The house of T

Good morning, fellow computer-users. First off, today is my friend Ceil's birthday and I'd like to publicly wish her a very happy one. "Public" now means "in front of 8 - 10 people" apparently. I call her Foca, which is Spanish for 'seal' which is homophonic with her name. I get all sorts of crazy like that. So Happy Birthday, Foca, and I hope the day is a great one.

Food week continued! I love it when a plan comes together. Every time I'm able to stretch out a topic over a couple of additional days, an angel gets its wings. I heard that somewhere, and I'm inclined to believe it. So check it out, yo. I wrote a bunch this week about foods I like and dislike. Everyone has their own particularities in cuisine, so most people are pretty understanding when I say that I don't like certain foods. For example, I don't get any kind of grief or weird look for saying that I don't like olives or sour cream. I've tried them both, and sometimes they're ok if they're a part of a whole, but they're just not my thing. No big whup, right?

However, there are two items that get major reactions from people. The first is cheesecake. That will be on a dessert menu, and I'll casually mention that I don't like it before someone jumps in and orders it from our server. "What do you mean you don't like cheesecake?" I'll be asked. "I don't like the way it tastes," I usually respond, figuring it's hard to argue with such a logical reason. That's not enough for these people, though. "But it's so good! It's cheesecake!" "I understand," I'll say, "but it's just not my thing." "Do you like cream cheese?" they ask. "No, which is probably why I don't like the cake made with it either." After another back and forth, they eventually ask if there is any dessert I do like, as if I must hate even the thought of sugar because I don't like one kind of cake. I'm telling you, this turns into a way bigger deal than it should.

Even more flabbergasted are the folks who find out that I don't like guacamole. Frankly, they go apeshit, and I've almost lost friends over it. The first question is always the same: "Well do you like avocados?" I tell them I don't, again erroneously thinking that I may halt the ensuing conversation before it gets started. "But it's so good! How can you not like guacamole? Have you tried it?" I tell them I have indeed tried it, but it continues for a little while. I eventually have to resort to telling them, "Hey, that just means more for you" in order to end the topic, which usually does the trick. Greedy bastards.

This leads me to a story. It's one I've wanted to write about for a long time and I finally have an appropriate intro with this food stuff. Excellent, Smithers, simply excellent. Here goes: Growing up, my favorite brother and I did virtually everything together. We went to elementary school together until I was in third grade, went to the same summer camp, and generally hung out a lot in the same places. One day though, I went to a classmate's birthday party without him. The boy's name was Michael T., and the party was at his house. My memory fails me a little, but I clearly remember watching "Return of the Jedi" on the far right end of a couch and some kind of fun attraction like a moonbounce in the backyard. Everything else is fuzzy for two main reasons. First, this was over twenty years ago. Second, I've made up so many things about this party that I can't distinguish fact from fiction anymore. Allow me to explain.

Kevin overheard me telling someone once that I had tried avocado. Being the older brother that he was, he eagerly jumped into the conversation to prove me wrong. "Where have you ever tried that?" he asked. "At Michael T.'s house," I calmly answered, knowing full well he couldn't contradict that statement. Did I actually eat that there? I can't honestly say. Part of me can picture chips and dips on the coffee table in front of me while watching the movie, and part of me thinks I've retroactively created that memory to fit a lie I told. Disirregardless, I realized that I had a goldmine of an alibi on my hands. Over the next few years, I did all sorts of things that one day at Michael T.'s. It drove Kevin crazy for a while, because he so badly wanted to prove that these things never happened but couldn't. "Sure, I've ridden a jet ski before...at Michael T's house."

Over the years, it's become quite the running gag. I did such amazing things at Michael T.'s that anyone who wasn't there should think himself cursed that he missed it. I stuck my head in an alligator's mouth at Michael T.'s. I learned to scuba dive at Michael T.'s. I built and then drove a go-kart at Michael T.'s. I watched hip replacement surgery on closed circuit tv at Michael T.'s. I even went on a short trip to Guam at Michael T.'s. It's the alibi that keeps on giving, even to this day. I wish everyone had their own "Michael T.'s house." I can see it now: "Your honor, I request that my client's sentence be reduced to time already served. He was on house arrest at Michael T.'s for two months, which more than covers his debt to society."

Someday, someday. Have a great rest of your days, gentle readers, and I'll see you back here for another FUF piece tomorrow. If you have any questions, stories, thoughts, or Car Watch items, ptklein@gmail.com is your main domain, man.