Day 41: Menudo Sucks

I've been very lazy lately but yesterday I had the urge to resume my WiiFit exercises and walking. I should never have skipped so many days, but then again I wouldn't look like I do if I had the resolve to stick to an exercise program every day.

Anyhow, I decided to walk over to 69 Jackson Street, famous in my history as the first place where LK and I lived together. That was way back in 1983. We were married when I moved in, but unfortunately not to each other. Maybe that's why we are among the few who get a bit sentimental when they listen to the B-52's "Love Shack".

Linda had moved back to Freehold with the boys after she and Bob split. In the early days I would stay over and slip out very early before the kids woke up, drive the 20 miles to my apartment in Asbury Park, shower and get dressed and then drive back to my work in Freehold. It was all a pain in the neck, and once the kids told us they had known all along that I was staying over it made it easy to decide on moving in.

I have so many memories of that place. I remember the first Christmas when all of us felt absolutely committed to the belief that Christmas presents could be opened at midnight. All of us, that is, except Matt, the lone dissenter, getting quite annoyed that we were mucking with tradition and Christmas presents could only be opened in the morning.

He had this movie version in his mind where he would wake up, put on his slippers and robe and wait by the tree for the rest of us. Kind of like a 12-year-old Hugh Hefner without the pipe. Despite Matt calling us communists for breaking with tradition, he did join in and open his presents early once he saw the rest of us enjoying our gifts at one minute past midnight.

I remember Jason the scientist. As a young kid, Jay was always conducting experiments. We learned that plastic soldiers freeze quite well but they melt and leave stringy plastic bits all over when you microwave them. We also learned that lit light bulbs make a loud, explosive sound when you sprinkle cold water on them to "see what would happen". I have vague memories of learning some interesting zoology lessons from the goldfish, too.

I would like to forget, but cannot because LK keeps recalling it, that this was also the place of some of my great displays of handyman skills. She is particularly fond of the time I was home with the flu but got bored just lying in bed. So I figured I would sand down the hall floor and polish the wood.

I went to the rental place and ended up with one of those big industrial type sanders - you know, the ones where they say you have to steer it or it will steer you. I was doing all right until I got to the corner near the bedroom, and I just couldn't quite get it around there. Now the sensible person might have shut it off, lifted it up and moved it around the corner. But this was me so I just kept trying to get it to go on its own. For the rest of our time in that place, there was this odd depression in the floor about an inch deep and just about the size of the sander's disk.

I also remember walking out every morning and looking at the warehouse across the street. For our entire time there, the wall of that warehouse carried the message, "Menudo Sucks!" Why anyone felt the need to spray paint their feelings about the Puerto Rican boy band on that wall is beyond me, even though I had to agree that Menudo did indeed suck.

Now, as you can see, the wall has been painted over and there are no provocative music criticisms for the current residents of 69 Jackson St to see.

However, I just googled Menudo and see that the group has been reformed and they are going to announce new members soon. I figure I am in Freehold for another few nights. Maybe it's time to buy a can of spray paint and take my walk after dark. After all, the current people at 69 Jackson might not even know that Menudo sucks. It's the least I can do for them, since I assume they have to keep stepping over that depression in the hallway floor.