Despite much teen-inspired content, I’ve lacked the motivation to put pen to paper. Writers, I use that term loosely in reference to myself, in the absence of their inspiration, typically can’t create on demand. Thus, I’ve been sulking my way through 2021, while mentally cataloging the often moronic, teen adventures.
With that in mind, a look back on 2021 is required to purge and move forward. While the purpose of this blog is to focus on comedy, I can’t reflect on 2021 without honoring the memory of Chad Levi Downs, July 6, 1977 – March 11, 2021. RIP. You are loved and missed by all who know you.
Now, let’s roll back the hands of time to winter of 2021. It was the typical Friday night. Dad was sleeping restlessly, while I’m pondering what time the teen shenanigans will begin. I’m starting to feel optimistic about the evening when Sam comes home to “get something.” I mistakenly summon him to the basement because I can’t find the TV remote.
He dutifully runs downstairs to help me look. We retrieve the remote and then simultaneously look at the carpet to see perfectly formed sneaker imprints sprinkled around the media room and up the stairs. WHAT the *()#*$%()*#)$*#)$* is happening? Is this mud? What the (#*$&(#$() is all over my carpet? “Tar from the train tracks,” he says. SERIOUSLY, why are you idiots on the train tracks? How did this tar escape your notice until now? Naturally, he’s sorry but deflects and blames the hair brained idea on his friends.
He freaks out and leaves, while I sit on the floor sobbing. How in the world am I going to clean 15ish, perfectly formed, sneaker imprints without waking up dad at midnight? There’s a long pause while I collect myself and try to think. Eureka! Google to the rescue.
Turns out rubbing alcohol and a rag is the magic formula. Sam was feeling guilty, so he called to check on me. Hearing me still sobbing must have struck the guilt nerve because he promptly returned home where we set to work with our rags and rubbing alcohol. I was convinced this was a full carpet replacement. Much to our amazement, an hour later we had tackled the worst of it. You could still see a shadow of a few prints, but otherwise it was a miraculous save.
The next morning, dad was up at the crack of dawn as usual. I finally rolled out of bed after my rigorous night of hard labor. When he sees me, he says “why does the basement smell like rubbing alcohol?” I tried to explain the night’s events in a way that he’d fully appreciate what a fine job we did saving the carpet. All the while, kicking myself for not taking before and after pictures.
There are more adventures to share, but I’ll close for now. Wishing everyone a much brighter 2022.