Actually, the first big thing that happened Saturday was the North Fork Men's Breakfast, which is a once a month occasion during which the men (mostly retired) get together for their Saturday morning meal. Due to my newfound status as a quasi-journalist, I was priveliged enough to snag an invite to this fine civic organization's event. I don't think my dad's status as member and former Homeowner's Association president influenced the invite in any way.
We ate biscuits and gravy, egg bake, fruit and lemon cake. I threw $3 in the hat because that's all I had. But mostly, we discussed how many times during the night we each get up to go to the bathroom. I won with an average of one, zero if I haven't been drinking. The high was six; I suggested nightly bladder catheterization to save time, hassle, and toilet water.
Again at this breakfast I realized my wardrobe is sorely lacking in Wrangler brand jeans and cowboy boots; I may have to invest in these next time I stop at Wal-Mart in Laramie.
After some serious crossword puzzling and Suduko solving, it was time for lunch; I skipped it so I could get better bang for my buck at Beerfest. I considered giving blood as well, but declined due to the altitude (kids, don't try these money-saving tips at home). My chaffeurs pulled up to the camper and whisked me away in their sporty Ford Taurus. I arrived at the park fashionably late and played catch-up for awhile, avoiding all beers lighter than dark brown and thinner than honey consistency. I circled the twenty that I wanted to sample most and set about a three-hour session of calisthenics for my liver.
The day wound on, and eventually I was able to make some conversation. I also made the decision that I will become a writer, a decision I think most unemployed people share after their third or fourth drink. I texted a bunch of friends and listened to the band. They requested impromptu lyrics for a well-known Southern folk song, but I couldn't think of anything family-friendly enough to submit. I convinced an EMT that medical school and residency are not nearly as sexy as they seem on TV. Then it hit me: my calling is to talk people out of going to medical school based on what they see on TV. I'll be an unmotivational speaker. It couldn't possibly pay worse than residency.