Salad Days Vol.#89: Easy Livin'

It was the Fall/ Winter of 1984. Uncle Frank and I had just purchased the cottages on the lake that would eventually be turned into the palaces which we all grew to know and love on the vast compound we now call East Mosquitoville. It was the best of times; it was the best of times. I had just saved up $6000, and under Frank's judicious tutoring had aquired enough construction acumen to make my little lakeside bungalow into something Bob Vilas would surely envy.

The plan was this: Frank and I would take a voluntary lay-off from ZVI Construction. We would collect unemployment and 'work' in the woods. We would keep busy working on the camps with the money we had saved and Voila!...

Easier said than done. Without the insufferable scrutiny of a supervisor on our tails, without the structure of a 9 to 5 routine, and without a real care in the world, we soon slipped into a casual, comfortable,'not gettin' a God-Damned thing done' modus operandus. It went something like this: I would get up about 8:30 am, put on some coffee, catch a re-run of Magnum P.I., then head down to Frank's. He was, at that point, in a full head of steam about some project he was going to finish, but was currently in the process of 'planning out'. I would soon join him, usually accompanied by one or more of my esteemed cronies, who had crashed at my swingin' bachelor pad, and then the fun began.

Some days, we actually got some work done (we COULD, when inspired, work effectively and determinedly), but generally it didn't last long. Usually, it was the prognosticating and brainstorming about shit we were going to do, or should do, that took up most of our morning hours. Fueled by vast oceans of coffee, we soon devolved from prognosticating to general bufoonery and monkeyshines by about 11:30 am. This might involve various subjects as shooting out car windows with BB Guns, shooting ME in the ass with a BB Gun, human catapults, sunglasses for dogs, explosives made from Horseshit, or the like. Frank definitely had a gift for making the infinitely ridiculous not only easily imaginable, but highly fuckin' likely.

Actually, some days we actually worked in the woods. We'd usually cut about $40 worth of Cedar logs, borrow a truck to haul it to the Mill, then promptly blow our Wad on cheap Swill- an extremely wise investment in retrospect. But, alas, most days were spent on what we used to call 'Dubbin', taking rides up North for any or no apparent reason, off on a wild goose chase in search of a 1920 Model A Jitterbug in 'Mint' condition. Or it could be Dump-Picking, or boat hunting; any ruse to go have some fun. Ponder the possiblilties! Why the Hell not? So what if my Cottage was NOT getting renovated in any hurry. So what if my $6000 cache was dwindling down, soon forcing us to scamper back out onto the 'Road', to Chicago, and work up some more scratch. So what if I had to store the Beer in my fridge, not to keep it cool, but to keep it from Fuckin' freezing, cuz my cottage was so cold! It was worth squandering every penny on cheap 'ice-cold', and to think I could have been working the whole time. Hanging with Frank was certainly an education, and I got a PhD. in the School of the Infinitely Ridiculous with a Magna cum Laude!