I am in a Burgerville with Elaine and we are grabbing a quick bite between errands. It’s the location close to my old high school and as a nod to an old tradition and the ghosts I used to share it with I request the two songs out of the jukebox.. The first of these is Land Down Under by The Men At Work then the second comes on.
Elaine: “who is this?”
Jeff: “It’s Toto. The song is Africa.”
Elaine: “I like it.”
Guy sitting with some co-workers several tables away bursts into song: “I guess the rains down in affffrriicca…” Then he says to his co-workers “Good old Toto, they never let you down.”
And then I smile to myself.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Take that King George....
Then
Now
I am a quasi-historical figure. I took part in the Boston Tea Party…I just joined it about 300 years too late. In Boston Harbor is an old sloop (or schooner I can’t remember exactly what kind of ship it was). The ship is a floating museum to the Boston Tea Party complete with historical enactors and fake boxes of tea that you can throw overboard. Since the boxes are tied with ropes to the ship they are never lost and so your participation, as it were, is somewhat of a fraud. So I decided that I would do my part to protest the taxes imposed by the British and toss a spot of tea into the harbor myself. I reached down, grabbed the box and threw. Just as I released the box I heard my sister cry out “Jeff! NO!” But it was too late and as the box flew over the side…the rope tied to it followed…all of the rope that was supposed to secure the box to the ship followed. The rope had been cut. My sister and I watched the tea box drift out into the shipping lane and then out of sight. I proceeded to go below decks and hide.
I was probably around 13 on a long flight to visit my mom’s family in Minnesota. Me and my sister we sitting together in one row and my parents were in another. I was in the middle and my sister was on the isle. The guy in the window seat was this young really tall black guy who was just huge and built like a line backer, all muscle. I only make those observations to fully establish just how great my error was. So early in the flight I fall asleep. Not long after, in a state of only partial wakefulness, I sit up and somehow I think that the guy in the window seat is my dad. So I turn, to him pat him on the arm affectionately and give him a huge idiot grin and then I lean back into my seat and instantly fall back asleep. When I wake up a half hour latter I vaguely remember the incident but can’t tell if it was a dream or it actually happened. The remaining hours of the flight are awkward as hell. It is only as we descend into Minneapolis that I finally get up the courage to ask him if it happened. I only got as far as “Excuse me sir but I was wondering…did I...” before the man erupted into hysterics. He was laughing so hard that he began to cry and could only answer my question by nodding his head. He was really nice about it and didn’t make me feel bad despite the laughing.
Infinite Loop
Picture this if you will:
It’s a nice sunny summer day in Oregon.
Elaine and I are weeding the side-yard.
A high school kid cruises up on his bicycle and stops next to where I am weeding.
Kid: “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
I stop weeding and walk over.
Me: “Sure man, what do you need?”
I am thinking “Sorry bud but I am not buying a magazine subscription, even if it means you won’t earn enough to go on that reward trip to Antigua with the rest of the junior sales team.”
Kid: “Why were the cops here?”
I look up and down the sleepy residential street.
Me: “The cops were HERE?”
Kid: “Yeah, the cops were just here so I rode down to see what was going on.”
Me: “Really? Well sorry man but I haven’t seen any cops.”
Kid: “Yeah, they were just here. Do you know what they were here for?”
Me: “No, I didn’t see any cops. I ran an errand about an hour and half ago so maybe I missed them…or something.”
Kid: “Did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Kid: “I heard a loud noise…it woke me up. I thought that maybe that’s why the cops were here.”
The kid looks at me imploringly.
Me: “Yeah….well I am a pretty sound sleeper soooo…”
Kid: “So, why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look man, I am really sorry but I didn’t see any cops…at all.”
Kid: “Yeah, well, ‘cause last night I heard a really loud noise. Did you hear it?”
Me: “I…No I didn’t hear a thing. I slept right through the night.”
Kid: “But why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look, I didn’t see any cops. So I have no idea. And I didn’t hear anything last night.”
Kid: “Yeah, it woke me up. Did you hear it?”
At that point I begin to worry, there is no exit strategy for this type of conversation…it becomes an infinite loop driven by undeniable madness.
Me: “I heard nothing.”
Kid: “Well it woke me up and I thought that maybe the cops…”
Me: “I never saw any cops, I never heard any sounds. I really don’t know what to tell you.”
Kid: “There were people outside my bedroom window last night.”
“Possible” I think to myself “but highly unlikely.”
Me: “Well…that’s scary. Did you tell your folks?”
Kid: “Yeah there were three people outside my bedroom window.”
Me: “Three of them….outside your bedroom window?”
Kid: “Yeah it was three girls and they were there and they were naked.”
I think to myself “Well that’s probably the average high school guys dream”, and with this new information I can officially judge this lad’s story a complete fabrication.
Me: “….Nice.”
Kid: “But I’m 17 and I am too mature for girls. I was into girls when I was a kid but I am too mature now for girls.”
The kid regards me as if waiting for me to say something and I just stare back. I am trying to decide whether the presence of a girl weeding with me or the wedding ring on my finger, should be the most compelling clue to this kid that apparently I don’t share his sentiment.*
Kid: “Yeah, my three friends all have girlfriends but they are too young and immature they shouldn’t be dating.”
The kid looks at me for confirmation.
Me: “Look man, I don’t know your friends so I am in no position to evaluate their relative fitness for dating relationships.”
The kid looks at me with distrust and I raise my palms in a helpless “What the hell did you expect gesture?”
Kid: “Well I am 17 so I am too mature for a girlfriend.”
Me: “Hey, if that helps you sleep at night.”
Kid: “Well last night, did you here anything?”
Me: “Nope! No noises, no cops and as it so happens my bedroom window was not graced by a parcel of naked chicks.”
Kid: “I rode down here because I saw cops.”
Me: “Indeed. Well I have to get back….you know weeding and all.”
I turn to go
Kid: “But WHY were the cops here?”
Me: “If they show up again I’ll be the first to ask.”
Kid: But did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No. Have a good day.”
The kid mumbles something unintelligible and rides off up the street.
When I told Ryan this story he began to laugh and asked if I had some sort of sign on my back that invites crazy people to talk to me. I thought about it and, yes, I do attract the crazies. Let’s, just for kicks, review the highlights.
Ferret-loving drunks: where cheap wine and weasels meet.
Crazy women who want to use animals as punishment: why abuse just children or animals when we can do both at the same time!
The effortlessly confused, picture illiterate people.
That homeless guy who insisted I owed him two dollars because I “lost a bet” about whether or not he could remove his prosthetic eye.
The other homeless guy who told the junior higher in my charge to “bleed me like a stuck pig” if I were an adult.
That guy in the waiting room who chose me out of five other people to address a highly cryptic somewhat incriminating philosophical non-sequitor immediately following which he went back to reading his book and ignoring me.
My high school stalker; thanks for the awkward memories, and scores of guilt trip laden letters.
Those are just a few of my many experiences with the less mentally settled segment of our society. But hey, at least I never got felt up in Santa Monica. (That’s right buddy, all of us got ammo.)
It’s a nice sunny summer day in Oregon.
Elaine and I are weeding the side-yard.
A high school kid cruises up on his bicycle and stops next to where I am weeding.
Kid: “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
I stop weeding and walk over.
Me: “Sure man, what do you need?”
I am thinking “Sorry bud but I am not buying a magazine subscription, even if it means you won’t earn enough to go on that reward trip to Antigua with the rest of the junior sales team.”
Kid: “Why were the cops here?”
I look up and down the sleepy residential street.
Me: “The cops were HERE?”
Kid: “Yeah, the cops were just here so I rode down to see what was going on.”
Me: “Really? Well sorry man but I haven’t seen any cops.”
Kid: “Yeah, they were just here. Do you know what they were here for?”
Me: “No, I didn’t see any cops. I ran an errand about an hour and half ago so maybe I missed them…or something.”
Kid: “Did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Kid: “I heard a loud noise…it woke me up. I thought that maybe that’s why the cops were here.”
The kid looks at me imploringly.
Me: “Yeah….well I am a pretty sound sleeper soooo…”
Kid: “So, why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look man, I am really sorry but I didn’t see any cops…at all.”
Kid: “Yeah, well, ‘cause last night I heard a really loud noise. Did you hear it?”
Me: “I…No I didn’t hear a thing. I slept right through the night.”
Kid: “But why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look, I didn’t see any cops. So I have no idea. And I didn’t hear anything last night.”
Kid: “Yeah, it woke me up. Did you hear it?”
At that point I begin to worry, there is no exit strategy for this type of conversation…it becomes an infinite loop driven by undeniable madness.
Me: “I heard nothing.”
Kid: “Well it woke me up and I thought that maybe the cops…”
Me: “I never saw any cops, I never heard any sounds. I really don’t know what to tell you.”
Kid: “There were people outside my bedroom window last night.”
“Possible” I think to myself “but highly unlikely.”
Me: “Well…that’s scary. Did you tell your folks?”
Kid: “Yeah there were three people outside my bedroom window.”
Me: “Three of them….outside your bedroom window?”
Kid: “Yeah it was three girls and they were there and they were naked.”
I think to myself “Well that’s probably the average high school guys dream”, and with this new information I can officially judge this lad’s story a complete fabrication.
Me: “….Nice.”
Kid: “But I’m 17 and I am too mature for girls. I was into girls when I was a kid but I am too mature now for girls.”
The kid regards me as if waiting for me to say something and I just stare back. I am trying to decide whether the presence of a girl weeding with me or the wedding ring on my finger, should be the most compelling clue to this kid that apparently I don’t share his sentiment.*
Kid: “Yeah, my three friends all have girlfriends but they are too young and immature they shouldn’t be dating.”
The kid looks at me for confirmation.
Me: “Look man, I don’t know your friends so I am in no position to evaluate their relative fitness for dating relationships.”
The kid looks at me with distrust and I raise my palms in a helpless “What the hell did you expect gesture?”
Kid: “Well I am 17 so I am too mature for a girlfriend.”
Me: “Hey, if that helps you sleep at night.”
Kid: “Well last night, did you here anything?”
Me: “Nope! No noises, no cops and as it so happens my bedroom window was not graced by a parcel of naked chicks.”
Kid: “I rode down here because I saw cops.”
Me: “Indeed. Well I have to get back….you know weeding and all.”
I turn to go
Kid: “But WHY were the cops here?”
Me: “If they show up again I’ll be the first to ask.”
Kid: But did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No. Have a good day.”
The kid mumbles something unintelligible and rides off up the street.
When I told Ryan this story he began to laugh and asked if I had some sort of sign on my back that invites crazy people to talk to me. I thought about it and, yes, I do attract the crazies. Let’s, just for kicks, review the highlights.
Ferret-loving drunks: where cheap wine and weasels meet.
Crazy women who want to use animals as punishment: why abuse just children or animals when we can do both at the same time!
The effortlessly confused, picture illiterate people.
That homeless guy who insisted I owed him two dollars because I “lost a bet” about whether or not he could remove his prosthetic eye.
The other homeless guy who told the junior higher in my charge to “bleed me like a stuck pig” if I were an adult.
That guy in the waiting room who chose me out of five other people to address a highly cryptic somewhat incriminating philosophical non-sequitor immediately following which he went back to reading his book and ignoring me.
My high school stalker; thanks for the awkward memories, and scores of guilt trip laden letters.
Those are just a few of my many experiences with the less mentally settled segment of our society. But hey, at least I never got felt up in Santa Monica. (That’s right buddy, all of us got ammo.)
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