Line in the Sand

[jay-ell]

When I was a kid, I had a best friend named Carl who had a really bitchin' sandbox. Man, I'd be over there every damn day after school to build stuff, play with those little plastic army guys, etc. One day Carl makes friends with this other kid and when I went over one afternoon, he wouldn't let me play in his sandbox anymore. He never said anything to me beforehand, just one day "You can't play here anymore." Well, I was terribly hurt, JL. I mean, it's true I only hung out with him because he had a sandbox, but it was a REALLY nice sandbox.

Now it's 24 years later, and I've run into him (he started a podiatrist's office up the street from where we grew up) and I haven't spoken to him in years. All I can think of when I look at him is "You kicked me out of your sandbox, motherFUCKER."

JL, what do you say to someone who's done you dirty after all of those years?

-- Line in the Sand

I think you say something along the lines of, “Hey, Carl, remember me?  The kid you kicked out of your sandbox a quarter of a century ago?  Yeah, that was a riot.  The funny part is, I only hung out with you because of that very sandbox.  I know!  Hilarious!”  

I mean, read your letter.  This shit is funny.  I’m not saying you have to be best friends with him now or anything, but come on, you guys were, like, maybe five?  Also, by ‘fessing up that you were as big a rat as he was – using some poor kid to get to his sandbox is pretty low – you kind of get to take a swipe at what a little loser he was that he had to buy off his friends with a sandbox.  And as they say, revenge is best served cold.  

And with milk.

[jough]

Okay, I'll own up to this one, especially since "Ray" didn't answer it this week.

It's pretty much a very thinly veiled response to Onstad about taking down his message board without warning.

It's a metaphor.  A sandbox metaphor.

I figure everyone would've gotten it without that explanation.  I don't know why I keep over-explaining things.

[jay-ell]

Dang, now I remember you *telling* me that this was a swipe -- and I so didn't get it.  (I confess.)  It's just...so...plausible.  

I don't think Onstad would have gotten it.  I don't know why he didn't answer it.

Edit: The part about having to buy off your friends with a sandbox still stands, incidentally.

[jough]

I know why he didn't answer it.

[Pedro Picasso]

Buddy, you were kicked out of the sand box because your friend found poo in it last time you guys were playing there.  The poo was buried, but not very deep.

Now he didn't think it was your poo, but it was poo and it was sandy, and he doesn't want to play anymore.  He's also kind of embarrased to have you over and playing in his box of poo.

[revdj]

To push the analogy:

He was being paid to draw sandcastles, and his real love was writing about and drawing sandcastles, and he was having such a hard time drawing good ones that soon he was only drawing 60% as many as he used to.  He had to cut down on distractions, and one of those was his sandbox which was full of kids fighting, trying to get his attention, and sometimes actually getting it at the expense of his work, which he was feeling guilty about anyway.

So my advice is find a friend with a pretty smile who has a sandbox where you can play with cool people like me and not have to worry about the other kid, because the other kid does draw very nice sandcastles, when he gets around to them, and your drawings of sandcastles aren't bad, either.

[wombat]

I know why he didn't answer it.

Well, don't stop over-explaining now.

[Nabubrush]

Wait, in the analogy what do the neat plastic army men mean?

[jough]

You are all the little plastic army men.

[CortJstr]

You are all the little plastic army men.

I hope I'm not one of the crappy ones. Like the metal detector guy.


Great, now I've got the song Metal Detector by TMBG in my head

[jough]

You are all the little plastic army men.

I hope I'm not one of the crappy ones. Like the metal detector guy.

You are the guy carrying his gun over his head, as if he were crossing a stream or small river and did not wish to get it wet.

[slink]

You are the guy carrying his gun over his head, as if he were crossing a stream or small river and did not wish to get it wet.

They're the ones that melted best right? The way the gun drapes down over the head and shoulders like a thick leather cape, before the face starts to run like a phantom of the opera mask?
I expect I'd be the guy who's kneeling and aiming, although what I'm really doing is kinda, crouching down cos my left ankle really hurts and my right shin feels like it's splinting... If you look real close at that one he's grimacing, with a bullet held fast in his teeth!

[CortJstr]

You are the guy carrying his gun over his head, as if he were crossing a stream or small river and did not wish to get it wet.

Nooooooooo! That's the 2nd worst one! I defy my little plastic army guy status! I instead claim to be a ninja from Guts (anybody else remember those?). Specifically, the one with the bo.

[jay-ell]

I always liked the one who was lying down, you could just see him stretched across a trench aiming his gun at something in the distance.  This is because my brother and I used to play an elaborate game with the "army guys" (as we called them) -- he had literally thousands of them.  (Okay, maybe 1500.  But still.  That's a lot of green army men.)  

We used to count out 500 guys apiece, and set them up on opposite sides of a line -- we'd spend hours and hours setting up these armies.  We had a few little plastic bunkers, a couple of trucks, some tanks, etc. and we'd take random objects from around the house (tennis ball canisters, mom's empty compacts, discarded staplers) and turn them into barricades.  Then, we'd take a superball (or, on occasion, a large cat's eye marble) and throw it towards the enemy encampment.  Any men who were knocked over by the flying projectile were removed from the game, and the last man standing won.  

So of course there were significant advantages to having men who couldn't be knocked over.  We eventually made a rule that if the ball touched a lying-down guy, he was out, but it was still harder to hit them than the standy-uppy ones.  So then we started dealing out the army guys so that we had the same number of each type.  

Aaaah, childhood.  Thanks for bringing back some wonderful memories, guys.  I wish I had a photo of me and my brother playing army guys.  I'd frame it and hang it on my office wall.  

I wonder what ever happened to that box of army guys?  My brother has a son of his own now...

[slink]

I wonder what ever happened to that box of army guys?  My brother has a son of his own now...

Well, that means you can probably get a picture of you throwing marbles at your nephew at least! That would go great on your office wall, especially if you ever have to fire someone!