Nearly a decade and a half ago...in the lush green land of Panama, where the warm rain falls as if from a faucet...gigantic cruise and cargo ships transect the land through a man-made channel ...where mosquitos grow to the size of pterodactyls with the capability to siphon your entire blood volume...
...I was an obnoxious teenager consumed with the know-it-all days of high school. (Muchas gracias al US Military who stationed my father down there.) I must say...of all the places to spend your curious, hormonally turbulent, pubescent days fumbling through your social retardation to find a place in this world, there is no better place than Panama!! To ease the pain of being "gifted" with bushy, misshapen eyebrows (this was well before I discovered the wonderful contraption known to the world as "tweezers") and a bum that warranted my father's scarring comment: "Hey, we should take some of that ass of yours and put it where your tits are supposed to be," I surrounded myself with obnoxious friends. Mr. Poopie was one of them. (This nic name dates back to high school; its origin I'm not sure of, but I do not recall it having anything to do with actual excrement.) Actually, Mr. Poopie was the King of Obnox, and amongst the top few in a small heep of friends. I'd lost touch with him and all of the others when I moved to CA for college. But, thanks to the glorious people-connector that is the internet, we have recently reconnected. It had been eleven years since we last saw each other.
Turns out Mr. Poopie lives near DC. (And I thought my luck was over when I found out I won 550, 000, 000 Euros via email!) It didn't take a neurosurgeon to suggest that we meet up while I'm out here in DC for work. (It just took a simple general surgeon, actually.) So, last night, Mr. Poopie called me after my work day was thru at the NCI...
"Hey!! Wanna go to a Cavs game??"
"Umm. Sure! Quick question though...what's a 'calves' game?" I had visions of a rodeo style arena with a bunch of fledgling calves competing for one of their mother's moo moo teats. So this is what they do in DC for entertainment.
"WHAT!?! HeLLO! Only the friggin' team that LeBron James plays on!" he explained to me in the tone Paris Hilton might use to explain the social importance of Prada to a poor person.
Ahhh. LeBron. Basketball star. I used to watch an occasional basketball game from time to time, but upon starting residency, the 80-hour work week kind of started interfering with my sports fan schedule. (I brought this up to my superiors but didn't get very far.) So, why do I know who LeBron is? Not quite sure, but it must be due to a brief commercial I didn't Tivo out while watching the Daily Show with Jon Stewart (aside from NPR, my only real and reliable news source).
Before I could answer..."I know a guy who can get us GREAT seats near center court!" he said with the pubescent wonder that made him so amusing in the ol' days of Panama. Then, slightly crestfallen, "...but, you know, if you don't want to go to the game, we can just, like, go to dinner or something. It's cool. You know...whatever."
So we went to the game. (I may cut people for a living, but I'm not cruel!) I met him by the metro-scented saxophone player at the Gallery Place metro stop. After we exchanged a few exclamatory remarks, "OHmyGodsogreattoseeyouhowAREyouJeezyoustilllookthesame!!!" we walked over to the arena.
We were so consumed with the business of catching up (and with the business of purchasing wildly overpriced, nutritionally vacuous arena food and beer) that we completely missed one small detail. Trivial, really. As we made our way to our seats, though, it kind of announced itself.
This is the part where I ask you to join me, if you will, on the ice.
Yes. That's right. Ice. No hard wood floors. No basketballs. No hoops. No Lebron James. No Cavaliers.
Ice. Pucks. Sticks. Capitals.
Yes sirree...this wasn't a "Cavs" game, it was a "Caps" game. Apparently Mr. Poopie and his friend didn't have such a good cell phone connection when discussing the night's plans. We settled into our "center court" seats (for what it's worth, they were really great seats), and, after a laugh, the size of which constituted my ab work out for the entire week, we had a great time. I mean, how many games can you go to and cheer out loud "BUST A CAP!! BUST A CAP!!" (In Oakland or San Francisco, someone might just "bust a cap" in your ass for having the audacity to invite them to!)
The evening yielded lots of good laughs and plenty of great photos (several of which will keep Mr. Poopie out of public office should he ever decide to run). With eleven years of catching up to do, there was a lot to cover!
Off now to meet up with my 'Rican Tia who also happens to live in the area!
*Picture of metro stop was taken by The Brit on a prior trip to DC.