The Return To Rosemont, Part One

Being the awesome homeowner I am, I just tracked mud all over my off-white carpet in order to fetch my computer. Yes. These things happen when an idea arrives and common sense is suspended. Happens all the time. Anyway, I had two good ideas for writing about the old man, so I'm doing a part one and two, you know, just to be cool like that.

Part One of "The Return to Rosemont"

I was somewhat glad to see the Subaru Outback drive up to the carport. All decked out with a luggage carrier or ski carrier, whatever the hell that thing is. Although I doubt the old man's knees are able to handle even the bunniest of slopes. He returned from vacation. And I haven't seen him out much. If he's like me, then he's a little depressed when he gets home from a good vacation. Back to the reality of daily life. Back to his little compound-fortress of a house. Back to a hellion for a neighbor. Back to Rosemont. God Bless America.

So, the old man isn't out these days. He's probably spending this time riding the couch, watching History Channel. I saw a pretty decent documentary on History Channel myself called "The Story of Us" ... all about the history of the United States. I angrily stopped watching it though when I realized that I had sat through a 10 minute segment about how big of an influence Bank of America was on our early days as a country. As it turns out, they were the main sponsor, and consequently hired the same producers/directors/etc. to create an historical ad that seamlessly fit in with the program itself. Puke. I hate advertising. Albeit clever, I still hate it. So, the old man watched a lot of BOA ads with a little bit of American History on the side. Good for him. He needs to get off his ass and water his patch of grass that he started. I kept up with mine, and it's doing fine. You GOTTA water it!

Not to be unsympathetic, because I know how bad it sucks to come home from vacation. Who doesn't? So I've gotten to thinking of just WHAT his vacation was and where he went. This is the best I can do. Florida. First of all, I'm sure he has plenty of friends already living out there retirement there. Second, staying in a friend's beach house is cheaper than renting a home or getting a hotel room. Third, golf. He seems like an asshole golfer. That's probably what the racks on his Subaru are for. Fourth, old people are thick-as-thieves! Ever been to Denny's at 4 in the afternoon? No? Well, don't! Old people, in their wisdom, naturally associate with all other old people. They've all been in a war, are members of AARP, complain a lot, and share the reality that most of the people they've ever known are now dead. Did I mention they despise the youth of America? Even the near-thirtysomethings that live next door that didn't quite seem to grow up the same way that THEY used to?  Hahah, keep in mind that I do not know this man. This is my imagination doing imationationalistic-isms because I'm just that bored at the moment.

So, the old man's vacation must have surely been a hoot. And now it's over. But the good thing is that he seems to be in decent health, what with all of his shirtless yardwork and snow-blowing he does, so he'll probably live to enjoy another Floridian vacation next summer. And with my vacation still a month away, I hope he wonders the same about me and why I won't be out tending to my yard like usual. The same shared depression of that which is coming home, back to reality, back to the same-old, and knowing that this year's vacation is gone.

...Until next time (and Part Two!)