My Type of Time

In high school, I played soccer, and I had this Australian soccer coach. He was gruff, pear-shaped, and not a particularly effective coach -- largely due to his embitterment at having been a former Australian minor league player and all the inferiority complex that implies. When I say I played soccer, I should qualify: I attempted to play soccer. I gave it my best shot. I showed up to practice every day, ran on the field, and intellectually knew the sport; but I wasn't particularly good at it. As a former Captain on the Junior Varsity team (due to my natural inclination to impose order on chaos, and what is more chaotic than 11 sixteen-year-olds chasing 11 other sixteen-year-olds and one uncooperative ball?), I was determined to get better. So one day, at the end of practice, I asked Coach Grubba, "Coach, how do I improve?"

He turned to me, swelled up his Australian beer gut, and blessed me with a remarkably smug and disdainful smirk, "You're a very Type A person, aren't you, Josh?"

Not knowing what the hell he was going on about or what crazy Australian classification system he was using, I followed up in the Socratic way with what I felt was a very apropos and striking question, "What?"

"Everything has to go a certain way. If you just know steps 2 and 3, you can get to step 4," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing to look down at me like a particularly amusing but ineffectual yappy dog jumping at knees. "There's Type A -- you -- and Type B -- me. Type B is relaxed. Type B goes with the flow and things happen as they happen. Type A plans and plots and imagines that they can hold the universe and all its doings like a cowboy wrangling a particularly nasty steer. When something doesn't go 'according to plan,' all hell breaks loose." I may be paraphrasing here. He was a former Australian minor league player with no doubt a few soccer balls to the head.

"I don't understand how this applies," I said, somewhat perturbed now and beginning to expect the helpful advice was not forthcoming.

Grubba placed his meaty hand on my shoulder and said in his best impression of fatherly charm, "Josh, you're never going to be our star defensive back. You try hard, and I like you, but there's no step 2 or step 3 for you to get to step 4 here. Just enjoy what you're doing and don't worry about it. You'll see play time."

I did not go out for soccer again the next year.

So yeah, I suppose I'm fairly Type A. I like to plan, and I like for things to go according to plan. Ever since I realized this I've been making concerted efforts to relax more, to "go with the flow" as the Smug Pear-shaped Guru once said. I say "yes" more often, and voila, I find I'm doing more things and having more fun. I've found that striking a balance between coordinating and allowing for things to happen despite original plans has proven remarkably fruitful.

Take the last week for example. I was out last Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Other than some small inkling of plans for Saturday, the other two days' events just sort of... sprang out of nowhere. Thursday night, after some impromptu planning, Dan, Davia, and I decided our respective houses should hang out. After making sure Steph was driving Dan over so I'd have a ride home, I took advantage of the beautiful weather (back before the weather tried to boil us alive) and walked the thirty or so minutes over to Davia and Sara's from the office. Poor showed up too, and suddenly we had two decks with which to play Cards Against Humanity - because we still have a problem.

We managed to avoid yet another round of C.A.H. and instead the evening mostly consisted of us hanging out while Dan and I systematically picked off their leftover liquor bottle by bottle. Sara, eager to sleep and have her alcohol-cleaning-crew gone by that point, shooed us away, and Steph drove us back to Virginia. On the way, it somehow came up that I had never had a cigar, so drunk Dan insisted we stop and get cigars on the way back. This culminated in the two of us drinking beer and smoking really cheap Black and Milds while watching more of the 90s animated X-Men cartoon past 1 AM, when Steph finally dragged me home.

This has nothing to do with anything in this blog, it's just fucking adorable. You'd never know she's evil.

Friday, feeling just peachy keen, I attempted to get back to work on my long-term project for the office's new website launching this Fall. Being a Friday in summer, the office was practically empty as everyone was on vacation, working off-site, in meetings or lectures, or just taking off early. So, when Mike showed up from the Supreme Court just next door and Goo tugged him over to my office Friday afternoon, I welcomed a chance to show Mike the life of a Congressional staffer. Goo and I gave him the full basement tour, including our laps, the tunnels to the Capitol, and the precious Longworth vending machines where you can get really crappy frozen food. Mike had the most trouble getting a drink from a vending machine I have ever seen in my life. It's like he A. never worked one before or B. all machines hate him. I am comfortable with the truth lying somewhere in the middle there.

Before he left, Mike convinced me - to my horror - to attend Seung's suckling pig roast that evening at Mass Court. Now, I love pig and roasts (my grandmother's family is locally famous in Winchester for their annual pig roast, which ballooned from a family affair in my youth to a full-blown community event these days), but Seung is... wacky. At best. And rapey and a bit serial-killer-y at worst. So I had no intention of going that way and had in fact talked Dan out of going the night before. Yet here I was, fully planning to stick around D.C. after work instead of heading home for a relaxing evening not being subjected to grab-ass.

As soon as one of my bosses called off work early at about 5:00 (a common occurrence in recess weeks), I hit the metro and headed over to Mike's place in Foggy Bottom. He finally showed me a working copy of Diablo III. I loved the old games, but since my computer these days is basically workable as an internet-ready device and little else due to a shot graphics card, I'm fine without it for now. Still, I enjoyed the geeky show-and-tell. After that, we sat on his very nice patio, had some beer and pita chips and chatted. It was rather nice, all told.

Before we left, Mike packed up his entire life since he was staying at Goo's that night to be closer to Georgetown Law where he had to attend CourtCamp the next day. Then we headed back to the metro and hopped off at Gallery Place to walk over to Mass Court. On the way we met Beder, who Mike emphatically persuaded against buying liquor because "Seung said he had it covered!" When we arrived at Mass Court at about 9 with several bottles of mixers, we naturally discovered no such liquor was available. Mike Johnson, everybody.

I photobomb and videobomb like a boss. I don't even think I meant to here. Oh well, I'm pretty kickass. Humble too.

The rooftop pig'n'chicken roasting party turned out to not be nearly as creepy as I'd imagined. Seung is a fantastic cook, as ever, and it was very kind of him to share his food with so many people. I managed to only hit on Poor's friend for a very brief amount of time before learning she had a boyfriend in Ohio (which is basically Canada, right?). We had a decent amount of wine and a way-too-big, way-too-wrong game of C.A.H. because we remain addicts. Davia and Goo joined us post-Music Man and we all marveled at what people we know will do in a pool very, very near us. Oh, and Mike, Davia, and Goo were all horrible, awful friends when they made Seung repeatedly [REDACTED] to [REDACTED]. It was awkward, and this is one of the many reasons I love my friends. My just-AWFUL friends.

William Carlos Williams quote here.

Since it was late and I had no interest in grabbing a cab from the metro or taking a chance and calling Steph to take me home, I crashed at Goo's Friday night. This began with us walking from Mass Court to Longworth (nearly killing Mike under the weight of HIS ENTIRE LIFE on Capitol Hill) and ended with my hubris-induced freezing. Apparently it does still get chilly at night. Word to the wise: always steal your friend's blanket. Don't be a hero.

When I eventually woke up Saturday, Mike was already gone - which I expected. Goo was also nowhere to be found - which I did not expect. After some confusion and a shower, Goo returned with Nori in tow, who was very happy to see me until her excitement was tempered somewhat by my non-Jeff-ness. Sadly, my non-Jeff-ness will continue to haunt me. It was one of my very worst non-attributes. Following some quiche and a delicious horrible concoction of frozen mango in not-so-frozen chocolate syrup (brought to you by Chef Drunk Goo), Goo dropped me off at home. I grabbed a haircut, cleaned up a bit around the house, and headed right back into the city that evening.

This was the only part of the weekend I had actually planned at all. I drove over to Sara and Davia's and Goo picked us up there and took us down to Capitol Hill to meet Sara's parents for dinner at the Good Stuff Eatery AKA Obama's Burger Joint. Sara's parents were very nice and paid for our dinner, and anything that makes me feel like I'm 18 again is good. We sat and chatted for a good long while, assuring the Collinses that their daughter was in the very best of hands. Also that Jeff is not a real person and is in fact Sara's boyfriend who lives in Canada. Then we had to explain this reference to Jeff, which would have been very sad if it didn't lead to Goo singing almost the entirety of My Girlfriend Who Loves in Canada to Jeff, much to Nori's consternation.

Nori was totally copying Goo for a bit here, shoving her face through the
railing slats. It was uncanny and awesome.

We hung out back at Sara and Davia's with Sara's sister Brian (Bryan? Brien...? BRINE. Brain! Brian.) and enjoyed our status corrupting a minor. It's been a while since I was corrupting my own younger brother. Oh, and Goo was very upset that she only learned about Zach's existence on Saturday. Very upset. I am shamed. Clearly I did not give her the full presentation during our super-bonding ride back from Pennsylvania a few weeks ago. This is my fault, and I apologize. In any case, we didn't stay too long despite enjoying some old SNL skits and ridiculous topics of conversation before I decided to bail and drop Brian back off at his hotel. A nice, relaxing, not-really-planned time.

Sunday was Father's Day. I called my Dad. Precisely when I told him I would. What? I'm still pretty Type A most of the time.

Ok, this post was holy shit so long, but since it took me forever to post, I may do a shorter one tomorrow too. Maybe. Shit, now I've planned it. Ok, tomorrow barring unforeseen activities, expect another post. Ok, friends, you may now feel free to rope me into unforeseen activities.