L'herbe est plus verte...

Everyone has that memorable summer...or that perfect vacation that stirs deep emotion upon reflection. A lot of times these memories are ushered to the forefront through song, smell or a glimpse of something that inexplicably conjures up the memory and makes us long to be living that experience again.

For me, that memorable period was sometime in the late nineties--1995 or 1996. Whenever I hear an old Doors song like Summer's Almost Gone, or a live version of anything from Crosby, Stills, and Nash, I'm transported to the days that I lived in the Mirage Apartments in Fresno. I see myself setting a Jim Beam whiskey bottle on the wooden coffee table beside several shot glasses, a Rummy Cube board game, and a Nintendo 64 game console.

A knock at the door pushes the endorphin button within and I rush to the door, knowing that it will be the first of a group of close friends whose company will ensure a night of laughter and intriguing conversation. Maki and Yas show up with their own brand of alcohol--their smiles make me wonder how it was ever possible that America and Japan were at one time bitter foes.

Jack and his brother Patrick were never far behind, and Marc and Makoto, my roommates, were already there. For some reason we always gathered around that small coffee table as if it were some reverent altar on which our blood must spill before the memorable night could begin--only it was never blood but whisky and tequila and Sapporo that filled the wooden crevices.

Good natured arguments always ensued as the night progressed. Patrick always passed out early. Makoto was guaranteed to unleash that rare but hilarious laugh that made the hangover next day completely worth it. Jack was sure to come up with some logical explanation to neutralize an argument that reached the ridiculous stage.

Yas was sure to ask an insightful question prompting me to ponder whether he wasn't an inquisitive deity in human form. Maki never let a shot glass stand empty for long and could drink us all under the table--unbelievable! And Marc was sure to get the blood pumping in everyone with his incredible knack for inciting heated discussion.

Everyone was an indispensable piece of a perfect puzzle that formed one of the best periods of my life. A small apartment that collected a group of people from different nations and made them the best of friends.

When people ask me what I would do if I won the lottery, I tell them I would buy a new house, a car, travel, etc. But what I would really love to do is to recreate the Mirage Apartment. I would send roundtrip plane tickets to Jack & Patrick (in Morro Bay), Makoto (in L.A.), Yas & Maki (in Japan), and Marc (in France). And we would pretend it was 1995 or 1996.

P.S. Subsequent spouses, children, and loveable pets will also receive paid airfare and eligibility to be members in our live studio audience. Hors d'oeuvres will be served on the patio upon successful completion of said memory.


Written to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young:

Might as Well Have a Good Time

There are windows on the water
Lighting up the silver strand
Shining on the sea
Shining on the sea

And the ocean's just a player
On an old piano
Who repeats one melody
Who repeats one melody

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time

Well the elbows of his jacket
Are blue and shiny
He's drunk and gone to seed
Drunk and gone to seed

And he mumbles as he plays
The only song he knows
It's the only song he knows
It's the only song he needs

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time

All his restless music
Don't mean a damn thing to me
The shallow or the deep
Said, the shallow or the deep

So if you're free this evening
We'll go out together
And party 'til we sleep
Party 'til we sleep

I belong on the shore
Hustlin' nickels and dimes
'Cause it ain't long
Before it's gone
You might as well have a good time.