We are a little more than two weeks from the move now. The packing is in pretty good shape. The planning is in pretty good shape. The Moe children are in pretty good shape. The Moe adults? Well, they're in different shapes. The lovely and talented Mrs. Moe is having a weekend away with some very good girlfriends. They're at a...cabin?... or something? I'm not sure. I just know her phone doesn't work there. Or, more accurately, I just know that she says her phone doesn't work there.
Me, I had the members of Chicken Starship (the most important rock band in the world) over for a rocky roll rehearsal tonight, in advance of our big Pre-Reunion Final Concert of All Time. There was beer. And electric guitars. Led Zeppelin noodling. In many ways, Mrs. Moe and I were having similar friendship times, living up to our gender archetypes.
Tom Chicken, the bass playing Chicken, is the husband of one of Mrs. Moe's friends up at the cabin. And he asked, quite sensibly, "can you imagine anything worse than the five of us (in the band) having a weekend retreat together? To just hang out and talk?"
He's right. It would be unbearable. And these are some of my favorite fellas. But a weekend just hanging out in a cabin with them? No. God no. No. I think we'd be drunk by, like, 7pm on the first night, and then what? Braiding our hair? We're mostly balding. Discuss feelings or hit ourselves with hammers? Comparable! I guess we could watch Caddyshack but it's only about 90 minutes and even then I suspect it's not as good as I remember.
No no, a rocky roll practice, a few Alaskan Ambers, and we're just fine, thank you.
Mars has more amps.