Going on a Quest

or Why My Parents Aren’t Getting Their Hopes Up For Grandkids Anytime Soon

I had ice cream for dinner the other night. Really, it was the respectful choice. I worked a little late and had a show to get to at 7:30, nothing quick in the fridge, and this shop was only a block and change from the venue. I didn’t have time for anything more than a courtesy shower before I had to hop on the train(s) to Passyunk.

Plus I wanted to.

I made it to the record store about 15 minutes after the posted time and the first band was already a couple songs in, which really blew my mind since I’m used to a 3 or 4 band bill taking 3 hours. I assume there’s noise ordinances in the city that keep things running briskly. What I know for sure is that I got home before my bedtime and it whipped ass.

Living in a dense walkable city means I can make any outing into a whole thing without a ton of planning, so I wanted to get dinner out that night anyway. I actually hadn’t been to Passyunk before so I wanted to see the infamous Acme and the Singing Fountain in person. I also saw a cat on a leash! That’s how you know it’s a schmancy neighborhood. On a Friday night with a time crunch I didn’t want to fool around with a busy bar or proper restaurant, so ice cream seemed like the most practical choice.

I dunno, man. There’s something so nice about only answering to myself (and the cats, who mostly care about the regularity of feeding and cleaning services). It doesn’t mean ice cream dinner all the time—I keep myself to a pretty decent bedtime on school work nights with few exceptions and eat vegetables most days because I can acknowledge that I feel like shit if I don’t take care of myself reasonably well. But in general, I can decide to go to the beach for a day that very day and nobody gets mad about it unless I do it by calling out of work. I haven’t done this…yet. I’m definitely due for a beach adventure now that beach tags season is almost over. I last went right before Memorial Day weekend so I didn’t have to learn about how those work, and I’m opting not to find out too much because I’d rather go off-season during the school year anyway.

The real reason I wanted to ramble about this is that I just ordered a 12-foot skeleton and I’m going to put it on my roof for longer than is generally considered acceptable. I’m thinking to put it up as soon as I get it assembled, take it down Thanksgiving weekend? Or sometime in January. All the people who leave Christmas decorations up until March or April are my enemies. I didn’t notice anyone on my block decorating for much of anything over the past almost a year, maybe some garlands or twinkle lights here and there, so I will be the first Holiday Decoration Menace. I’m also going to (any day now) crochet some spiderwebs to hang on my porch. I hit the Resource Exchange recently and found just the right shimmery washable yarn for it! Frankly I’m glad I don’t live in that part of town or I would be up in there all the time. A magical place. Anyway, those cobwebby things that come on rolls are made of plastic and go everywhere and look gross the second it rains. If my crochet version gets messed up in the laundry, it’ll stretch out fine when it goes back up. Plus I can just add some more onto it if I move to a new place with a different porch!

The big fuckin’ skeleton has been a sort of holy grail for me since they hit the scene in 2020. I used to work in some pretty wealthy neighborhoods that did serious decorating for every occasion, and there would be yards with entire Halloween scenes set up with multiple giant skeletons and assorted skeleton children/minions and animals. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Christmas and my family has historically taken down the tree within a few days or even immediately after dinner the day of, leaving some tinsel and wreaths but otherwise wrapping up and putting it all away ASAP. This, though? Ohhhhh mama. Big stupid spooky shit is the dream. I don’t even know if I’m dressing up or doing anything that night. I’ll have to figure out a secure candy bowl situation because ain’t no way I’m answering the door. But the second I catch a whiff of artificial cinnamon chemicals, I’m autumn festive. I worked at a craft store for a couple years and it’s basically a biological response.

I’m not sure I had much of a point here, honestly, but I have to kill some time until my gigantic plastic skeleton shows up.