Author: Neil Pasricha

Mmmmmmm.

When you’re looking for a good snooze in warm bedsheets or a cozy couch potato session on the couch, nothing’s quite as nice as scoring that warm spot where the family fuzzball was just powernapping.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

It’s a different world.

The back of the schoolbus is a strange seatbeltless land far away from teachers, parents, and watching eyes. Slide on the slippery vinyl seats, let your booger noses drip, and laugh out loud with your eight-year old pals as you bump and bounce along to school.

When the bus smacks a big bump there’s suddenly a blurry scene of flying elbow-scabbed arms and grass-stained knees. Butts leave the seat, faces smack the window, and some kid sitting backwards sucking on a juice box might even go rolling right down the aisle.

You keep your looping roller coasters and fancy water slides.

We’ll take these big ol’ speed bumps on our daily school bus rides.

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I was a movie junkie.

Back one summer in high school my friends and I went to the mall a couple times a week to catch whatever teen comedy, sci-fi epic, or blow-em-up special Hollywood had just churned out. Mid-week matinees, Friday night openers, weekend doubleheaders — it didn’t matter. We just snagged a ride in mom’s minivan and went downtown for a show.

Back then it was rare catching a preview we’d never seen before. We’d done the whisper recommendations, seen the second version, and groaned with the bad jokes. There weren’t many surprises so I took for granted how great it is when you haven’t seen any of the previews before your movie starts up.

It usually happens three ways:

1. Wrongly targeted. Maybe you’re an arty movie snob slumming it with the kiddies on a Saturday morning birthday party. Just when you thought you’d caught all the French foreign film teasers with people stirring fresh chocolate and looking into each other’s eyes in meadows, there’s suddenly a pile of 3D animated animals to charm you away.

2. Season’s greetings. Here’s where you catch the first big summer blockbuster and are greeted with a pile of previews that welcome in the season.

3. Old basement classics. A delectable goldmine of rarely seen previews is when you push in a crusty videotape of Goonies on your friend’s basement couch and catch a pile of 1980s previews you haven’t seen in years. Coming soon! Adventures in Babysitting.

Sure, it’s a small thing, it’s a simple thing, but catching an entire lineup of fresh previews is a beautiful little appetizer of

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My sister is way cooler than me.

Growing up, I was a thick-goggled nerd with solar system posters in my bedroom, Tetris blisters on my thumbs, and limited understanding of how to comb my hair.

My sister Nina was two grades below me but way above me on the popularity scale. While I was practicing my Pythagorean Theorem, she was captaining the Junior Girls basketball team. While I was taking figure skating lessons, she was going to the mall. And while I was upstairs playing clarinet scales, she was hosting parties in the basement.

I remember those parties well, too. She invited me to hang out with her friends, but I preferred watching Perfect Strangers with my mom. We would split a can of Pepsi and a bowl of popcorn and sock-slide to the front door whenever the bell bing-bonged. When Nina’s friends rushed inside, the hallway was suddenly full of deodorant clouds, perfume sprayballs, and the wafting aroma of some kid wearing too much cologne.

See, whether you like it or not I got news for you, baby: You smell. Yes, you’re some bizarro concoction of shower soap, dryer sheets, and hair spray. You’re a walking cloud of deodorant streaks, sweat stains, and perfume spray. Your closest cuddles with your closest pals will reveal your smell to them and them to you.

When you walk away from old places and disappear from forgotten scenes you might miss those little moments that come from cuddling in between. Snuggling with your boyfriend on Sunday morning, holding hands with your wife at the park, running in the basement with your sitter, squeezing Grandma in the theater when it’s dark.

Shampoo memories are distant smells of days gone by that pop back into your brain a long time later.

They surprise you in random closets, walk by you in jeans at the mall, pop out of dusty old dressers, and come back like no time’s passed at all. Shampoo memories are Grandma’s skin cream on crinkly letters, an ex-boyfriend’s cologne on new friends, shampoo memories are smells that pay you a visit, new beginnings or teary-eyed reminders of an end.

When a shampoo memory pops into your brain make sure you stop to appreciate it’s there. Because those memories built you and made you, they formed you and raised you, and that little moment gives you a chance to remember someone who helped shape your life.

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Photos from: here

Because now you’re motoring down the open road to

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It’s a classic scene.

Between innings at the ballgame the camera pans the crowd looking for screaming kids, sleeping babies, and superfans. When the 14-year-olds with the painted chests, Grandma with blue hair and thirty pins on her shirt, or the kissing couple pops on the screen, it’s a great little moment.

Everyone in the crowd gets to watch someone blow up to supersize in front of thousands of people. And we get to watch their reaction range from red-cheek blushes, horrified screams, complete indifference, or wild cheering. Nobody knows what’s coming, either! We might get a little dance if we’re lucky. Maybe even some hip shaking. Or a big two-armed scream of

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

I have a bad potluck history.

Back in college my friend Roz would occasionally host extravagant potlucks where folks would come toting homemade potato salads, freshly baked lasagnas, and warm brownies straight from the oven. Of course, I’d pick up a tub of cheapo store-brand ice cream on my way over and really bring down the value of the spread. “Hey, did you try some of my vanilla?”, I’d offer meekly to the host, sugary crumbs from someone’s homemade date squares spilling down my sweater. “It’s double churned!”

Yes, I was a Potluck Novice then, but I was young so forgive me. I learned my lesson after sheepishly scooping up packs of warm liquid freezies and unopened jars of pickles at the end of the night. Hey, my store-bought stuff just wasn’t in the same league as anything homemade because who wants a Fudgee-O when there are hot chocolate chip cookies lying right beside it? (Hint: Nobody.)

Now how good does it feel bringing the most popular dish at a potluck? Yes, when your famous veggie lasagna, homemade chicken wings, or secret-recipe chocolate-coconut squares get scooped up quick, it’s a sign that you made the right dish. Homemade dishes at a potluck jump out between wet shrimp rings, cold buckets of fried chicken, and frozen pizzas. They’re a big sign of giving your time, a sign of caring, and a sign of spending lots of love to make sure we enjoy a great meal.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Step into the breeze.

After the sun dips down and the day goes by, the houselights flick on and fill streets with checkery yellow teeth. Moonbeams shine softly on tree branches, warm winds whisper through black hedges, and a still and soothing softness settles over everything like a blanket.

Midnight summer walks help soak up beautiful moments between today and tomorrow. Systems shut down, stresses ease up, and work days fade away as you stroll through quiet streets after dark and quiet paths in quiet parks.

Let the world fade away as you drift to the end of today.

Nothing else matters right now.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

We didn’t used to download.

Nope, after spending a few weeks saving money from mowing lawns, shoveling driveways, or delivering papers it was time to get on a creaky bus and head downtown to the record shop. After walking around dusty aisles, chatting with the snobby staff, and flipping through plastic-wrapped stacks, you’d finally find the one you wanted. After paying, you’d get back on the bus, tear off the cellophane, and excitedly flip through the lyrics and liner notes before getting home.

Next it was time to run to your bedroom, flip on your stereo, and peel the black plastic disc from its sleeve. Maybe that’s when you stared at it for a second and wondered how that little plastic groove could hold all those guitars and drums, before setting it down spinning on the machine.

The sound of the needle hitting the record is the sound of a big moment about to happen. It’s the shotgun before the race, lightning before the thunder, or lion’s roar before the movie. It’s the sound of waiting, the sound of saving, and the crackly sound of imperfection opening the way, into a perfect moment, into a perfect day.

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Photos from: here and here

Welcome back to your afternoon. Welcome back to getting things done. Welcome back to fresh air. Welcome back to

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Photo from: here