Lights, Camera, Acton

Blake and I drove down to Acton on Friday night to spend some quality funtime with our old roommate, Brett of Los Angeles. It made for a packed, relaxing weekend, if you can have such a thing–one of those weekends where you are constantly busy, yet you come out of it refreshed on Monday morning. It was so nice to see Brett since he’s been working in the Ivory Coast for the last few months, and he’s on his way to Portugal or Holland or Indonesia. Or somewhere.

A little background on Brett: there are few nerds (yeah I called you a nerd, Brett) who can match Brett’s athleticism and sense of humor, which all combine to make him quite the unique guy. In college, he would seriously spend 10 hours reading about Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s implementation of Holiday Economics, and then turn around and score three goals in our intramural soccer game that night.

There’s one Brett story that I have to tell before I get back to the point: In the middle of sophomore year, on a November evening, Brett comes home to our apartment around 8 pm. Blake and I are watching TV–I’m not sure what we were watching exactly, but we were certainly aware that there was a Laker game on TNT (channel 37 at the time), and we knew that Brett would soon ask to watch it.

So Brett goes to up his room, presumably to hug his textbooks or look at a picture of Chirac, and Blake turns to me and says: “Let’s mess with Brett.” Which was pretty much my favorite four-word suggestion in college, right behind “Let’s play video games” and “Let’s get some lunch”. Blake takes the remote from his TV tray and puts it next to his right thigh, hidden from the view of someone coming down the stairs.

It’s right then that Brett comes down the stairs: “Hey guys, can I watch the Laker game?” Blake sighs sarcastically like he always does and says: “Yeah, but we can’t find the remote.” So Brett goes up to the TV and presses Channel Up until he gets to TNT. The exact moment that he reaches channel 37, Blake puts his hand on his side and presses Channel Up on the remote. We’re on channel 38 now. So Brett presses Channel Down on the TV, and as you would guess, Blake presses Channel Down on the remote. Channel 36. Brett: Channel Up, Blake: Channel Up, back to 38.

This charade goes on for like, I don’t know, 15 seconds. Brett is just flabbergasted that he can’t get the TV to stay on the right channel: “What the…! Are you guys seeing this? I’m not even pressing it!” He presses Channel Up again and sharply walks away with his hands up in the air, like a soccer player that just incidentally knocked down his opponent, hoping not to get called for a foul. “Look! I didn’t touch it!” Blake is losing it. Brian is watching now from the kitchen and he’s already lost it, if I remember correctly. Which is a big “if”, because I’m dazed by now, trying to figure out how a college student–a smart dude–cannot figure this out.

It’s at this point that Brett utters the famous words, in complete seriousness: “The TV won’t let me watch the Lakers game!” Yes, Brett. The George Foreman Grill won’t let me play basketball, either. When he finally figured it out, I can’t remember if he even wanted to watch the game at that point.

Okay, back to the current story here: So Blake and I get to Acton late at night after a 6.5 hour drive, and Brett pretty much looks the same as he did when I last saw him in December. Sometimes you expect people to look different, which I guess makes more sense when you are visiting a toddler or a teenager. I guess we aren’t going to physically change much in our twenties, unless of course we get some sweet scars on our faces (maybe from fighting bears).

Mrs. Dillon prepares a nice breakfast the next morning, and then it’s time for the big event of the weekend: wiffleball at Dillon Park. Dillon Park is Brett’s front yard, which is set up almost perfectly for wiffleball. The only two modifications that would improve the field are: 1) a slightly longer homerun fence (it’s 14 paces down the line, and 16 to dead center), and 2) removal of spiky juniper bushes past the home run fence. Otherwise, this thing was built for wiffleball.

Brett’s younger brother Brian hits the go-ahead homerun of off Brett in the top of the last inning, making Brian and me victorious in the first game. Blake and I team up to 10-run the Dillon Brothers in the second game. Brett, you haven’t beat me since 2004.

We ate at Tommy’s for lunch because I wanted to eat somewhere I’ve never eaten before (vacation habit), and I can’t say that I’ve ever had food served to me that quickly in my life. We watched “Kickin’ It!” for old times’ sake, and then Mrs. Dillon made us an incredible dinner that night. We talked for a few hours at the dinner table, covering most of the topics of the year: weddings, jobs, going back to school, Ziv R. Lang, etc. (when is Ziv not a topic?). It was great to sit down and talk with Brett’s family about all this kind of stuff; they are terrific people and I hope to see them all again soon.

Blake and I left the next afternoon, stopping at Pea Soup Andersen’s at Blake’s insistence on the way back. I honestly never thought I’d order all-you-can-eat soup, but it’s happened now. Yes Blake, it was very delicious. Good luck across the world, Brett!