’t set, so when the draft started, it was as if the league began anew.
In the scramble to attempt to fix this mistake, Mark set out to make a new league with a new draft date. I don’t know why “Swedish Penis Enlarger” popped into my head, but it did. And then I was morally obligated to type “I swear it’s not my bag,” into the comment field right below it. I have to be honest, since there is a fairly short limit of space in the “team name” field – I think it’s 20 characters – I kept waiting for the cursor to stop moving as I typed “Enlarger,” but it never did. I was filled with glee. As of yet, I am not sure whether this team name is an improvement over “50 Shades of Cray” and “Hold on Voltaire.” I am not even certain that this name will stick until the draft day (next Saturday). The odds are that something else equally asinine will float across my subconscious and become my new team name.
My wife started playing Candy Crush over the weekend, and after a brief trial period, I have decided I don’t like the game. Because it resembles Bejeweled Blitz so closely, I can’t remove my first instinct to move as quickly as possible. I don’t care about destroying all the jelly. I only care about blowing up gems. Candy Crush also ruined a massage that I feel I deserved. Lynnette wanted to play the game one the iPad, but the tablet is synched with my iTunes account. She begged me to sign up for the game so she could play it. I relented. So, if I don’t answer whatever requests you’re sending, that’s Lynnette, not me. So anyway, she’s playing Candy Crush and she’d already committed to giving me a massage. “No, you keep playing your game,” I said. “I don’t want one of your one-handed massages. Those are garbage,” I said. She played for a few more minutes before saying she was ready to rub me down. She gave the iPad to Madison. I was face-down on the bed and could feel Lynnette’s two-handed loving touch. After a minute or two, Lynnette said “Don’t waste all the lives.” I felt a hand drift away from my back. I cleared my throat, and the hand returned to my shoulders. A few moments later, I felt the hand leave again. “I can do it myself!” Madison shouted. I started flopping on the bed. Lynnette laughed and tried to resume the massage. “No, no, no, no,” I said, in that really high-pitched voice one says “No, no, no, no” when one is upset. Screw you, Candy Crush. I want my wife back.
About that Emerson quote… yesterday, Lynnette floated the idea of going to Disneyland. This summer. Off hand, this seems impossible. But it’s slightly more possible than going to Disneyland if we have another kid in the next two years, which is something else we’ve been talking about.
Now, I don’t want to get anyone excited about either of those two possibilities – believe me, I’m excited enough for all of us – but it amounted to Lynnette running Inception on me. For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t think about anything else other than what it would take for the three of us to take a trip to California in June or July.
I have already begun the arduous process of trying to see how many miles I can use on this trip. I have had the pleasure of having 7 different expedia.com windows open at the same time to compare prices for a trip I’m not even sure I can make yet. Perhaps most shameful, I have checked the Mets schedule to see if they’ll be playing games against the Angels, Dodgers, Padres, and even the Giants. They are not. Sad face.
Look, I don’t know if this is really going to happen, but I want it to. Lynnette and I haven’t been off-island since 2006. Madison’s at an age where she probably won’t remember the trip years later, but will appreciate it in the moment. She’s still young enough to see Disneyland as Disneyland and not as an expensive, crowded amusement park. I called Lynnette this morning. I told her I hated her for doing this to me. In the end, I have only a few requests. I want to eat In-N-Out at least twice. I want Wi-Fi in the hotel room. I want to visit LMU. I would like to walk Santa Monica. Mostly, though, I want to see Mad’s face when she finally figures out why we had to sit in a stuffy plane for five hours.
Mets and Disneyland in 2013!