Gippering
There’s an episode of 30 Rock called “Reaganing.” In it, Jack Donaghy (played by Alec Baldwin) claims that he has achieved “a magic zone of error-free living,” which is named in honor of the American president who is best remembered for loving jellybeans and his aversion to walls. Jack mentions that the only other people to have Reaganed were Lee Iacocca, Jack Welch, and Saddam Hussein.
My buddy Rick occasionally brings up the term when he’s had a day he deems deserving of the designation—he’ll get a bunch of errands done quickly and buy a perfect slice of banana bread from a local bakery (not like the times he gets it only for it to be too salty)—and he brought it up on Monday night with good reason. LSU was about to beat Clemson, a team whose win two weeks prior ruined his parlay bet and, you guessed it, potential day of Lite Reaganing.
“Niners won. Titans won. Chiefs won. Packers won. LSU’s gonna win. You know what this is, right bud?! Three straight days of football Reaganing. It never happens!”
“Some might say we’re Gippering. Or Dutching if you will. I won’t.” It wasn’t the first time I’d made the joke—riffing on two of Reagan’s nicknames—nor will it be the last.
Yesterday, I attained something on par with a commoner’s version of the feat. I wrote an impressive limerick, made a masala sauce that tasted worthy of being served at an Indian restaurant buffet, and watched one of my all-time favorite episodes of Jeopardy! (warranting an “instant classic” description). It wasn’t much, but I don’t actively aspire to Jack Donaghy’s term. I’m happy to briefly Gipper it up whenever possible. And it was the two-hour stretch from nine to eleven that pushed my day into a realm justifying the moniker.
One of my two closest friends from high school, Josh, had agreed to chat for the first time since 2012. Not because we’d been feuding or grown incapable of using telephones; it’s simply the way things transpired as we grew older. I rushed down cellar, plugged my headphones into my Verizon LG, and made sure to dial before the digital clock clicked to 9:01.
“I wasn’t sure if you were waiting until now because the kids go to bed at 9 or because you were watching Jeopardy!”
He laughed and confirmed it was the former.
We talked about one of our other mutual best friends, Moore, and I filled Josh in about Moore’s current situation in prison. (I also told him how Moore recently congratulated Josh for being a rarity among Millennial Caucasians in 2020: having more than two kids.) Josh asked for music recommendations—the demands of having a full-time job and five children limiting his ability to seek out new artists—before we reminisced about a Radiohead concert we attended in ’03, our shared love of Shania Twain, and how someone once spread a false rumor that Josh repeatedly listened to the same song over and over until he memorized the lyrics. He even sang me a line from a Hank Williams tune he inexplicably remembered primarily from the time we’d watched The Last Picture Show together roughly fifteen years prior.
I filled him in by divulging that his brother’s wife was the daughter of my childhood babysitter, a man I hated so much that, as an eight-year-old, I locked the asshole in his basement before ties were severed. After informing Josh that upon seeing a Facebook photo of him and his family spending July 4th (my birthday) in Wells, Maine in 2017, I became so jealous that Sue and I visited the town the last two Independence Days to celebrate. He then disclosed that his in-laws retired and bought a condo on a golf course there, my envy instantly emerging from retirement (while I Googled the course and asked, “Old Marsh Country Club?”). We talked over one another a handful of times—no apologies necessary—eager to instantly share pieces of information triggered by the previous statement that had hit our ears.
“What’d you think of the book?” I asked him about, well, my book. “We don’t have to get into the religion chapter.”
“Ya know, if I could ever get you to join my side, that’d be my ticket in. No questions asked.”
“And you really were fine with the one about the wedding?”
“When that email arrived, it killed my whole day. I immediately read the chapter in a cold sweat. ‘What might he say about me? Where is this gonna end?’ I kept thinking.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I was only upset about the description of masturbating in the upstairs bathroom.” He moved on after I laughed. “You just never know how someone you haven’t been in touch with for so long might feel about you now.”
“Most people come and go in this life, but there are a handful we’ll always unconditionally love. You’re one of mine.”
A few minutes later—before his own bedtime—Josh had a farewell offer.
“Ya know, I’ve been thinking that we’ve gotta plan something. Keep an eye out for a show this summer.”
“I’m down, man. I love the pavilion by the water up in Boston. I’ll find something for us.”
I sent him an unimaginatively titled message afterward—“Ongoing Email Thread for Any Stuff Either of Us Wanna Send”—with a list of albums to check out, and to stay tuned for my summer concert proposals.
Even if my limerick had contained an off rhyme or the masala sauce was too oniony or the Jeopardy! episode had an alternate ending, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d Gippered so strongly for one hundred and twenty minutes that Jack Donaghy himself wouldn’t hesitate to add a new name to his list upon hearing about my flawless call. Sadly, the alchemy fizzled when I delivered the good news to an indifferent Rick. Gippering can’t last forever; that’s why you’ve gotta recognize it’s happening and savor it before the moment passes you by.