(…) These days those classic playgrounds sure are hard to come by.
Everything is plastic now, unaffected by temperature, easy to disinfect, and bendable into all kinds of Safe-T-Shapes—the sharp, rusty nail heads of yesterday replaced with nontoxic washable adhesives poured from a cauldron of polymers and Purell. Now not only are our kids getting lame baby-approved fun, but just think what we’re doing to the tetanus shot industry.
Seriously though, new playgrounds sure are terrible. Some experts say that that playgrounds have become so sterile and boring that kids just walk away from them, preferring instead to hang out in the weeds by the railroad tracks or throw bottles in the alley behind the pizza place. Children could actually be placed in more danger by these lame plastic netherworlds that encourage more video game time instead of fresh air and bruising. Another blow to childhood struck by overprotective parents and pesky lawsuits. (…) So please, when you find monkey bars taunting you from ten feet off the ground, extended seesaws that allow for maximum elevation, and rickety, sagging rope bridges with planks missing, run around like crazy, bump your head a few times, and twist your ankle. Because tell me something—is there anything quite like it?
(…) Yes, intergenerational dancing is a rare and wonderful thing. It’s a magical moment where boundaries are broken and the thumping power of music sort of sweeps us all together into a tiny little place where everything’s just cast aside in favor of living for the moment.
When you’re awkwardly standing by yourself with a full cafeteria tray of food and suddenly spot your friend waving at you
The dreaded Cafeteria Standalone.
(…) Maybe you quickly glance around the room while pretending to get ketchup. Maybe you walk in a couple of different directions so you aren’t clogging up the lanes or looking too obvious.
But just as you’re beginning to lose hope you eventually see them.
It’s your friend in the distance.
And they’re waving.
When someone lands on the hotel you just built in Monopoly
(…) When someone lands on the hotel you just built, the first thing they do is get real quiet and quickly pass the dice to the next player, sort of hoping you don’t notice that they’re squatting on your joint.
But you notice all right.
And maybe you’re even all polite and nonchalant about it too.
“Oh, Marvin Gardens? Hold on a second, wait. Yeah sorry, uh, let’s see here. That’ll be $ 1.200, please.”
(…) It’s a powerful and intoxicating smell that rivals some of the best smells out there: late night summer barbecue, new car smell, gasoline, fresh baby, dare I say it, campfire in the woods. Yes, I went there.
from The Book of Awesome, by Neil Pasricha