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| An example of potted meat. |
Shortly after I moved into the house on Jefferson Street, my grandmother sent a package full of snacks and cookies. And on some random night when the munchies struck, we mined the box for leftovers. We found a pack of microwave popcorn and a few cans of potted meat.
What is potted meat? Some people spread this shit on crackers. I hadn't met anyone who ate it until I met Brian and Eric. At one point, Brian squeezed the can and slurped a chunk of potted meat that had risen up like a muffin made of Spam.
Next thing you know, they were flinging this slime at each other. There was potted meat on their faces, the floor, the chairs, the walls, everywhere. We clutched our torsos in laughter when Eric dashed downstairs to the showers. His towel was stolen, so he covered up with a couch cushion as he headed back upstairs in front of a hall full of women. When he entered his room, Eric was pelted with a fresh glob of potted meat.
For the next year or so, they found reminders of this potted meat splatterfest - flecks and chunks of dried processed animal guts beneath the couch cushions, for example, or stuck to a lamp.
In the years since they covered each other in potted meat, Brian and Eric have grown to become productive members of society. Brian teaches gifted children and Eric leads a charity. They married awesome women.
For me, they redefined potted meat.
I tell this tale of a trivial moment because this trivial moment captures the spirit of those times as I see them. We remember the potted meat fight not just for its novelty, but for the essence of brotherhood and the atmosphere of self-discovery that inspired the fun.
We also remember Eric's muscular pecs and six-pack abs, along with Brian's footlong ponytail and rock-hard gluteal region. But that's a "true" story for another time...
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