Someone told me yesterday that it is almost July, and I called them a liar straight to their face.
Time is passing at an inconsiderate pace, and sometimes I fight it with loud noises and misdirected aggression.
Needless to say, summer is officially here. There are a lot of things about summer that I love: weddings. shcooting. incongruous tan lines.
Last weekend, Mike and I got to celebrate the wedding of one of our best friends from Colorado childhood. Her name is Katie Skattebo, but since high school we’ve called her Skatt, Skatt-e-bo, Skatt-e-Boeing-757, Skatt-e-bow-and-arrow, and, of course, the cult favorite, Skatt-e-boner. I write all those names down now, because since she’s married we can’t use them anymore.
Summer weddings are great because Mike and I get to showcase the outcome of our wedding-off-season preparation. Typically by June, Mike has purchased 2-3 tastefully square bowties and I have polished a handful of objectively funny party jokes. Over the winter, we collaboratively refine our wedding dance moves, allowing ample recovery time for dance injuries, emotional scarring to our dog, and accidental bruising to our elbows, knees, and pride.
The June wedding was a big hit, a marvelous affair. It didn’t even matter that the wedding venue got caught in the crosswinds of the Black Forest Fire, or that the honeymoon location succumbed to disastrous Canadian flooding. Plan B turned out wildly better than Plan A, and Katie got her new unfunny last name, which is all that really mattered.
We returned home on Sunday and raced into summertime with a shcooter ride. As I’ve mentioned before, shcooters are good for a lot of things. They transport you to the outdoors without depleting calories, they invite you to incongruous tan lines on your face, and they make you look really cool, even when you are sweating buckets under your faux leather jacket.
But there is an aspect of shcooting that is slightly inconvenient, and it is the avoidance of metropolitan highways. Daredevils might take shcooters on California highways, but I, unlike them, prefer to live.
When Mike and I shcoot, we take side streets and back roads and the occasional unoccupied sidewalk. Before leaving the house, we consult the iPhone for directions, but shockingly, it does not provide a highway-less shcooter route. It proposes a transit route, a car route (hello highways), and a walking route. The iPhone forgets all about the shcooter-guys like us.
We compromise by selecting the iPhone walking directions. The nice thing about taking the walking route on the shcooter, is that it makes you feel like you’re moving at the speed of light, you are beating time at its own game. A seven-hour walking commute devolves into a twenty-minute shcooter ride. It’s amazing. The iPhone GPS gets so confused. It recalculates and recalculates and makes us feel like victors over technology. It makes us feel like Will Smith in our own movie.
So in the summer, when it feels like time is passing at an inconsiderate pace, we hop on the shcooter and get on a walk route. It’s our new time-management strategy.
We show time who’s boss by beating the GPS at its own game.
The future isn’t even ready for us, but we come anyway.
We shcoot into summer, leaving late and arriving early.
We got here before you did.
Barely. But still.