View allAll Photos Tagged I've gotta do the right thing now
Aahhhhhhh.....
Life is good right now. My past is just that, my past. My future is bright and promising. All that pain, all that fear, all that turmoil and uncertainty is gone and you know what's left? This is what's left. A new beginning. A new love, a new passion. A new LIFE. Yes, a life. A real one too that involves friends, family, love, laughter, and everything that life is supposed to include. And Happiness. I'm involved in my music, my photography, back in church, i'm recording my music, my OWN music that I've written with the help of this sweet soul pictured here. I can't describe to you what it feels like to have something you've written recorded down to something that sounds like real music. Just gotta get my vocals in there and it'll be done and I'm super stoked about that!!
Of course, having someone in my life to share these things with makes it that much more amazing too and having someone who adores me as much as this man does...well...lets just say I've never experienced anything like this before in my life. I've never been adored. I've never had someone who wanted to do anything and everything to make me happy. But, funny thing is, this IS all I need to be happy, just what you see here.
I can't thank you all enough again for your support and your patience through the past few months. I know I've fallen behind on your photos and I apologize for that. I do look at them, I just may not be able to comment quite as much. But thank you to all of you who continue to stop by here and be a friend and offer words of encouragement. You all helped me get through a rough time in my life and I thank each and every one of you for that.
And to my Honey, I thank you for making me feel complete and whole inside.
Hugs!!!
This is much better big on black - click the link at the end to see!
Still working with my new 50mm lens, I love it and never want to be apart from it. Although I still want to add a new gizmo to my box of tricks, namely an external flash. I feel like it's the missing link. Still, I have plenty enough to learn so maybe it's a good thing that I don't have a flash right now.
This is one of the (many) shots I've done where I started out with no ideas whatsoever and this just . . . happened. I sort of had the idea to include the clock in the shot as I was setting up - after all, when I started my 365 it was all about documenting me leaving my twenties behind and entering the thirty zone. So time was always going to be a theme to explore.
The passing of time is something I think about a lot. I'm quite contradictory about it, I suppose a lot of people are, in terms of wishing the working week away and focusing on the next weekend or holiday that's coming up. And while I'm busy doing that the weeks, months and years are dropping away more and more quickly.
I'm terrified of getting old. I'm worried about the things I'll have to give up because the mind is willing but the body's no longer capable or vice-versa, which probably terrifies me more. I'm mortified at the thought that I might not be able to look after myself one day. And all this is stuff I think about a lot of the time. It's a dumb thing to get hung up about really, I should be enjoying today instead of thinking ahead to what may or may not be. But no matter how hard I try to ignore it, that clock keeps ticking.
Maybe that's why photography has become so fascinating to me, it gives me the ability to freeze a moment in time.
I got this shot with the 50mm, as mentioned earlier. I ramped up the exposure quite a lot and used a preset in Lightroom to get the basic picture how I wanted it. The texture (by billionstrang) and TTV border were Photoshopped in, and then I erased the layers over the clock to bring out the white face, blurring the edges where I erased to make them less obvious. I used a bit of dodging on my face to lighten it a bit and erased the layers and used the dodge tool over my eye to give it a bit of sparkle.
The title is from Time by Pink Floyd. An obvious choice but fitting.
The world is a hungry place and it's never satisfied
You're leaving home, on the run, your mama, she was right
Home was a crowded space but it sometimes gratified
Look around, freedom found, now you've gone
you don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you know
Your life is a precious thing, you can never be denied
You need a job, a place to live, you couldn't help but try
Home was a crowded place and it sometimes satisfied
Turn around, freedom found, now you've gone
Baby, turn back, don't ride the highway
Baby, good luck when you do it your way
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
I don't belong to you, it's only an ocean away
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
When there's nothing in your way and all of it burns inside
Reaching out on your own, reaching out, you're reaching out on your own
Lust is a hungry place and it's never satisfied
You need to find the gift of love that comes from deep inside
Your heart is a special place and you're always there, I'm always there for you
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you know
I don't belong to you, it's only an ocean away
You don't belong to me, I've just gotta let you go
Baby, turn back, don't ride the highway
Baby, good luck when you do it your way
-inxs
(you know exactly who this is dedicated to)
Aiden just helped MacCready get the serum to save his son. MacCready relates how he feels by telling Aiden something about his past. I thought it might be a way to tie in my character from FO3 and FONV into MacCready's background.
MacCready: I'm a bit lost here...Not sure what to say. It's been so long since I've had a real friend I've forgotten how to be a friend. You helped me save my son and I can't repay that.
Aiden: You worry too much, and you don't owe me anything...that's what friends do for each other.
MacCready: (sips his beer) I've never really had any real friends...well, anyone I could trust anyway. They all wanted something...but you? I dunno...
Aiden: Funny thing was, I didn't like you when we first met.
MacCready: Yeah...I get that a lot, wasn't crazy about you either...just wanted your caps.
(sips his beer)
Odd...you remind me of someone I met a long time ago when I was back at lamplight when I was just a boy...I told you about that, right? I still remember him, often wonder where he is now...if he is even alive.
Aiden: Oh?
MacCready: A stranger came to Little Lamplight, a young man, he was looking for something. I wouldn't let him in...I was the Mayor after all and we didn't allow Mungos in...
Aiden raises an eyebrow
...OH...Mungos, old people...anyone over sixteen. Don't look at me like that...anyway, he persisted and I decided to take a shot at him to make my point, after all it was my job, right? In a heartbeat...he took out his pistol and blew my gun right out of my hand...just like that! Then calmly put his pistol back in his pistol harness..told me not to try that again.
Aiden: You told me you were...what? ten years old then? And you took a shot at this guy?
MacCready: Yep...One of the few times my eyes got real big, anyway, he explained that he only needed to get into the Vault. Vault 88...no..87. Lamplight was in a large cavern just outside the entrance to Vault 87. Long story short...I let him in and he kept his word. I might have been a kid then, but I learned my lessons real fast...don't mess with this guy.
Aiden: So..who was he? I get the feeling he made an impression on you.
MacCready: I didn't know it at the time, but he was already becoming a legend in the Wastelands...I don't think even he realized it. He was the 'Lone Wanderer'...right there in front of me. Yes, he did make an impression on me...for a Mungo anyway. I still have this scar on my hand when he shot my gun out of my hand...see?
Aiden: Lone Wanderer? Are you telling me that I remind you of him?
MacCready: Strangely enough...yeah, you do. You see...he helped us, never asked...just did it and never asked for anything in return. He would stop in and check up on us, make sure we were OK. He was there when we kicked Sticky out of Lamplight. He made sure that Sticky got to Big Town safely. More to the point, we became friends..of sorts. I had an image I had to keep, being the Mayor...but truth be told, I liked him and was happy to see him when ever he showed up.
Aiden: Sticky? What kind of a name is that? And you kicked him out?
MacCready: Sticky?...ummmm, (sips beer) Trust me, it was a good name for him. Sticky turned sixteen...it was time for him to go. Anyone who reached age sixteen had to leave...just as I did. Some made it...some didn't but those were the rules.
Aiden: So who is this Lone Wanderer?
MacCready: You're kidding? You don't know? Everyone has heard of him..the Saviour of the Wastelands? He fought against the Enclave, helped the BOS and eventually got clean water in the DC area...it's a long story, but he kind of got thrown to the wolves when he made his escape from Vault 101. It all started because he was trying to find his father who had left the vault before him...it just went downhill from there and he got caught up in a world of hurt...right in the middle of it.
Aiden: I guess I didn't tell you, but I came from a Vault too, Vault 111. I was in cyro for over two hundred years...I have no clue who this Lone Wanderer is. Mine is a long story too...frankly not one I'd like to get into right now.
MacCready: You're a Vault Boy! No SHI....I mean, seriously! You both came from Vaults...gotta be some irony there somewhere. Damn...you're over two hundred years old! Don't look too bad for an old timer.
Aiden: uhh..yeah, Thanks. What happened to him? or do you know?
MacCready: The last visit he brought us some supplies. This was after the war was over, and he was trying to be himself again. But the notoriety was getting to him, he detested it. He was either a hero or a target and just wanted to get away from it all. He told me that it might be a long time before he would be back, he was going away for a while, let things calm down. For the first time in my life I felt a real sense of...I dunno...loss? I remember looking up at him...then I just ...hugged him as tight as I could. (MacCready smiles softley.)
Guess I caught him off guard with that one, but he put his arms around me and hugged me back gently. I may have had tears in my eyes, I don't remember...but he let go and gave me a soft smile. I remember his last words...he said:
'You can take care of yourself, I know you can. Watch your back and always be aware of what's around you...that's how I survived. Never stop moving in a fight and know when to run. Be good MacCready, I won't forget you.'
...With that, he picked up his backpack and padded his way up the tunnel, never saw him again. Funny...I remember the little puffs of dust from his feet as we walked away. He never wore shoes...said he had to feel the good earth under his feet.
(sips his beer)
I never forgot him. I think he had just turned twenty years old then too...he was only nineteen when I first met him, can you believe that? I follow his advice to this day.
Aiden: WOW..he was young. And he was an experienced soldier then?
MacCready: Yes, and he wasn't a soldier...he was a true warrior. But he didn't ask for it, he simply did what he had to do at that time. I think in his heart he just wanted to be a boy again. you know..get those lost years back...I guess? Anyway... no one could fight like he could. No one knows what happened to him, he just packed up and left.
He had a home in Megaton, told them they could do what they wanted with it. Last time I went through Megaton bout five years back, his home is still there, his name on the door. They still keep it up for him and his home is still there waiting for him to come back, just like it was when he left it.
I know now that he had to grow up way too fast...he was a man in a boys body and he earned his respect. There were rumors that he had been seen down in the New Vegas area a couple of years later...but no one knew for sure. Caravan reports were not always reliable back then, still not now that I think about it.
Aiden: You mean Las Vegas?
MacCready: Hmmm? Las Vegas? I dunno...Las Vegas, New Vegas? One and the same...could be. I just hope that he didn't become a dried up nameless corpse out in some desert. That was his only fear...he told me that he was always afraid of becoming one of those nameless corpses out in the wastelands. No one would know who he was or what happened to him. He said it was one of those thoughts he always had in the back of his mind, he wasn't much afraid of anything at that point in his life, but that was his biggest fear...just becoming a dried up nameless corpse somewhere out in the middle of nowhere.
Funny thing is...I'm not much older then he was when he left. I had to grow up way too fast too. We heard reports of some big war going on in that area. I didn't pay much attention at the time, something to do with a dam? Hell...Didn't even know what a dam was until then.
Aiden: Sounds like Hoover Dam if it's in the Vegas area...down in Nevada. So that would make him to be...what? Around thirty years old now, something like that?
MacCready: Yeah..be about right. And I think you're right, Nevada Territory was mentioned and some group called the NCR?
Aiden: The fact that you admired him and compare him to me...Thank You. Means a lot. But I don't think I even compare to him from what you told me. I'll have to find out more now just out of curiosity.
MacCready: More your personality...and your fighting style, very similar to him. but you look nothing like him, well...you both have similar builds. I saw him in a fight against some Raiders outside of Lamplight...every move counted, he knew exactly where he was and where they were. Took on six of them with his Desert Eagle...emptied one clip did a roll and changed clips in the process and was going to finish them off, but the rest ran off, he got three of them though. Maybe...thirty-forty seconds? Incredible.
(Laughs) I fired a few shots...I hit a tree! He complimented me on a good shot...he had a wicked sense of humor!
My point is...if he took you as a friend, you were his friend and would try his best to be there for you. You didn't want to be on his bad side and if you were his enemy...well, count the days...you probably would end up dead. It was pretty cut and dry with him...you are like that, like him in that sense. He didn't have many friends or so he told me.
Aiden: Sounds like he learned his lessons the hard way and didn't give his trust easily. I certainly had to change my way of thinking since I got out of that Vault, so I can understand this.
MacCready: Yeah...but now you are my friend and I'll be there for you. Done deal.
Aiden: Same...I wished I could have met him. All this was going on and I'm frozen in cyro in a damned Vault. You were lucky to have met him. What was his name? or did you even know?
MacCready: His name? His name was Joel, not many knew that. No one knows his last name, not even me.
MacCready stands up and stretches...
C'mon...enough of this, I've bared my soul enough for now, let's get moving. You can tell me your story when you're ready.
Aiden: Yeah... good name, Joel. I like that. Maybe he will show up sometime, you never know.
MacCready: No...I don't think so. I think he will keep moving on...he is the Lone Wanderer after all. I hope he finds what ever it is he is looking for.
Aiden: It could happen, he might want to go home.
MacCready: When he visited us at Lamplight, he would always say 'C'ya later' when he left. That last time I saw him?, he said...'Good Bye'. No...I'll never see him again.
MacCready looks at Aiden and smiles. 'But...I hope you're right'.
Aiden: (nods)
So, I've got this fancy Samsung TV (UN46C6500) that has the Yahoo Internet widgets built in. You press the "Yahoo" button on the remote and this "Ticker" pops up (tho doesn't move). I love love love this idea (and I was messing around with this stuff before foursquare surprised us :) and if I wasn't doing foursquare, I'd be knee deep in fixing the "internet on TV / internet on big screens" problem). Anyway, as much as I love the concepts in these early widgets (and the stuff that Google TV is hinting at) the execution just isn't where it needs to be.
(What you're looking at here: Widget "Ticker" is launched over Live TV. The ticker doesn't move, instead you scroll thru the widgets. My ticker has 10 widgets in it now and you can see four on the screen at a time. Here: Yahoo Sports, Twitter, Facebook, Flickr).
#1. There are about 70 widgets in the gallery, but I only found 2 of them that actually stream data (Facebook and Twitter). By "streaming", I mean you can pull up this ticker and the widget actually updates in real time (like a ticker that scrolls up and down instead of left and right). The others you need to click on which then opens a window that you can navigate. But that's lame... the Fantasy Sports app should be pushing you alerts! The Flickr one should cycle thru pictures of my friends (instead of just being a static Flickr logo). The Y! Weather one should show me what the weather in NYC and the Y! Finance one should show me a real-time stock feed, but instead they are both just static images you gotta click to get data out of.
#2. Just like I can show and hide the ticker with the press of a button, there should be another "Pop Up Video" mode where new tweets, new Facebook updates, new Flickr photos, weather alerts, Fantasy Football scores as they happen, etc. just pop up. If i"m hell bent on watching CNN this may be a distraction but if I'm half-ass watching Spider Man 2 (like I am now) just pop em up on screen! I really really really want to build a foursquare widget for this thing that pops up with a friend checks in within say 10 blocks of my apt (tho I don't think these widgets support the pop up). At the very least, I should be able to stream those "within 10 blocks" checkins to the static ticker (I'm gonna dig into Developer KIt this wkd)
#3. Developer Kit. Looks like anyone can download the WDK (Widget Developer Kit), and I hear these things are run in Javascript, but not sure how much of a gateway there is to getting your apps out there (it can't be too bad since a lot of the apps in the store are from local TV stations - e.g. the "WNBC TV 5 in Chicago" widget). More on the dev kit here: connectedtv.yahoo.com/developer/
Anyway, looking fwd to playing with this stuff.
ps: I'm expecting the same from GoogleTV - after Google launches the App Store for Google TV. (remember: it's all build on Android). Still, Google TV apps right now take over the whole screen (or the Picture-in-Picture). There's no notion of a ticker or notification tray in Google TV right now (which would be KILLER). I'm hopeful (tho hopefully not *too* hopeful - I don't feel like waiting another 8 months to play around w/ this stuff)
ps #2: Does anyone know of any other setups that allow me to overlay internet widgets + live / cable TV? I know Boxee does it (but it's only internet TV, not cable) and I hear that Roku can work w/ USB tuners, but can't do the widget overlays. Anyway, would love to hear what other people are finding.
ps #3: While we're at here, here's my big-ticket wishlist for Google TV:
+ Social screensavers (watch this, about 0:50 in)
+ Social tickers (Twitter, Facebook)
+ USB video / Google chat w/ video support
+ USB over-the-air antenna support (#QuittingCable is one of my New Years Resolutions!)
+ App store!
Photo by Mark Loasby.
We created this role to cover some of the scene changes - and it was a chance for me to go crazy with the face paint.
Boogie Nights
Faringdon Community College Musical, 2010.
Directed by Julia Nichols and Giles Watson.
Music Direction by Ella Kolodziej.
Set design by Paul Spurrett and Natalie Thomas.
Costumes by Kathleen Thomas and Ulia Haynes.
The following is the basic script which we wrote in order to keep the action constant during scene changes, but there was a lot of improvisation too!
Fungus 1. (Pre-show, p. 9)
Cue: Paul McCartney/Bogey Music – music plays as Fungus enters, fades as conversation starts.
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
Fungus: (Shakes his hand) Well, if this is Bogey Nights, then I'm Fungus the Bogeyman, so obviously my presence would add significantly to the ambience - if you wouldn't mind letting me inside…
Bouncer: Bogeyman? Well you can't come in here. That hairstyle is against the dress code, and your clothes are wet and - er - rather musty -
Fungus: (proudly) Smelly you mean. That's because I spread patent bogey odorant liberally on my underarm hair just for the occasion.
Bouncer: (noticing Bogey-bike) What's that?
Fungus: It's the latest in Bogey design: built for slowness, so one can savour the stink of the sewers. I had it especially sprayed with liberal helpings of cow and pig manure before riding it here -
Bouncer: Well if that's your bike, get on it!
Fungus: Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew. (Exits.)
Rockers: Before 1. Scene 2, p. 20
Rocker 1: (Imitating badly): "Don't blame it on the sunshine/ Don't blame it on the moonlight/ Don't blame it on the good times/ Blame it on the airheaded geek in spangled flares with a glitterball for a head."
Rocker 2: (Imitating badly): "Don't blame it on the sunshine/ Don't blame it on the moonlight/ Don't blame it on the good times/ Blame it on John Revolting and Olivia Neutron Bomb - I wish they both were dead."
Rocker 3: (Imitating badly): "Don't blame it on the sunshine/ Don't blame it on the moonlight/ Don't blame it on the good times/ Blame it on some lousy poncy dancer prancing on the stage…
Rocker 1: Singing in falsetto…
Rocker 2: If we caught him down the ghetto...
Rocker 3: We'd have him dancing faster…
Rocker 1: Thrashing his head in the moshpit...
Rocker 2: We'd blast him with our ghetto blaster…
Rocker 3: Ghettoblaster? What's a ghetto blaster?
Rocker 1: Yeah, loser, who ever heard of a ghetto blaster? (They look at each other, and the realisation dawns.) Ghetto blaster…
Rocker 2: Geez man, imagine the decibels…(They exit, thrashing.)
Cue: short burst of heavy rock.
Shopper and Hippy
(on the street, before 1. Scene Three, p. 23)
Cue: Performance/Track 9/The Hashishin – plays as an undertone throughout the whole scene.
Shopper: Hi! That new boutique is just the grooviest –
Hippy: Whoa, man! Like, you’re talkin’ too fast. My head is reelin’.
Shopper: Look what I bought. (Takes lava lamp from bag.) Hip or what?
Hippy: Funky, man! There’s a whole volcano in there. Those swirlin’ colours put me in touch with, like, where it’s at, man!
Shopper: Yeah, and it’s not even plugged in yet!
(They walk off, completely entranced by the lava lamp.)
Shopper and Rocker
(on the street, before 1. Scene Four, p. 27)
Cue: Performance Soundtrack/Track 3/Get Away – playing as an undertone throughout the conversation.
Shopper: Hi! I just bought the funkiest new item!
Rocker: What is it, man?
Shopper: It’s a glass bird of some sort.
Rocker: Cripes, it’s filled with red stuff. Is it alcoholic?
Shopper: You don’t drink it. The bird drinks. Out of a glass.
Rocker: (sarcastic) Yeah, right. What’s this feather on its bum. (Pulls the feather off).
Shopper: Hey! You can’t do that! That’s my goofy bird, man!
Rocker: (raising his guitar) And this is my Fender. (He chases the Shopper off the stage, wielding the guitar like a battle axe.)
Fungus 2. (Before 1. Scene 5, p. 32.)
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
Fungus: Aye, well, mi’ lad. Mah name is Bogus the Fungeyman, tha' knows, and ah've come ter demonstrate t' latest in Yorkshire disco dancing styles. Thar’s nowt like em -
Bouncer: Well, you aren't gonna demonstrate 'em in here. Those boils on the back of your neck could be infectious.
Fungus: Could be infectious? They'd better be. I've been cultivating them for weeks just for the occasion.
Bouncer: What's that?
Fungus: What? Oh, that! That's a packet of flaked corns I'm taking home for breakfast. Fresh scraped from the smelliest feet, matured and extra mouldy -
Bouncer: Well, you can try out your corny accents somewhere else, preferably far away from here. Hop it!
Fungus: Dear me. Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player, who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot… (Exits).
Rockers: Outside the Cinema, before 1. Scene Six, p. 34
Rocker 1: (Imitating badly): “Aaaah, oooh, aaaah, oooh / Sugar baby love, sugar baby love / You make me puke / It’s so emetic…”
Rocker 2: Just pathetic, man.
Rocker 1: He needs a dose of Deep Purple as an antidote. Disco has gone to his head and rotted his brain.
Rocker 2: He’s insane.
Rocker 1: And if I hear that goddamn refrain one more time, I swear I’ll ram the neck of my guitar down his throat.
Rocker 2: Smash it over his head.
Rocker 1: Smash it, man? You crazy?
Rocker 2: I mean it. I’d clobber him with it while it was still plugged in.(They exchange glances. A new and wonderful idea has formed.)
Rocker 1: Geez, man, imagine the feedback!
Rocker 2: Yeah, man. Let’s grab some disco-heads, get back to my joint and try it out.(They exit, brandishing guitars like weapons.)
Cue: short burst of heavy rock (e.g. Deep Purple/Strange Kind of Woman).
Fungus 3. (Before 1. Scene Seven, p. 38.)
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
Fungus: Top oth' morning' to you, Paddy. My name's Mangus the Fungeyboge, and I'm here to demonstrate the latest Irish disco-fiddle techniques -
Bouncer: Well, you can't come in here. The dirt under those fingernails would be sufficient to fertilise all the cabbages on my allotment.
Fungus: (enthusiastically) You can have some if you like. I dangle my fingernails in fermented rancid bat's giblets every evening.
Bouncer: What's that?
Fungus: What? Oh, that. That's - er - that's one of the giblets.
Bouncer: Well get it in the bin - and you'd better follow it!
Fungus: Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely… (exits.)
Shopper, Rockers and Hippy
(On the street, before 1. Scene Eight, p. 42. The rockers enter, carrying prototype ghetto-blaster. It is playing ‘No More Tears’, much to their disgust.)
Cue: Donna Summer and Barbra Streisand/No More Tears. It turns off when Rocker 1 turns the volume knob on the ghetto-blaster.
Rocker 1: (Turns off the ghetto blaster. Singing badly) “Enough is enough is enough / I can’t go on / Enough is enough is enough / I can’t stand Donna Summer and Barbra Striesand any more.”
Rocker 2: (Getting violent with his guitar.) “Good bye missus/ Good bye missus / Enough is enough.”
Rocker 1: Yeah, well. No need to take it out on my guitar. It’s my third this week. And don’t hit the ghetto blaster with it. We’re just tuned into the wrong station, that’s all.
Shopper: Wow, guys, what’s that? Where’d you buy it?
Rocker 2: We didn’t buy it, dude. We made it.
Cue: Deep Purple/Smoke on the Water – undertone throughout rest of scene.
Rocker 1: It’s a ghetto blaster. (He turns it up. It is now playing ‘Smoke on the Water’.)
Hippy: Man, it’s just another thing you gotta plug in, once the batteries run out. Get real, guys, an’ get in touch with the universe. All you need is a guitar, and a flower for the power.
Shopper: But I like stuff that plugs in. How much d’ya want for it?
Rocker 1: It’s not for sale.
Rocker 2: It’s a protoplasm.
Rocker 1: Prototype, you mean, butter-for-brains.
Rocker 2: Yeah, that.
Hippy: You wait, man. All these prog-rock bands could learn a thing or two from Vashti Bunyan. One day they’ll all be playing without electricity.
Rocker 1: What? Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin unplugged. You gotta be crazy!
Shopper: He’s insane.
Fungus 4. Entr’ Acte, 2. p. 50
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
Fungus: Och aye, mi laddie. My name's Bogus the Mangeyfung, and I'm here to demonstrate the latest sporran-slapping, bagpipe tootin disco steps -
Bouncer: Well, you can't come in here. Your clothes are dripping muddy water all over the threshold. Smells like you’ve just come out of a sewer.
Fungus: (enthusiastically) Er, two sewers, actually. The first one wasn’t stinky enough. It’s never quite the same when the local population eats too much processed food. It’s best when they subsist on a diet of haggis, neaps and tatties.
Bouncer: What's that?
Fungus: What? Oh, that. That's - er - that's one of the tatties. Not properly digested.
Bouncer: Well get to the public lavatory, and flush it.
Fungus: The earth seems to me a sterile promontory, a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. Yum. (exits.)
Shopper and Hippy
(On the street, before 2. Scene Two, p. 67. The hippy has a back-pack.)
Cue: Gather in the Mushrooms/Track 12/Vashti Bunyan/Winter is Blue
Shopper: Hi! I just bought the funkiest new item –
Hippy: I don’t care, man. I’ve had enough of our modern, materialistic, acquisitive, war-mongering society. I’m on my way to Sark, man.
Shopper: Sark? Where’s that?
Hippy: It’s an island, brother. In Guernesey.
Shopper: Does it have – shops?
Hippy: No, man, but it has a really hip lighthouse – and no disco. It’s only two miles long. I’m moving in with the Incredible String Band.
Shopper: The Incredible String What?
Hippy: You know, man: The 5000 Spirits or The Layers of the Onion, The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter, Hard Rope and Silken Twine…
Shopper: Never heard of them. But why do you want to live on an island? There’ll be no –
Hippy: Yeah, that’s the point man. There’ll be no Uncle Sam, no Vietnam, no wise men in wide headachey ties. No plastic, man. And no disco.
Shopper (despairing): And no sho –
Hippy: Right, man, no shops. And no Tricky Dicky, no Watergate, no Bangla-Desh style starvations, no Bloody Sunday, no KKK, no Evel Knievel, no metric conversion, no Bee Gees, no Two Ronnies – and no disco.
Shopper (it just doesn’t compute): No shops.
Hippy (shrugs and leaves): You’re weird, man, but hey, peace anyway.
Shoppers/Rockers
(On the street, before 2. Scene Five, p. 70. The rockers enter with armfuls of ghetto-blasters. A gaggle of shoppers gather around them.)
Cue: Hendrix/Track 1/Purple Haze – fade during conversation
Rocker 1: Come an’ get em, dudes. Only thirty pounds a bash.
Shopper 1: Oooh – I like that one. It’s got lots of knobs.
Shopper 2: This one looks a bit like a blowfly’s head. I’ll buy it.
Shopper 3: Do they come in pink?
(The shoppers buy all of the ghetto blasters except one, and then disperse. Rocker 1’s hands are full of money.)
Rocker 2: Hey, man. You don’t reckon that by makin’ all this money, we’re like, sellin’ out to the establishment?
Rocker 1: No way, mate. Just think of all the dough Mick Jagger’s got. He ain’t a sellout.
Rocker 2: Right, man. Well, in that case – (He makes a grab for some of the money.)
Rocker 1: “Money / Get back / I’m all right Jack / Keep your hands off my stack.” (He turns up the ghetto blaster. It is playing ‘Money’, by Pink Floyd. Rocker 2 looks confused for a moment, then picks up his guitar, brandishes it wildly like a battle-axe, and pursues Rocker 1 off the stage.)
Cue: Dark Side of the Moon/Money – opening riff plays, fades on exit.
Fungus 5. Before 2. Scene Seven, p. 73.
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
Fungus: Ah, goodness gracious me, spiffing day, eh what? My name's Lord Bungus the Fogeymang, Viscount, Earl, O.B.E, and I'm here to demonstrate some of the more up-market disco-dancing techniques. Disco’s not just for the oi polloy, you know!
Bouncer: Well, you can't come in here. I’ve never met an earl with such disgusting corduroy trousers before. They’ve got things living in them.
Fungus: (enthusiastically) Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there are. I’ve got three sewer rats, fifteen snails and one newt down there. And that’s just in me underpants.
Bouncer: What's that?
Fungus: What? Oh, that. That's - er – that’s a leech. It was probably living on one of the sewer rats.
Bouncer: Well, on your way, sucker.
Fungus: And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? (exits.)
Fungus 6. End of show, p. 79
(Enter Fungus, as before, but as the conversation continues, a gang of rockers with ghetto blasters congregates behind him.)
Bouncer: Yeah, what do you want?
Fungus: Is this Bogey Nights?
Bouncer: Boogie Nights. Yes, this is Boogie Nights. What's it to you?
(Fungus steps back, takes one look at the bouncer, and brushes him aside. He enters the disco, the rockers in his train. Everyone in the wedding party screams, and freezes.)
What did Vikings do before Harley Davidson motorcycles were invented?
I've always liked Vikings.
Well... I'm not sure I ever knew one...
But I was a kid in the seventies when vans were very popular... havin' a conversion van then was like some status symbol indicating your complete coolness or something.
Fred had a van on Scooby Doobie Doo and I think that's why he scored with Daphne.
But he wore ascots... and I could never figure that out.
Usually guys who wear ascots don't score with hot chicks if you know what I mean.
Unless they're British.
British guys could get away with that kinda stuff because of their accents.
I always looked up to guys who drove vans.
Guys who wear ascots?
Not so much.
I don't know... I was only like ten years old... but I remember it seemed like a lot of vans had really cool Viking scenes painted on them.
I especially liked the ones painted with the really well toned super-endowed Viking woman... usually in a fur bikini with matching fur boots... on top of some gnarly and rugged mountain... swinging a big double handed sword and cutting off a dragons head or something.
I don't know about you but I've always been a big fan of the 'hot chick slays the beast' genre of art.
It's not for everyone.
That's also when I learned to appreciate fine airbrush art.
And Viking women.
In fur bikinis.
Swinging big swords.
Airbrush art and fine looking Viking women are like peanut butter and chocolate I think... they just 'go together.'
Throw in a 'blank' van and you're talking the ultimate-cool 'trifecta' baby!
I wonder how people went about getting those murals painted on their van?
'Yesh... I really like this van... but it's kinda plain... I'm the kinda guy who'd like an airbrushed nordic goddess painted on the side... it speaks of my unique personality and character attributes... can you set me up... I mean if you do... I'll buy the van... but she's gotta be wearing a fur bikini and fur boots... deal?'
Or... 'eh Louie... I'm thinkin' about buyin' one a dem conVERsion vans... you know anybuddy who maybe knows anybuddy who get me all set up with one a dem Viking chick fantasy murals?'
'Dere's dis guy named Sven dey say he's a like Michael Angelo with de airbrush... down dere in Blue Island... he does really good fur boots an stuff... I getcha his numbah.'
I did a flickrsearch for 'fur bikini' to come up with a good picture for this story.
I prolly shouldn't have done that.
Although the one with Latitia Casta's face pasted on to some other chicks body was kind of interesting... it was a decent photoshop job... but I could tell right away that those weren't Latitia's breasts because I studied them in college at the masters level.
What I saw was really disturbing and I'm going to have a hard time going to sleep now.
If you like disturbing stuff check out this image... you'll totally regret it so don't get all p!ssed off at me because I warned you... but you know you wanna look... so here... click on this link... www.flickr.com/photos/furslave/2487451390/
Now go clear your browser's history before you forget.
You can thank Viewminder for reminding you later.
Nothing ruins a weekend like your girl/guy/lifepartner saying...
'So WHO were YOU looking to buy a FUR BIKINI for huh?'
If you have good instincts you'd duck after ever hearing a statement like that.
I know I'd just run... in a tight zig zag pattern. Fast. Far. And Away. Fast and far away.
DON'T EVEN try to explain... you'll only dig your hole deeper... it's better to present a moving target anyway.
Gahd help you if you get cornered in the car on the expressway with this one... just aim for the closest bridge abuttment and get it over with quick.
If there's one thing Viewminder knows it's CRAZY LOVE gone bad. Trust me.
Nobody could possibly be ready to lie their way out of that one... and let's face it... the truth isn't too believable either.
You'd be an idiot if you tried the old 'so WHAT were you doing looking at MY browser history... you don't TRUST me' routine on that one. You ain't turning this one around this time. No way.
The time-tested 'turn the tables' trick with the look of sincere hurt on your face might work when you been caught looking at your garden variety internet porn... but not dudes in fur bikinis.
Don't matter if you're innocent... you gotta think damage control at this point.
And damage control means DON'T bring me into it... nunna that 'baby I was just lookin' at Viewminder's stream again... he always links to this crazy sh!t.'
I get enough Chicago-Love without your help thank you.
Best bet... find a payphone... cuz your cell phone was probably the first thing thrown at you... and just call and do like Hollywood movie stars do... 'baby... I know I need help... I'm going to check into a residential intensive program... I appreciate you standin' by me until WE get through this.'
Charlie Sheen has that printed on the back of his business cards I heard.
You gotta use the 'WE' word. It's like subliminal. Either they'll be happy that there's still a 'WE' or they won't and you'll know it right away.
It's good to know where you stand in crisis mode.
Might buy you enough time to get your stuff back when your new ex leaves if they don't change the locks right away.
Better getcher stuff quick too... before you get the restraining order.
That's the best I got.
Strategically you're in a really good position... when the ex goes out and tells all their friends and family the story... it's so outrageous it kinda sounds like a lie.
So when all that stuff you're really guilty of comes out no one'll believe that either.
There's really a bright side to everything if you look at it right.
Mr. Fur Bikini couldda made you a contact... friends and family too!
Of course if you'd get a 'c'mere you... I noticed you were looking at fur bikinis for me'... I'd say you're in for a wild weekend and I would hope you'd at least send Viewminder a private flickr mail describing the craziness of said weekend.
You'd owe me that much.
Maybe even a 'guest pass' to check out the pictures.
I promise to change your name before I tell everyone.
If that doesn't shock you... cus you're the kind a person it takes a lot to shock... try looking at that image while listening to this song... it's the one from Disney World... 'It's a small world after all'... www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIabgPX14R4
I suggest opening two different windows AND locking your door.
Somebody walks into your world while you've got that image on your screen and that song playing...
If you're a minor... stay away from the first link but play the second link over and over in your room really loud.
Pretty soon your mom will be taking you once a week to see the nice lady who asks lots of questions but seems completely non-judgemental.
You can find a lot of ways to have fun with that.
And Mr. Fur Bikini lover... if you track back all those hits to my stream here... I'm not judgin'... I say to each their own... live and let live... I mean... I've already admitted I got a thing for airbrushed fantasy scenes of well endowed Viking women swingin' swords... everybody's got their thing... we all fuhreeky deeky!
You have fun with that... I mean... it doesn't look like anyone's getting hurt... next time maybe try to be a little environmentally conscious and use 'simulated' fur maybe... I'm just sayin'.
Chicago-Love!
I've never been big on vans... but they seemed like a really great place to paint an airbrush masterpiece to show off to the world your enthusiasm for nordic goddess warrior chick types.
I guess that's where my fascination with Vikings started.
This guy reminds me of a Viking.
I didn't have a chance to ask him... but I bet he digs vans with cool airbrush art and women in fur bikinis and boots weilding broadswords.
I'm psychic like that.
Now if I could have only foreseen the results of my image search for 'fur bikini'...
Oh and about that quitting flickr thing... April Fools.
Don't be hatin' me and pass this on to all your 'frenemies.'
I gotta feelin' this'll be my latest picture to be kicked off of 'explore.'
Faces on the street
Chicago 3.26.11
35mm 1.8 I can't even remember what I did to this one.
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I've wrestled with my conscience and declared the bout a draw. I've examined each and every avenue of perception and contemplation with time on my side and a willingness to seek out some pearl of wisdom that I might take with me to the grave. But all this pathetic brain of mine can muster is an awe for Mother nature's brilliance and bounty as those tidal surges have me ever more drenched and clinging onto my last breath, and the realisation that perhaps this is not such a bad day to die.
The thin tubular aluminium legs of my portable fishing chair flex and move under the weight of the water, sinking ever deeper into the soft velvety sand with each successive wave as I flinch under the freezing cold pain of the water now making unwarranted advances upon my ill prepared flesh. I want to cry but won't allow myself such wasteful and unproductive indulgence as I struggle to break free my limbs from the layers of tape that bind me callously to the skimpy chair, itself firmly affixed to the far end of the wooden groyne that for decades many has occupied these sea defences. Despite my best intentions I must concede the simple fact that a mortal of the merest form I am, no God nor king of legend past and bold with powers to halt the progress of the devilish sea. All the same, old Canute's earnest belief in his abilities wouldn't come a miss right now.
The morning breeze stiffens and billows in, buffeting my face along with salty sea spray and foam that floats from the shoreline, stinging my eyes and scalding my parched lips as my brain attempts to calculate and recalibrate a world of mayhem and possibility. And like a mirage in a barren desert land, from time to time there I am, believing that I might actually find salvation amidst the blissful chaos. Where I think there is a sign of movement between tethered hands and unforgiving tape, reality slaps me down as I fail once more to make any ground, the water ever faster, ever deeper as it pools around my submerged feet which are anchored beneath the sand and buried to a point several inches above my ankles, sending an icy chill up and down my spine. I know that he is watching me from a short distance away, I can feel his cold eyes burning into the back of my neck, his contemptuous stare though he'll naturally understand if I don't turn around and give him the satisfaction of the credit he craves. All the same, I wish I could turn and flash him a toothy smile as an 'up yours, pal' salvo across his decks. A three sixty revolving neck like a scene from 'The Exorcist' would be a neat trick right now.
My right eye is partially closed, the swelling smarting like a son of a bitch and congealed blood now dry and crusty around my face where he broke the skin under the impact with fists and wedding ring. Ah yes, that ring. How apt and intrinsically appropriate. Worn out of some sense of dominance and pride I would guess, a mark of allegiance, of ownership in his eyes, to complete my final humiliation and stamp his angry condemnation of my carnal actions and the consequences that have arisen from them. Only a fool such as I could choose to make an enemy of a violent husband with psychopathic tendencies, and a passion for the intricate details of violence drawn from years of watching American gangster movies. Why couldn't he have been a 'philatelist, then the worst fate that might have befallen me was in being licked to death! Or a lepidopterist.... hmm on second thoughts he'd probably have dried me to a husk and pinned me in a glass cabinet with a giant pin through my chest!
This stretch of coastline lies secluded and unmolested by tourist eyes, towards the outer reaches of the angry shoreline, where ageing wooden groynes pepper the beach and stand guard over my demise like legions of soldiers lined up for the fight. Positioned by the first breaker with three more behind me closer to the sea wall, my eyes survey the degradation and algae adorning the wooden form which tells me that soon I shall taste the salt water and breathe no longer. Everything so meticulously planned, he chose the location so well as into his violent trap I so foolishly wandered. The story of my life one could say, the nearly man, neither Prince nor King of the facets of my life, a head filled with romantic notions and a heart worn so carelessly on my soaking wet sleeves. Romance, you've gotta love it. Look where it got me this time. The sea water rises steadily, my waste now submerged and all attempts to free the legs of the chair thwarted by his use of tent pegs bent over and pinned into the core of the sand. He thought of everything, the cold and calculating bastard! My heart beat races like a charging stallion with every new pulsing surge of water, and perhaps rather curiously, I find myself with the urge to laugh out loud, uncontrollably at the top of my lungs. Am I facing madness as I stare death in the eye? I guess I never got around to reading the book on my bedroom cabinet, 'Etiquette when facing death at the hands of a mad thing'.
My nose is broken, I'm almost certain of the fact as I can hear the fragments moving rather unsettlingly against each other as I breath through the constricted passageway of my blood filled nostrils, mouth agape as I suck in great gulps of air and breath hard as the liquid reaches my chest. It's a suitably impressive show that Mother nature puts on just for me in my final hour, with the golden sand slowly disappearing beneath the advancing crests of the foamy waves, and seagulls overhead seeming to stare down and mock my sad plight as they hover motionless in the breeze above me. Unlike those ancient and fascinating Groynes, for this mere mortal, just one early morning tide is all that is needed to erase me, snuff me out from the existence enjoyed, the future I had planned. I feel almost cheated somehow, relishing the prospect of going out in style at the very least, and yet here I am giving up the fight without so much as a whimper.
Back at the car, Susan's carcass will be rapidly cooling by now. He'll have a hell of a job to hide all evidence of her murder, doesn't he realize that scrubbing the black velvet boot carpet of all traces of blood and bodily fluids will not fool the forensic squad once they get their filthy paws on the Mercedes? I picked that up from reruns of CSI shows on various digital channels over the years. I can still see her lying there as he opened the boot and forced me to survey the extent of the damage that I had caused. Hands taped and blood pouring from my fresh wounds, the baseball bat indentations throbbing on my battered bones as I looked into her still open, though curiously vacant eyes. I guess it's only fair that we both suffered the same fate this day for our unrequited love, the illicit and lurid legacy of our torrid affair, and yet a part of me, a selfish part that lurks deep in the very recesses of my worthless heart, somehow wishes that Susan were still alive to give me a perspective, a reason to make a stand and fight back like a man with all my strength and might. As it is, I am broken, nothing left to care for, the reason for my existence snuffed out before me. I am beaten. I guess there is always Mr Timmins, but no doubt once he realizes that I have not shown up for his on the dot five thirty dinner spread, he'll do what all cats do and find some other sucker to fall for his fluffalicious charms.
A wave pounds me, rushing my nostrils as salt water powers past the restricted passageways, pain searing through my brain as I try to eject the water from my mouth in rapid spits, head flailing with the limited movement my neck has. It's actually quite a buzz, the cold water smacking me in the face, the realization that this is it, I'm facing the reaper any second. I'd like to make a final speech and announce to the world that I enjoyed my short life and lived it to the full, but the world doesn't care much it seems to me, as local residents still fester in the pits of their love nests, leaving just a handful of curious sea gulls to ride the breeze around me. It could have been so perfect, so idyllic, as we two forbidden lovers luxuriated in the moment of our freedom, heading off into the metaphoric sunset on white horses to begin a new life away from that monster. I should have been a man, had some backbone, thought this moment through and offered up at least a valiant defence. But here I sit, bound to a collapsible fishing chair with a broken nose and shattered dreams, the woman I love lying dead just metres from me and his victory complete and final.
The final wave signals her intent from afar, gathering momentum and lifting her skirts as she heads like a Queen on her trusty many hands high white steed with sword held aloft and steel visor firmly down. This is it I guess, as I face my demise, mouth open and screaming as defiantly as my throat will muster, the slit gushing rich ruby red lifeblood from the precise slashing that his serrated diving knife so cordially obliged me with. The water rushes over me and I can hear my scream beneath the wave as I struggle for breath and wait for the water to recede enough for one last gulp of air. But sometimes hopes and dreams are scattered to the winds as is the case right here and now. As my breath falters and water rushes into every orifice, I sense the end is here. Perhaps soon I will be reunited with my love in a better place. Underwater, eyes open, I ponder the existence of Mermaids from ancient legend and live in hope that one will come and rescue me at her leisure.
Ever the optimist.
Believe in mermaids? Right here, right now, never moreso.....
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Rewritten from a piece penned on December 31st 2010
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***** Selected for sale in the GETTY IMAGES COLLECTION on April 7th 2015
CREATIVE RF gty.im/ MOMENT OPEN COLLECTION**
This photograph became my 634th frame to be selected for inclusion and sale in the Getty Images 'Moment' collection and I am very grateful to them for such a wonderful opportunity.
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Photograph taken at sunrise on the beach at Camber Sands in East Sussex, England.
Nikon D700 34mm 1/50s f/3.2 iso200 -0.3step EV
Nikkor AF-S 24-70mm f/2.8G ED IF. UV filter. Manfrotto 055XPro Carbon fibre & Manfrotto 327 RC2 pistol grip. Shutter release and mirror up.
The KOM Flash report
for week of
July 17 to 23, 2016
Departure from the norm
This week wasn’t a good one for the old writer of the Flash Report. Some of the “not so good” things were learning of the deaths of former KOM ballplayers and friends. The first note came on Tuesday, July 12. This is how it was very eloquently stated. “John, just wanted to let you know that Larry left with the angels on Sunday, July 10, 2016. He always looked forward to your emails. Have a great day." Gail Scott—Terrell , Texas
Never in the history of KOM league publications have I led off speaking about a non-KOM leaguer. However, I don’t apologize for making an exception in this case.
My first recollection of the deceased was the year 1957. At that time I was a student at Joplin Junior College and a young man from Neosho, MO came past my car as I was listening to a gospel music program aired over KGLC in nearby Miami, OK. The fellow classmate told me he worked part-time for radio station KBTN in his hometown. He said that if I was interested they had a guy who worked there on a regular basis by the name of Larry Scott and that he played Southern gospel music from 11:30 to noon each week day.
A year later I was pastoring a small, like miniscule, congregation in Noel, MO which is located south of Neosho. I heard Scott announce one day that there would be a singing at Neosho featuring the “Singing Speer Family,” "The Blackwood Brothers” and the “Statesmen Quartet” at the Neosho Civic Center. In that era and genre of musical performers that was the crème de la crème. That group of singers spent two nights in Neosho which I learned many years later was to make sure expenses could be met. At that time Larry Scott was just 21 years of age and was producing those singing events which meant he had to rent a facility, purchase advertising and pay the performers for their appearance and if he didn’t have sufficient paid admissions he was liable for the difference. He once told me that it was a close call many times in covering the expenses of those events. In that era he was also producing concerts for the Oak Ridge Boys when they were still the Oak Ridge Quartet and were driving a big car to their appearances rather than a tour bus. For the KOM fans I once saw Scott’s production for the “Oaks” in the KOM league town of Pittsburg, Kansas.
It isn’t my intent to write Scott’s obituary for his son did a magnificent job in doing it. Over the past 10 years I have been in contact with Larry both in person and by e-mail. He had a keen interest in baseball which was expected since he was close friends to the legendary Albert E. Brumley www.google.com/search?rls=aso&client=gmail&q=crem...
and his sons. All of the members of the Brumley family were huge fans of professional baseball in Carthage from 1946-1951 and begrudgingly had to shift affiliation to Joplin after Carthage left the KOM league. Albert Jr. even performed at the KOM league reunion, in 2002, which he termed as one of the great experiences in his life. Come to think of it Brumley also performed at the event, in 1999, when this old guy had his image placed on the entrance to the ball park at Carthage.
One of the conversations between Scott and myself dealt with a tape recording I had made of Stan Musial’s final game. He asked if I still possessed it. I told him I did but it had been recorded on a seven inch reel to reel tape and that the tape was probably in horrible shape as it had been around for 40 or so years and had been stored in everything from old barns to wet basements. Like everything else in the radio and recording business, Scott knew an expert. He told me to send him the tape. After sending it he notified me his recording expert revealed that the tape would have to be “baked” in order for it to have any chance of being played so that it could be captured and placed on CDs. A few weeks later a package arrived with my original Scotch tape recording along with four CDs that it took to capture all the content on Musial’s last day as a player.
In recent weeks I had an e-mail from Scott telling me the Flash Report for that week was the best one of all-time. A few days later I wrote him a note telling him of the death of a former pianist for the “Foggy River Boys” who I knew from grammar and high school in Carthage. He responded that he was working on a special program of former gospel music performers and when he finished he’d send me a copy. Well, I’m sure that project was never finished but Scott had done more for that style of music as anyone. I once thought I knew a little bit about at least one subject –KOM league baseball—but what Scott knew about country, gospel and western swing music makes me look like a first grader going up against a PhD. I believe Scott was the most knowledgeable person in those three fields of music than anyone. I never came up with the name of an individual or singing group that he didn’t know and they in turn knew him. And when it came to a radio voice there was none better.
Gotta stop. But when Scott mentioned working for Harry Caray at WIL in St. Louis I knew he was a baseball fan. That story and more is covered in the following obituary. I do wish to make clear what Scott did at WIL for Caray. He produced Caray's evening sports broadcast. He was never on the air with Caray during a radio broadcast.
Obituary for Larry Scott
Larry Scott was born September 27th, 1938. He was called home to glory shortly after midnight July 10, 2016 in Kaufman County, TX . He leaves behind wife Gail and son Kelly and many 100s of friends long with a great legacy, told briefly in the words below.
His life has a story book quality. It started as a young boy growing up in Southwestern, MO. He was the only child of Omer and Dorothy Scott. They were a hard working farm family near Stark City, MO. As farm families did in that era, they began working at sun up in the fields, stopped for lunch, then continued work until nearly dusk. Well for young Larry those lunch time breaks soon gave birth to the inspiration in which he would spend a lifetime pursuing. His love of radio began around that ol’ dinner table when he and his Dad came in from the fields. As was custom, they listened to the Ag reports and then listened to live broadcasts from Pappy O’Daniel’s Light Crust Dough Boys, Bob Wills and The Texas Playboys just to mention a few. He was mesmerized by Red Foley, “The Voice of the Ozarks “and patterned himself after Red, who had such style and perfect delivery and at the same time staying in touch with the people. He started his first radio job at KBTN in 1954 at the age of 16, a small but widely listened to station in Neosho, MO. It did not take long for the seed to fully take root. It was there his legendary career, spanning 60 years was born.
His first love was Southern Gospel. Soon after stepping on the air waves he began promoting Gospel music shows and met, perhaps the greatest Gospel Song writer ever, Albert E Brumley. They began traveling together selling song books and promoting Albert’s songs which would eventually lead to the Sun Up to Sun Down gospel singing in Springdale, AR. The bond between Albert, Goldie and the Brumley boys was instant and they all became life-long friends. Soon after his graduation he went to Springfield, MO and auditioned for the Ozark Jubilee. Falling short of the job he decided he needed to have a trade to rely on in case this radio thing did not pan out. So of all things, he decided to go to embalming school in Nashville, TN. He had an on air position with WAGG in Franklin, TN, worked as an ambulance driver and attended John C. Gupton School of Mortuary Science. All the while the good Lord was behind the scenes molding the future Career of Larry Scott. While in Nashville he soaked up the music business like a fresh sponge and he hung out places like the Grand Ole Opry, The Ernest Tubb record shop, Tootsie’s Orchid lounge, meeting everyone who were part of Country music.
After embalming school in Nashville he returned home to KBTN in Neosho and pursue his mortuary career. Soon after, he got a call from AL Brumley, Jr. and Al told him if he ever wanted to be anything in the entertainment business he had to get out of Missouri and head to the West Coast. He packed his bags and to California he went. After all, that is where dreams can come true.
He landed in Bakersfield and began working at KUZZ country radio and was an instant hit. He met and became lifelong friends with great entertainers such as Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, Roger Miller, Red Steagall, Billy Mize and countless others. Not only was Larry an on-air personality but had a gospel television show to boot.
He left KUZZ to be program director at KVEG in Las Vegas. He left Vegas after a short time and came to KBOX in DALLAS IN 1966 to make it the first 24 hour country music station in the DFW metroplex. There he formed another life-long friendship with Bill Ward. Larry asked Bill if he would like to go to the Coast and Bill jumped at the opportunity. In June 1967, Bill left KBOX and went to KBBQ in Burbank, CA taking Larry with him. When the owner of KBBQ passed away and the station sold. Bill had made the move earlier to the 50,000 watt power house KLAC in Los Angeles. Bill hired Larry and sent him to WIL in Saint Louis to gain more experience. While there he was honored to be the color man with esteemed play by play announcer Harry Carey. His heart was in LA and he made another journey to the coast and stepped behind the microphone at KLAC in Los Angeles. Within a year he was voted the 2nd most popular Disc Jockey in LA. The Academy of Country Music voted him 4 times for radio personality of the year between 1968 and 1974 as well as KLAC being the best country music station. While at KLAC he started the first all night Interstate road show called the Phantom 570 club that boasted over 8000 members in 1975. Country Radio ruled Southern California and sitting at the helm was Larry Scott.
On July 20, 1974, he married Gail Watson and on May 16, 1975, she gave birth to their only child, Kelly. In December of 1975 Larry and the family moved to Wichita, KS to KFDI with his friend Mike Oatman and Great Empire Broadcasting. If you remember earlier in this story I mentioned Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. Dad had three loves besides Mom and I. They were gospel, country and Western Swing. Bob Wills had passed away May 13, 1975, 3 days prior to my birth. The band was without their leader and were still loved. Larry and Mike had common roots in western swing and they took the reins to preserve and promote that one of a kind sound. They booked them at the Cotillion Ball Room in Wichita. There the revitalization of the Texas Playboys began.
In September 1977, Larry accepted the program director job at KJJJ in Phoenix, AZ. So once again the happy caravan loaded up and were westward bound. Larry spent less than a year in Phoenix and found himself back at KLAC in Los Angeles where he continued blazing his own road into music history.
In 1979 the owners of Metro Media sent him to Dallas once again but this time to KRLD. Larry moved the family to Texas and found a home and land in Kaufman County. Whether he knew it or not roots were planted firmly as Mom was a native Texan and told him she would support him 100% but was not moving again. Dad agreed as he had a deep love for Mom and Texas as the qualities in each were the same, thus began his weekly commute to LA.
He was at KRLD until the fall of 1980 when their format changed from music to all talk. KLAC called again. He commuted DAL-LAX (Dallas—LosAngeles) until 1982. Radio was changing in LA and KLAC changed its format from country to top 40. He left LA and Mike Oatman called again, this time to KWKH which was the esteemed Louisiana Hayride, in Shreveport, LA. He continued the all night interstate road show for 14 years. In late 1998, KWKH was sold and he went to another Great Empire Broadcasting Station, KVOO Tulsa, again commuting. After some years there he partially retired from radio. He still recorded syndicated shows from his studio at his Lucky G Studio as well as continue promoting the Texas Playboys and younger artists who were continuing the legacy of Western Swing, good country music and cowboy music.
In 1984 he was inducted into the Country Music Disc Jockey Hall of Fame in Nashville, in 1999 The Texas Country Music Hall of Fame, The Academy of Western Artists, The Texas Western Swing Hall of Fame, The Texas Gospel Music association Hall of Fame 2007, four time Disc Jockey of the Year for the Academy of Country Music and honored as Disc Jockey Large Market 1980 for the Country Music Association. He was a charter member of the Academy of Country Music and The Gospel Music Association. He was also instrumental in the founding of the Academy of Country Music with 8 others.
I can tell you this with certainty. This short synopsis of his life does not come close to doing him justice. Despite all the accolades and fame he received over the years, he was the most humble, down to earth person you would ever want to know. In the beginning Albert E Brumley gave him a piece of advice he carried throughout his entire life. Albert said “If you never get far from the folks, then you will never be too far from the main stream”. Dad was grateful God gifted him with the ability to make people happy. He emceed gospel, country and swing shows across the US. Over the years he touched more lives and helped countless careers than even he knew. He was a gentle and kind man, great husband, wonderful father and most important a devout Christian. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that he is with our heavenly Father right now. As our dear friend and first pastor. Dr. Dick Sisk, when we moved to Texas said weeks before his death, “I have no doubt whatsoever that Larry’s last breath on earth will be his first in Heaven”. Dad, Mom and I will miss you more than anyone can imagine but we revel in the fact that we will see you again in Glory. Thank you for doing more than existing in Life but in leaving a legacy that made a difference. As you said so many times, “that ole clock on the wall says it’s time to go, so until the next time we meet have a great day, Goodnight and God Bless.”
A celebration of Larry’s life will be held by the family at a later date where these, and many more accomplishments and memories, will be joyfully shared together by every one whose lives he touched.
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Death of Kenneth Boehme—Iola Indians 1951
www.legacy.com/obituaries/nky/obituary.aspx?n=Kenneth-W-B...
Kenneth W. Boehme, devoted husband of 52 years of Jean Boehme (nee Trischler), loving father of Ken (Cathy) Boehme, Karen (Brian) Cromer, Billy (Jean Bohl) Boehme and cherished grandfather of Alex, Paul, Greg, Brian, Kayla, Billy and Mikey. Also survived by many caring relatives and friends. Ken was a Korean War Veteran, former Vice President of Ohio Knife Company, a member of West Point and Air Force Academy Parents Clubs, professional baseball player for the Cincinnati Reds and the New York Yankees, a member of KOM Minor League Hall of Fame, and a longtime Baseball coach for St. Antoninus Parish. Died July 13, 2016 age 84. Visitation Tuesday 9 AM at St. Antoninus Church, 1500 Linneman Road, followed by the celebration of the Mass of Christian Burial 10:30 AM. In lieu of flowers, remembrances may be made to Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation, 383 Main Ave, 5th fl, Norwalk, CT 06851 or Cincinnati VA Medical Center., 3200 Vine St, Cincinnati, OH 45220. www.meyergeiser.com.
Published in the Kentucky Enquirer on July 17, 2016
Ed note:
I learned of Kenny’s death very late in the process of preparing this report and will thus didn’t have time to pay full tribute to a gentleman I liked very much. I direct your attention to a statement in his obituary. Bet not many people ever heard of “The KOM Minor League Hall of Fame.” Possibly, in the next edition of this publication I can explain it. For those of you who don’t know the name of Boehme he gained his fame with the 1951 Iola Indians
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Death of Jerry Ronald Gleason—Iola Indians pitcher 1952
Any time the telephone rings after 7:00 p.m. I’m almost sure it is a robo-call from some politician or a computer “expert” in Bangladesh wanting to fix the problem with my computer. You have all heard that kind of stuff.
On July 11 I had an evening call and I almost hung up on the caller until he told me his name was Larry Flottman. He was the twin batboy for the Iola Indians, in 1952 along with Martin Wright. The numbers they wore on their uniforms were 0 and 00 respectively. Flottman didn’t call for the expressed purpose of telling me his birthday but managed to get it in. He wanted to know who was the oldest between us and I admitted I must be. However, he will celebrate his 77th birth anniversary July 12th (now past) and mine doesn’t come for another four months and 15 days. What a relief to know that I’m not the oldest living former KOM league batboy.
Flottman called to ask if I knew about Jerry Ronald Gleason. I told him the last time I saw him was in 2008 at a KOM reunion in Iola. He told me that Gleason had moved back to Colorado and died in Wheatridge on April 22, 2016. A period of about a month passed between his death and funeral. Not much information was contained in his obituary. He was born October 25, 1933 in Lincoln, Nebraska. He was signed by Bob Howsam of the Denver Bears and sent to Iola for the 1952 season along with Charles Sisson, Victor Damon and a couple of other “hopefuls.” Gleason was a tall, slender right-handed pitcher. His 6’ 6” height placed him in the top three of the tallest players ever to appear in a KOM league game. The others were Bernie Tye and John “Beanstalk” Hurley. Hurley was 6” 7” and Tye was 6’ 6 ½ .”
Gleason pitched late in in 1951 at Hopkinsville, Kentucky. After his 1952 season in the KOM league he was with Lubbock, Texas in the Longhorn league in 1953. In 1954 he spent time with Denver in the Western and Lubbock, in the Longhorn leagues. In 1955 he pitched for Clovis, New Mexico in the West Texas-New Mexico league and then took a sabbatical in 1956-57 by serving in the U. S. Army. He pitched the last time in 1958 with Amarillo, Texas of the Western and Lewiston of the Northwest league s.
During the 2008 KOM reunion, Jerry and his wife Jane, attended a number of sessions and it was great making his acquaintance.
The following is his brief obituary.
Jerry R. Gleason, 82, of Wheat Ridge. Husband of Jane Gleason. Father of David Gleason, Bill (Deanne) Gleason and of the late Jeffrey Gleason. Brother of Jim Gleason and Sally Burnside. Also survived by six granddaughters and eleven great-grandchilden. Graveside service and inurnment Friday May 20th, 2:00 PM., Mt. Olivet Cemetery. Contributions may be made to The Denver Hospice. - See more at: www.legacy.com/obituaries/denverpost/obituary.aspx?n=jerr...
Due to the death of Jerry Gleason his team photo is featured on the Flickr site for this Flash Report. www.flickr.com/photos/60428361@N07/28290057236/
The guys in that photo are: Front Row: Martin Wright and Larry Flottman batboys. Second Row: Cecil Parks, Wayne Baker, Gasper del Toro, Tom Guinn, Woody Fair and Joe Vilk. Third Row: Paul “Cowboy” Weeks. Roy Coulter, Bill Schrier, Bus Hoffman and Chuck Sisson. Fourth Row: Jack Hasten Bill Wigle, John Brkich, Jerry Gleason and Ed Wilson.
It would be fairly easy to write a term paper or maybe a doctoral thesis regarding this team. Yours truly could write the term paper but Larry Flottman would be the guy to write the thesis. He spent an entire summer with these guys and has many tales he could tell but like most batboys, he wouldn’t. The guys in this photo were Canadian (2), Cuban (1), citizens of Carthage, MO (2), another guy in the photo became a drug enforcement agent, one became a priest in the Catholic Church and another was a Texan who married a girl from rural Carthage, MO. Yours truly even had visits from two members of that team in my home and another I visited in his. Another member of that team worked for the same company I did at one time but our paths never crossed. On the “too bad” side of the coin one member of this team took his own life due to depression over a very sick wife and another consumed alcohol at too fast a rate and died very young.
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Russell White Iola Cubs pitcher--1946
A few weeks ago I shared the following in a Flash Report and shortly thereafter I located Russell White and have since spoken with him and his wife and have corresponded, by e-mail, with their daughter, Shawna.
Recent Flash Report comment
This following newspaper clips was all I knew about him until a recent ’stab in the dark.”
May 9, 1946--The Iola baseball team gained a new right-handed pitcher yesterday with the arrival from the west coast of Russell White, whose home.is at Long Branch, Wash. He has been with the Chicago Cubs Visalia, Calif. team of the Class C California league this spring. He is 20 years old.
After sharing that clip with Shawna she contacted me again and said. “John, sorry to bother you yet again, but below in the report you had mentioned that a newspaper clip was all you knew about my dad until your stab in the dark -- Do you have a copy of the newspaper clip or do you know in what newspaper this story was in?” Thanks Shawna
Ed reply:
Glad you got in touch. I was wondering if you were still reading the material. That article appeared in the May 9, 1946 edition of the Iola, Kansas Register. I don't have the original clip. What I do is pull up the Iola Register on Newspapers. It is available to access by subscription but I don't subscribe for I'd go broke trying to subscribe to so many papers. You can pull those editions up on the Internet and you can see each one in optical character recognition format. They take some deciphering but it can be done.
Shawna’s reply:
I hate to say, but like I mentioned I am printing the report off - not sure if they read on the computer - being as they aren't real computer people, that it why I decided to print the report out -- and I have been slacking -- shame on me -- but I did print out the one that mentions dad and he carries that around with him everywhere and lets people read it -- it has really brought some joy into his old life -- Thank you for taking that "Stab in the Dark" --
I will say, I did get the ones that I have received copied off now and will deliver this weekend for the folks to start reading - I know they will enjoy them - memories of baseball is good times for dad -- but also sad times - as you know --
I will try to find the article - will give me a challenge --
Bless you and look forward to continuing to receive and I will do a better job at getting them printed out and to the folks for their reading pleasure Shawna
A reminder
When you’re all alone and feeling blue and have nothing else to do let me suggest …well, maybe my advice wouldn’t work, come to think of it. However, I have a cure for those who write to tell me they have lost the last Flash Report. Can anything be worse than that? In the past a link has been shared that when you access it there are scores of previous Flash Reports at your fingertips or fingertip if you only use one.
Here is that site once more: www.flickr.com/search/?text=KOM%20League%20Flash
Whenever you see a photo on that link all you have to do is click on it and a Flash Report is contained below. There should be enough reading material there to last as long as the two bottles of Lowrey’s seasoning salt I purchased last week. When the grocer asked if I needed anything else I told him that much seasoning salt will last me “from now until the great hereafter.”
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From Miami News-Record
Will have you a story on Mickey Mantle Day activities in Oklahoma City yesterday. Sports editor Dannie Oliveaux went down and is working on a story. He talked to the boys and several other people who were there. It's part of a Mantle exhibit at the Oklahoma History Center in OKC. Jim Ellis—Editor, Miami News-Record
Ed note:
This is the site where the article is located: www.miamiok.com/sports/20160709/sons-share-stories-about-... There are a number of pages to this story so be sure to click on each of them
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Nothing goes unnoticed.
When writing any Flash Report I attempt to drop as many names, places and things as possible. That is done due to having so few readers that I’ll go to extremes, with impossible schemes just to awaken a memory in someone. In doing the story of Charles Yerbic of the “spring” 1951 Carthage Cubs I threw in a reference to a radio station for the expressed purpose of awakening a memory. Here is a note from Jerry Hogan in Fayetteville, Arkansas. “When Mr. Starwyck was writing his letter from KGRH here in Fayetteville I was 5 1/2 years old and lived just a few blocks away from the station. By the fall of 1951, when I started first grade, we lived only about two long blocks from KGRH. I remember visiting the station one time around then. Now I wonder if I may have met Mr. Starwyck without even knowing it! Also, thanks for ID'ing all the Baxter Springs kids. I didn't think I saw The Mick in the group and figured it was too early for him but it was good to get the confirmation in your listing of the players, batboy and such. “
Hogan concluded by saying “Proof again that I'm reading all the KOM Flash Reports but just not always commenting on them!☺”
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Another targeted reader
In last week’s report there was a listing of guys who showed up at Carthage, Mo. in the spring of 1951. I identified one of the guys this way.
James Kenneth Grubb
Born: 12/3/1926 Kankakee, Ill
Died: 1/8/1960 Chicago, Ill
Married Shirley Jean Alexander at Edwardsville, Ill. in 1950. She lived until 2007.
Paris, Ill begged Carthage to release Grubb to them in the spring of1951 and they did and he won 15 games for them.
Having died just short of his 34th birthday raises a question I can’t answer. Maybe someone out there knows the details of his death. (Ed note: That is a subtle hint to baseball necrologist, Jack Morris to work his magic on “My Heritage.”)
Shortly, I had the following note from Jack Morris. “John, I bet you were wondering how closely I read your Flash Reports - I guess pretty closely. Attached is James Grubb's obit. Not much there but it's clear that he died from something along the lines of cancer.”
From the Edwardsville, Intelligencer in Edwarsville, Ill. the obituary appeared on January 8, 1960 on page 2. It read “James Kenneth Grubb, 33 of Kankakee, husband of the former Shirley Jean Alexander and son-in-law of Mr. and Mrs. E. L. Alexander of Edwardsville, died Friday at 12:35 p. m. at Billings Hospital in Chicago following an illness of the past three months. Funeral plans are indefinite.”
Following a little more research I learned the Grubb was an elementary school teacher, in Kankakee at the time of his passing. In a note to Jack Morris I wondered if that occupation precipitated a short life span.
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Yerbic not remembered by teammate
Unless a fellow played with a ball club for a while very few of his teammates remember him. I shared the obituary of Charles Yerbic who was vying for a roster spot for the 1951 Carthage Cubs with Walt Babcock who was doing likewise. Here was Babcock’s response. “I never knew he existed until today. Thanks for keeping me up-to-date on such things.”
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Health update
Many e-mails are received asking if I have heard from “so and so” and if so, how are they doing. In recent weeks I’ve shared the information with those asking about Sam Dixon that he has been having a tough time. One person with whom that information was shared was Casey Casebolt who played American Legion Baseball for Dixon.
He shared a note received from Sam’s daughter that I’m quoting. “Thanks so much for the email. Dad is doing well now but we almost lost him two weeks ago. Right now he is in the Transitional Care Unit at Lawrence Memorial Hospital. We have a care team meeting in a few hours. He is doing better than he has in several months so I anticipate his release tomorrow.
I know he would love to hear from you and anyone else! It is true, his eyesight is failing so he doesn’t read much of anything, including email. So phone calls are best. He is usually gone from 10:00 to 3:30 on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for dialysis. Otherwise he is usually there. Just a warning, his hearing is only slightly better than his eyesight!
Please share this and my contact information with his buddies. I try to leave a voice mail on his phone so people will know how to get information when he is in the hospital or skilled nursing. I am happy to answer emails. I always print them out for him although I read them to him.
Thanks so much for contacting me.”
Karen Dixon
kdixon@sunflower.com
785-979-5388
Ed note:
On the afternoon of July 9th I called Sam and he was at home. He was in good spirits but told me that two weeks ago he had one foot in the grave. He said his doctor told him that after the fact. Sam has always been a good talker but if anyone calls him try to limit the length of the conversation. That is enough advice from this source, for now.
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John Hall is finally explained
A couple of years ago or so, I became friends with a sports writer/blogger out of Little Rock named E. D. (Name withheld to protect the innocent) E. D. has a wide range of interests in sports but one area he's particularly interested in are black sports teams in the Arkansas-Missouri area that played back in segregation days. I've found a number of items for him in our local paper. He's a very decent, sincere guy and he ran into an online feature about you in the KC paper and wanted to know if I happened to know you. Hello! Just since basically Day 1 of my own baseball research. Anyway, as you can see in the e-mail exchange we had below, he would like to contact you if you're okay with that.
Let me know if it's alright and I will give him your e-mail address or if you prefer you could contact E. D. - his address is in the following e-mail.
Thanks, Jerry Hogan—Fayetteville, Ark.
P.S. I hope you're okay with the description of you that I sent E. D..
Hogan’s description of the editor of this publication.
I've known John Hall for at least 15 years. We've never met but we communicate via e-mail very frequently. John is a few years older than I am and is an outstanding baseball researcher. He's originally from Carthage, MO but has lived in Columbia ever since I've known him. He's self-published several books including Majoring in the Minors (which has a section on the Ark. State/Ark-Mo League and the reason we became baseball/internet friends) and a bio on Mickey Mantle. His main emphasis is on the Kansas-Oklahoma-Missouri (KOM) League, which he considers as sort of a follow on to the old Arkie-Mo. Just about every week, he puts out a KOM Flash Report by e-mail and on Flickr. He knows the whereabouts and what became of virtually every player who ever suited up in the old KOM. The flash report, these days, almost always includes 2-3 obituaries of players. The ballpark in Carthage, where the teams from the Ark-Mo and KOM played is still standing and it has a plaque to John on the outside - near the entrance I think.
So, there you go. That's who John Hall is!
Talk to you later, Jerry
Ed reply:
Sounds good to me. I never saw but two entirely black teams in my life other than the KC Monarchs and Indianapolis Clowns. I did see a reference one time that when Carthage folded after their Ark/Mo days their uniforms were taken over by the Carthage Rockets. The only name I recall who would have played for that team would have been the late Claude “Feller” Redmond.
I never knew Joplin had a black football team. I wonder who they played? They would have had to have done a lot of traveling.
I hope so. When I thought of Joplin and black teams the one guy whose name that stands out is Alton Clay. He played for everybody in the area, even at Baxter Springs. Many guys who talk about Clay placed him head and shoulders above anyone who ever played in the four state area and they ranged from the Boyers to the Mantles and everyone in between.
Clay was a big man who always warned opposing catchers to get as far from the plate as possible for he had a horrific back swing. He knocked out a few catchers in his day.
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Once again we come to the best part of any of these reports—the end. Just for fun I’d like to know if I’m only preparing these things for my own amusement. I think that the story on Larry Scott should be a test of that question. Since he was on the radio in places like Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Texas, Arizona, Nevada and California I’d like to hear from anyone who thinks they may have heard him. I suspect I won’t hear from anyone under 60 years of age for obvious reasons and I might not hear from anyone older than that since they have most likely forgotten. Anyway, let me hear from you. As I walked through my flower patch this morning a vehicle stopped in the middle of the street and a voice rang out “Go Cubs.” I shouted back “They still have time to blow it.” Back came the retort “This is their year to win it.” And as the vehicle headed into the morning sunrise the last words I heard were “Keep the reports coming.” I guess that must of have been someone on the mailing list. If you can drive by my house and shout out words of encouragement like that , that’s great. Most of you can’t. So, if you wish to keeping reading stuff like this drop me a note and some material I can include in the next report.
Inbetween the heavy winds during the cyclone on 1-22-11. Imagine this forlorn creature singing the Rolling Stones song "Gimme Shelter", then take a look at the video on the right.
POEM PARKING LOT
MOONLIGHT
Moonlight softens a multitude of sins.
Glows delicately, soft, not blazing, just
Reflecting. Shines a gentler light on things.
Reminds us that we’re not really as hard
As we pretend. Let the fragile side of
Yourself out of its shell, enjoy the night
Sky’s splendor. Make time for someone
Special to you. Moonlight reminds us
How precious calm can be, that we
Needn’t spend each moment in a flurry.
How we’re meant to do more than just
Fight our way through existence, either
Conquering or breaking free. Sometimes
It’s clear how all this conflict is just so
Much invention, mostly needless. Leave
All of that alone for now. Let moonlight
Remind you how in the midst of all we
Resist there’s still a natural wonder it’s
No sin to give in to.
HOT PLATE
That which can’t be spoken of in honorable
Terms. That which has been declared off-
Limits, old business, trashed, abused,
Treated like something of no value. No use.
Responsibility dropped like a hot plate that
Ought to shatter but doesn’t. Hear it clang
Like an unwanted gong ringing awareness
You haven’t forgotten and never will. Try
Harder? Smash it to pieces like you wish
You could smash the pain into dust for the
Next wind? Passionate as it might appear,
Destroying plates as some kind of display
Seems so undignified. Unnecessary to
Victimize the kitchenware. Angrily, sadly,
This kitchen reeks of indignity already, and
It’s not the dishes’ fault. Silly old fashioned
Me, I thought we were supposed to value
That which doesn’t break.
SEEDS
A burger would look barmy claiming to
Be a cow. Potatoes grow in the ground,
Not potato chips. Oranges grow in
Florida, but orange juice comes from
A factory. Metal comes from the earth,
But your car, mostly metal, didn’t just
Drive up from some garage under the
Surface. That laptop facilitating your
Interaction with the world is mostly
Plastic, which comes these days from
Corn, but nobody credits the corn for
Social networking. The whole point is
No matter who or what we come from,
Life changes us into something separate,
Distinct, different, new called ourselves.
When this happens with natural things,
We say it’s so great, but when it happens
With people, for some it’s a sign of the
End times. Maybe not all transformation
Is good, but can you think of anything
Worse than none at all? So we needn’t
See ourselves as betrayers if we stray
From our roots – that’s what seeds do.
It’s moving forward, not ending. Worry
Not, beloved sisters and brothers, time
Won’t end till you’ve paid off your debts,
Which we all know will never happen.
UGLY
You say my poems sound like they’re
Afraid to go somewhere ugly? As if
Ugliness, that decreasingly vague
Sense of threat, needs any more
Expression – just turn on the news.
Watch people struggling, starving,
Stealing, raping, destroying, killing
For no good reason, but our steady
Diet of violence has made us numb
To others suffering. Ugly enough?
Certain social entities want you
Convinced the world’s a dangerous
And ugly place, because conveniently
They have a solution to sell you,
Provided you sign up for their program.
Fear and ugliness do good business,
So they’d prefer you forget there’s
A way that’s free. You don’t need a
Program to appreciate beauty.That’s
All someone like me tries to remind
People of. Ugliness is the wolf at
My door, and my means or resistance
Is to reach all I can for harmony before
I’m consumed too by some ugly hunger.
In the midst of so much ugliness,
Embracing what’s beautiful is almost
An act of subversion. I want to subvert,
With a passion.
INVENT
When you invent me in your mind as
Someone you can’t trust, can’t open
Up to, can’t reach out to, can’t relate
To, can’t use period, it’s too bad you’re
Not writing for Hollywood. When you
Assume a whole ideology, value system,
Attitude, belief, sensibility and you
Attribute it to me without even asking,
That’s an astounding leap of faith and
Confidence in your own convictions
I wish you’d save for your religion.
Good thing you’re not as convinced
You can walk on water or part the
Red Sea as you are that you have me
All figured out.
REASONS
Some reasons are like weeds, you think
You’re rid of them but the just spring
Back up. The longer you leave them the
More they take over. Dealing with them
Is the price you pay for having a garden.
I guess you’d classify this type of reason
As doubts. Other reasons are like trees,
Standing tall no matter what nasty acts
Of nature take place. With age, they
Attain a certain height, and can shelter
Other living things. I guess you’d refer
To this type of reason as faith. Stranger
Reasons are like cactus, living where
Most life would die, protecting what’s
Precious under sharp thorns but unable
To reach out or be reached without
Hurting. If you want to reach them, it’s
Going to hurt. I can’t decide whether
To call these reasons cynicism, damages,
Or life insurance. Maybe all three.
SO PURE
I really should resolve to market
Myself more effectively. Problem is,
I’ve got this deep seated conviction
That it’s classier to just give things
Away. This sort of begs the question
As to whether anyone genuinely
Values that which they’re just given.
So tell me, would you take my poetry
More seriously if you had to pay for it?
Think carefully – my future creativity
Could be riding on your answer. And
Truthfully, the only reason I need
Money is to stop worrying about it.
So how is it I’m not prospering
When my intentions are so pure?
TRADE SECRET
Do you wonder where all these
Poems come from? Well, it’s
Simple. I have a Good Angel on
One shoulder and a Bad Angel
On the other, both vying for
My attention, to be the one
Taken seriously, establish
Credibility, each whispering
Profound, provocative, pure,
Soily, sacred, profane, mystical,
Physical, sexual, intellectual,
Spiritual, selfless, selfish, true,
False, angry, forgiving, gentle,
Devoted, demented, violent,
Me me me and you you you
Influences on my outlook from
Moment to moment. Poems
Are what’s left over when the
Crossfire momentarily ceases.
HOMES
I feel at home in more than one place.
There’s the home where I was born, the
Home where I live, and the homes I’ve
Discovered and return to when I can.
No ambivalence about my citizenship,
But I’ve left a little bit of myself and
Taken with me something from all the
Different places I’ve called home, even
If only for a few days. They’re all part of
Me now, regardless of where my feet
Kick back at any moment, just like you
Don’t have to be right beside someone
To love them deeply, even if you wish
You could be. That’s why, contrary to
Appearances, I don’t think of this at all
As an exile.
DRAMATIC BAGGAGE
Maybe I was left in front of the TV
At too early an age. I didn’t just
Watch the shows, I felt them too.
(What else is a good show supposed
To make you do?) That’s my earliest
Impression of human conflict and
Resolution. Now I wonder whether
Unconsciously I still expect everything
To be too black and white like our old
TV, too cut and dried. In theory I’m
Aware of complexity, but emotionally
It’s a different story – if my feelings
You’re engaged, you’re either a hero
Or a villain. Villains must be punished
Or defeated for heroes to come out
Shining before the last commercial. I
Know that’s distorted, but we don’t
Just think about people, we feel them
Too. So if you’re going to get dramatic,
Know that all it does is warm the tubes
Of my old TV feelings that never leave,
Just leave more dramatic baggage than
I know how to handle. As a child, to me
Everyone on TV seemed so much more
Alive, but involvement with them was
Just something you could always turn
Off anytime you liked.
TRAVELING
Traveling is my freedom and my prison,
My choice as well as my inescapable
Fate. Like a shark starts to fade if it
Doesn't circulate, I need to move. In
The shadows between one location
And the next, there's somewhere all
Is still, my only moments of peace.
It's not just arriving, not just leaving,
But the movement between that keeps
The weeds and vines from encircling,
Enclosing. Can you ever really be
Close to someone who won't stay
Put? Yes. Be a partner, not an
Anchor.
WHAT A DOG
Dog with a bone can’t let go. For all
He knows, it’s dog nirvana. Canine
Heaven made flesh (or in this case
Bone). Never seen him so fully
Committed, or willing to lay down
His life to protect what’s so precious
To him. Never seen him so happy,
Wagging his tail at its sight, gamboling
Like he thinks he’s a lamb, savoring its
Taste, aroused by its scent, licking
Tongue expressing the depths of his
Affection, barking baritone love songs
Of faith and devotion. Playing with it
Like each moment they have together
Is golden. Makes you wonder how they
Ever did without one another. They’re
Partners till he’s gnawed the last of
The marrow from its insides. When
It loses its special appeal, dog thinks
Nothing of moving on to the next one.
What a dog.
DREAMS
In their isolation, inhabitants of tiny
Islands, known to and knowing only
Themselves, weave mythologies that
Map their location as the center of
The universe, of creation, of time.
Dwarves who don’t know better
Think they’re giants. Same with
Dreams – won’t acknowledge limits
If they don’t have to, sometimes
Growing big enough to think they
Can depose reality. Poor dreamer,
Then, what mutiny must brew in
Your soul. For we know how reality
Has taken many a battering, but
Always is the one left standing
Because dreams seldom outlive
The dreamers. Through rebellion
Is more romantic, at least in teen
Novels, dreams might do better to
Treat reality more politely, to make
Their pleas free of expectation reality
Will listen, just with a humble hope
Reality might point the way to truth
Just as real as it was in your dream.
GUESS
No more guesses. Nothing brings on
A flood of bad emotions like feeling
With all your being that you’re right
Then realizing you’ve simply guessed
Wrong. Maybe the more something
Means to you personally the less
Clearly you can really see it. There’s
A time to be objective, and a time to
Follow your heart and dive right in.
Too bad sometimes we can only
Guess which is which. I feel like I
Dove into a pool that turned out to
Be empty. The water was imaginary,
Unlike the concrete. So please, don’t
Expect me to guess. If you want me
To believe you, first believe in what
You want to convey enough to say it
Face to face.
BEATNIK MOSQUITOES
Poems are like mosquitoes drunk on the
Blood of a nicotine addict such as moi,
Haphazardly careening in circular flight,
Their mission - inner space exploration,
Little bitty buzzings sounding like jazz
Saxophones soundtracking beatnik
Free verse, these insect Allen Ginsburgs,
Improvising wildly like a Dixieland band.
Jazz poetry from beatnik mosquitoes
Drunk on my blood - how beautiful!
SLAP
Poems are like mosquitoes, flying
Around sucking on people’s feelings,
Spreading disease, making you
Itch, disrupting your sleep,
Inspiring a good slap or two.
WHEN WE WERE NORMAL
Inter-generational conflict rendered
Me less than at my best for a long time.
I resigned myself to the reality that my
Elders were clueless and my peers were
Crazy. By necessity, I kept a foot in both
Camps, but my head and heart were
Somewhere else. It’s all cooled off by
Now, but the cynicism I got from the
Bad years has stayed with me like an
Unwanted tattoo. Worse is the feeling
That while now-meaningless battles
Consumed our thoughts, something
Slipped by us. We still see the world
Like we did when we were normal,
But that was a long, long time ago.
POOR OLD ROBOT
Poor old robot from a second hand
Robot store. Can’t find your parts
Anymore, can’t find your owner.
Poor old robot, feeling outmoded,
Knowing your warranty expired
Yesterday but refusing to just sit
Around and decay. Poor old robot,
All your friends in the junkyard,
Sadly mute, reminding you of a
More animated past. Poor old
Robot, wanting to be helpful but
Only speaking Chinese, confusing
The elderly and frightening the
Young. Poor old robot, short-circuiting
Your own speakers issuing distorted
Robot moans about how nobody
Appreciates you, sounding more
Annoying than rap (in Chinese)
Through a broken boom box. Poor
Old robot, voice of every invention
First coveted greedily then tossed
Aside casually as soon as there’s a
Newer version. Poor old robot,
Wishing you could take your metallic
Hands and throttle whoever saddled
You with this limited lifespan. Poor
Old robot, I want to shoot you just
To shut you up, but you look at me
With those tortured robot eyes and
It scares me how easily I can relate.
DUSK
Dusk, and the day’s content to let
Its light relax and fade. There’s
Still work to be done, but for now
That’s enough. Now day and night,
Opposites but still ideal partners,
Do their changing of the guard at
Dusk. Then the light disappears,
No one knows where to and no
One asks. After all it does for us,
It’s entitled to its privacy. There’s
A time to shine as bright as you can,
And a time to do nothing more than
Enjoy being alive. In the long run,
It’s the steadiness that counts,
Finding a comfortable rhythm that
Won’t grind you down. Day and
Night split their time equally. We
Should learn from that balance.
DEVIL’S TOOLS
During the bad years I was judged
Constantly, even for things I’d never
Actually done. No one can justify
Another’s pretensions, no matter
How well-intended, but there was
Still some expectation the prodigal
Son might turn out to be a golden
Boy after all. When that didn’t
Happen, they imagined the worst.
Someone’s anger stings no less
Just because you know it’s based
On a mistake – the real sting is
What they’d believe about you.
Wrong ideas, in the minds of
People firmly convinced they
Can’t be anything but right, are
The devil’s tools for dismantling
Families.
AUSTIN
Take me with you back to Austin – I’m not
Understood here, much less appreciated.
Here, I have to sing in a language I can’t
Speak. In Austin, I can sing in English, and
I’ll learn as much Spanish as I have to. In
That kind of milieu, they'd more likely take
Me to heart. Here, I get shot down just
For showing I care, and if anyone cares
For me, they’ll be damned before they’d
Admit it. Austin might find me more
Socially acceptable, value my cultural
Contribution more highly than my home
Town Lilliputians. Plus I’ll make you money –
Be my manager. Austin’s feminist enough
For a woman Colonel Parker. I can be like
Your Mexican, except I’m a citizen. So it
Makes perfect sense economically, socially,
Emotionally and culturally that you take
Me with you back to Austin, home of the
Armadillo. I really can do better, but not
Here, where every time I open my mouth
I remind everyone they didn’t invent music.
INOTE: You know who Colonel Parker is, right? In case you're clueless, Colonel Parker was Elvis' manager. See, reading my poems is very educational.)
CALI PHONE YA
I will miss you, sprawling industrial district.
You too, cold winds at night. You too,
Mall after mall, all the same stores. You
Too, people everywere on cells, lost in
One way conversations for all appearances.
You too, healthy, skinny, multi-ethnic
Residients reminding me to diet. You too,
Radio where they play what they like,
Acoustic western swing for cruising. You
Too, old people acting young. You too,
Redemption tickets at Indian gambling
Palaces, payback for white wrongs. You
Too, taquerias on wheels, food names I
can't pronounce. You too, tall eucalyptus
Straddling the highway. California, land of
Great distances. Spent half my time here
Driving. Almost always worth it. A week
Here is like a month at home. Gotta say
Bye before I flame out, die of fun.
IN FRONT OF STORES
In old Samoa they would sit around
The fire at night. Now boys sit in front
Of stores from twilight till closing time.
One of the side effects of society based
On industry and wages is boys with
Nowhere better to go than bus stops
Or store parking lots. They have homes
They can’t go to, parents they can’t be
Around. What kind of adults will they
Become, growing up feeling like home
And family have to be avoided? For the
Sake of our future, every adolescent
Should be asked to think about the
Questions: what should a family be,
And how does it turn into something
You want to run from?
STICKS AND LEAVES
Once upon a time the two had a
Mansion. One they didn’t have to
Earn, but came to them naturally.
Then, for reasons that vary
Depending on who’s explaining,
Their mansion lay in ruins. What
Are their options? They could say,
It doesn’t matter, we’ll make a
Shelter of sticks and leaves, and it
Will do as long as we’re together,
Or they could turn their attention
Separately to other mansions that
Just happen to have an empty room
And role they could easily fill. Sounds
Cold, I know, but you’d be surprised
How many would go for it given the
Circumstances. One day you may
Have to choose between insisting
On the mansion class at any cost,
Or accepting when you have
Nothing but sticks and leaves left
With someone, and saying it’s a
Start, not the end.
WALL
Quite a big wall to keep out
Just one person, don’t you
Think? Oh right, the wall’s
Not for me, not a message.
It’s for vampires, werewolves,
Traveling salesmen, Santa,
Elves, reindeer, postmen
With colds and girls scouts
Trying to push their cookies
On you. What’s sad about
Walls is what can’t get out,
Not just what can’t get in.
What if a rainbow ends on
The other side, with a pot
Of gold that’s yours for the
Taking, but you can’t get
Over your own wall?
ROADRUNNER
Too fast to be caught, never held
Back, I wanted to be Roadrunner.
A life of highways to explore at full
Speed. Grant me the freedom to
Travel and I’m happy. Take it all in,
And take off running before you’re
Tied to anything or anyone. Beep,
Beep, moving on. I wanted to be
Roadrunner – life in the fast lane.
Amazing it lasted as long as it did.
Sad I’d finally find someone I’d
Love to run with right when fate
Has forced me to hit the brakes.
It’s clear each time you beep beep
By like you don’t even know me –
I wanted to be Roadrunner, but
Ended up Coyote.
DEATH SENTENCE
I think I know what’s going to
Kill me – stupidity. Involuntary
Meditative state 24/7 where
The mantra is, “That was stupid.”
Stupidity is relative, therefore
Relatives are stupid.
OBJECTS
Objects have a history. Objects
Could tell stories, given where
They’ve been and what they’ve
Seen, but instead they must sit
Mute and just watch. Objects
Are a paradox – they’ve never
Had what we’d describe as life
And yet they’ll still be here long
After us, and in fact they’ll be
Here forever until someone
Destroys them. To remember us,
Those still here will preserve our
Objects. But that’s nothing like
The kind of interaction it would
Be with us in person, is it? So
Better interact now, and not be
Shy about it either. It’s sort of
The movements of our akimbo
Limbs, and sort of the yappings
Of our colorful tongues, and
Sort of many other things, but
Mostly it’s the sweet essence
Of life itself that makes us more
Than just objects.
DISCLOSURE
My own point of view is
Hopelessly biased – there,
I admit it. I put it out there
Anyway because… Well,
Why not? The worst that
Can happen is you think
I’m delusional. Yep, like
Zillions of others, like the
Wavering masses. like
You too in many ways.
The best that can happen
Is that you know we’re
Really thinking the same
Thing, or not far from it.
That means something.
What? I don’t know, it’s
Always still unwritten.
Anything you want, and
Hopefully nothing you
Don’t. Just for the record,
Thank you for your time
And kind attention. That’s
Today’s disclosure.
ART FILM
Strangest movie you’ve ever seen,
But hey, this is an art film not some
Hollywood product. Human voices
Narrate, but people have no presence
Onscreen. Objects and images stand
As visual metaphors for the story, as if
These better convey something literal
Action or even narration can’t. The
Silhouette of a village sticking up
Through a forest evokes home existing
Only in memory. Railroad tracks and
Nearby debris symbolize childhood
Displacement. Changing light on photos
Indicates the passage of time. Lives are
Represented by bottles floating on
The sea. When its 15 minutes are up,
A buzz in the audience ensues. An
Esteemed panel of judges seems
Speechless, muttering terms like
“Startling”, “innovative”, and “rich in
“Emotion”. The filmmakers just say
That’s what happens when you don’t
Have a budget and you’ve never made
A film, you just really want to, when
You don’t know what you’re doing but
You’re not about to let a minor detail
Like that stop you.
TELL OF WONDERS
If I could tell of wonders, I’d write
The stories here, not to bring me
Glory by association, but to share
My best. Because this is all I can
Share with you until things change,
The only way I can talk to you. If I
Could tell of wonders, I would, but
Most of my stories are rather
Mundane, just people dealing
With day to day life, sometimes
Discovering themselves through
Each other, sometimes catching
Just a glimpse of something bigger
That ties the mysteries together.
THE WORD MUSIC
The word music is closely related to
The word muse, the reason why
Writers write. The act of writing is
Seen as petitioning fate to intervene
In the hopes your muse will view you
Favorably. Music does the same with
Sound. Notes carry messages words
Can’t. Music, as a word, is not far
From magic. Music works an alchemy
Of its own - let it in and it'll take you
Somewhere. Resist and you’ll get
Noise instead of enjoyment. In those
Moments when music sings to the
Soul, a meaning you needn’t think
About comes through, as if on an
Invisible wire. It’s an open secret
Known to anyone who listens and
Feels, and doesn’t just analyze in
A vacuum. If music doesn’t prove
There’s magic, it at least reminds
That you get out of something what
You put in.
STRAYS
Our dogs simply want something
To eat. They were never farmers
In the first place, but hunters
Who’ve forgotten they ever had
That skill, defenders with nothing
Left to defend but the few scraps
They can pilfer from our leftovers.
More often they go hungry in their
Learned dependence on generosity.
They once served a worthwhile
Purpose for someone or other,
Once had a part in our functioning,
But now they’re strays, deprived of
A livelihood. They’d be more than
Happy to work hard for a crumb of
Your kindness just to survive, living
By their wits but unaware of their
Place in the bigger picture, and not
Caring either.
DELICATE
Can you pull your weeds without
Ruining your garden? Careful, most
Beautiful things are delicate, you
Can’t just slash and burn, as much
As you hate the weeds. Delicate
Things require patience and care,
But look what happiness they bring
Nature is delicate. Life is delicate.
Our deepest feelings are delicate.
How ironic, then, that even apes
Can have more patience and care
Than man, who finds delicacy
Inferior to efficiency, and wants
To slash and burn his way through
Everything, including people.
UNLESS YOU’RE THE POPE
So, are you convinced you can’t be
Forgiven, or just too proud to ask?
It’s pretty arrogant to forgive
Someone who even hasn’t asked
For it, unless you’re the Pope and
Really in a hurry. And if someone
Has the guts to ask, it’s pretty
Heartless to make them grovel,
Unless you want to convince them
They shouldn’t have bothered.
CLUELESS
Hey, pretend you’re a priest while
I make a confession – I’m clueless.
My memory’s ok, but as far as
Processing what those memories
Mean, forget it. I’ve been turned
Around more than once, and no
Sooner do I finish feeling dizzy than
I start feeling clueless. Meanings
Seem to have shifted, signs signify
Differently. It’s all unfamiliar again
To me. I’m blank – will you fill me in?
Maybe my sensibilities just reflect
An earlier time with a different
Notion of what doing right means,
A different approach. But in the
Here and know, I know how my
Cluelessness must appear to you
As if the dinosaurs never left.
EXPOSED
Eyeballs with wings, following us around
As if we’re breaking news, walking sitcoms,
Like our every moment captured can be
Used for selling ads. We’re never wanting
For an audience. Eyeballs with wings,
Posing as innocent bystanders, trying to
Blend in with the birds, swarming in our
Moments of embarrassment like locusts,
Thinking here’s a good one for prime time
Tonight. Eyeballs with wings, all-seeing, no
Heart for understanding. Disdaining eyes,
Ready to bear witness to anything they
Find suspicious. Wish I could shoot them
From the sky, find out if they’re capable
Of tears, but they’re in my head. Eyeballs
With wings, hanging upside down like bats
Outside my bedroom. Even when no one
Wants to know, I still walk around feeling
Exposed.
PORTRAIT
I suppose if you put all the poems
Together, a certain portrait might
Emerge. An attitude embedded in
The language, values suggested
By the style. But don’t be fooled –
Let an artist paint themselves and
It’ll be the most distorted portrait
You could ask for. Expression can
Be a defense, an elaborate disguise,
Pure fiction, the occasional naked
Truth. I must confess to reveling in
The freedom of never being sure if
I’m taken seriously. Gives me room
To evolve, explore, experiment.
If I ever touch your sensibilities
In some way, I’m truly flattered,
But it’s an accident. My thought
Collisions occasionally summon a
Connection rather than an ambulance.
Were a truly accurate portrait to
Crawl from the wreckage of my
Pages, you’d see a shell shocked
Crash test dummy, mangled, head
Backwards, heart sideways, limbs
Akimbo, lips fixed in a grimace,
Jumping right into the next car.
LION TAMER
Taming lions, do you need a circus
Mind? A grasp of animal psychology?
The talent to get them to trust you
Above their own instincts? Can they
Unlearn what another nasty trainer
Has whipped into them, once he’s
Manipulated their wants and needs
To make them behave his way?
Make them feel they’re safe not
Biting the head off anyone who
Doesn’t give them exactly what
They expect? Don’t be like a lion
Trained by the Romans to tear
Apart criminals, deviants and
Religious dissidents to entertain a
Bloodthirsty colosseum audience.
BURRITO
What gets folded-into our story?
What doesn’t? Our story is like a
Burrito – by themselves the
Ingredients would make one big
Mess, cross no-fly zones, riot on
The plate, stain your clothes, soil
The floor. However, these same
Ingredients, when something holds
Them in one place, create an
Unexpected combination of tastes,
Rendered in the burrito’s case all
The more palatable by a Nobel
Prize-worthy masterpiece of
Culinary engineering, a design
With equally valid practical,
Cultural and gastronomical
Qualities. What we think wasn’t
Meant to co-exist in one dish
Somehow does - with willingness
And creativity, and a good salsa
Always helps. Every burrito across
The USA at this very moment
Stands as a testament to what
Hunger and ingenuity can do.
COLUMBUS
History is great – I’m re-learning it all
The time. Like the little-known fact
That besides collecting information
For maps, Columbus also collected
Several hundred Indians to take
Home and sell as slaves. Well, how
Else was he supposed to pay for the
Trip? And besides, in exchange for a
Few hundred slaves, not all of whom
Even made it to Europe, look what
We got. No Columbus, no Las Vegas.
No Seattle. No Boise, Idaho. No Alamo,
No Annie Oakley, no Little Big Horn, no
George Washington, no Ben Franklin.
No Star Spangled Banner. No Civil War,
No Blues, no Jazz, no Rock & Roll. No
Lincoln, no Lincoln Center. No Pearl
Harbor, no 9-11, no Boston Tea Party,
No Boston Strangler, no McDonalds.
No Margaret Mitchell, no Margaret
Mead, no Miley Cyrus. No Fox News.
No American Idol, no FBI, no Civil Rights.
None of this and more would ever have
Come to pass if it hadn’t been for
Columbus. You wouldn’t even be here,
So hey, just let the slave thing slide.
TELEVISION
Television, you pampered only child
Of an arranged marriage between
Hollywood and Wall Street. Television,
Shaping our culture while taping its
Mouth shut and binding its hands.
Television, who do your represent,
Anyway? Am I no longer in tune with
Society since you don’t make sense?
Television, aimed at some imaginary
America where everyone takes your
Word on what’s worth buying and
Believing. Television, you’re teaching
Escape. Television, your signals go
Out into space. Alien races are curious
About you, Television, and now firmly
Believe earth’s highest-evolved life
Form motivates and manipulates its
Own masses by dangling desired
Material items and idealized states
Of being in front of them like you’d
Dangle a carrot in front of a donkey.
RIVERBOAT
Flowing on the slow river of time,
Before you know it you’ve come
Farther than you believed possible.
Whenever this river seems about
To end, it’s only changing, following
A way passed down from the ages.
Why stray from a proven route?
Someone once told me there’s an
Ocean where all rivers meet, where
Their long travels end, but curiously,
Rivers take their sweet time keeping
The appointment. Who’s in a hurry?
We’ll arrive when it’s time. Until
Then, the river is single-mined,
Stopping everywhere, staying
Nowhere, enticing us with a free
One-way ticket. The river wants us
To mix, discover what’s out there.
Learn from and love every moment
On the water. We’re lucky we can
Join this voyage even for a short
Time, and few among us have
Passage all the way to its end.
PANIC
Calm serenity is an illusion, but shout
That lie as loud as you can because the
Truth is panic. As soon as we’re out of
The womb, we’re screaming. As soon
As whatever situation we’re in starts
Spinning out of control, we’re right back
To the panic we reacted with as soon as
We opened our eyes. And not just babies.
No one wants the pressure of keeping it
All together, but who will prevent our
Serenity from descending into anarchy
If not ourselves? Calm serenity reminds
Us of Heaven, a place within us where it
Doesn’t seem like it could all blow apart
Any second. We need that thought to
Deal with the world, keep reminding
The deaf public and dumb governments
There’s always a better solution than
Bombs. Calm serenity is an illusion, so
Forgive me for cultivating dishonesty –
I’m just trying not to panic.
BETRAYAL
If I talk about betrayal, it doesn’t
Mean I’m talking about you, just
About the thousand ways you can
Feel betrayed. I know it doesn’t do
Any good to talk about feeling
Betrayed, but every time I’m right
On the brink of being kind for no
Other reason than just to be kind,
That feeling comes creeping back:
You’re gonna get betrayed. Betrayal
Is the risk you take when you give.
If you give in the right way, there’s
A tiny chance you won’t be betrayed,
But it’s really tiny. Much more
Straightforward to be a taker, a
Heartbreaker, a bastard, a user.
You can’t be betrayed if you just
Don’t care. Might as well betray
Someone else before they do it
To you. Betrayal is a parachute
For those who can’t stand feeling
Trapped, held back. Betrayal is a
Cancer in the marrow of our
Society and personal lives, eating
The blood cells faith needs. Betrayal
Goes back to the Bible – Judas might
Have been forgiven for his betrayal,
But I’m not so saintly.
FOR MARIE ANTOINETTE
If you doubt the power of propaganda,
Consider this. Marie Antoinette, one of
History’s coldest, most heartless bitches,
Once famously remarked that peasants
Starving for bread could eat cake instead.
This immortal utterance, which so well
Characterizes corruption, anywhere,
Anytime, guarantees that Marie won’t
Soon be forgotten. Imagine my surprise,
Then, when I read that there’s actually
No concrete evidence she really said it!
That historians consider the source of
The quote highly unreliable! A tabloid,
No less. Louis and Marie apparently
Believed in freedom of the press, but
As is still so often the case, attacking
The unpopular sold copies. Therefore,
Exaggerations and lies about the
Monarchy were commonplace. But so
What? With a quote so memorable,
Questions of legitimacy are secondary.
Still, imagine going down in history for
Something you never actually said!
History has force fed Marie that very
Same cake allegedly recommended
To the peasants.
R.I.P. LOU REED
The different don’t feel so different
Anymore, not like they used to, not
Like when they had to deny the very
Idea of their natures. The different had
Lou Reed to sing for them. Lou didn’t
Pander for shock value, he just figured
He’d get real, real for him, maybe real
Too for others out there in dark corners,
The margins, the gutters, the alleys, the
Toilets, the jails, the mental hospitals.
This was when being a freak wasn’t chic,
It was dangerous, could cost you your
Life. Sometimes Lou didn’t mind who
He offended, other times he cloaked
His real meanings in clever language,
But no one could probe as deeply into
The taboo shadows of our collective
Psyche with the same boldness or
With as much humanity. That’s what
I’ll remember Lou for, his humanity,
His occasional tenderness, his trying
To find the heart in life’s confusions,
His frequent rubbing of life’s seediest
Sides in your face. He had his own face
Rubbed in it too, but turned the smears
Into part of his costume for the role of
Bard of the forbidden, anarchist of
Sexuality giving all the rejects a voice.
TONGUE TIED
Tongue tied, falling right into a
Role I’m not sure how to play.
Tongue tied, no idea how to
Say what I’m thinking, it might
Be impolite, not to your liking.
Tongue tied, talking around
The subject, trying to say it
Indirectly.Tongue tied, wanting
So bad for the words to sound
Right that they won’t come out
At all. Tongue tied, silently
Screaming.
IT’S MY JOB
You can deny my love if it’s
Not what you want, refuse it
If it’s not good enough, just
Doesn’t move you. You have
Every right by your own free
Will. I just feel like, right or
Wrong, good or bad, happy
Or sad, wise or foolish, it’s
Just my job to let you know
Somebody loves you. No one
Said anything about you
Having to accept it.
REINCARNATION
With every person you’ve ever felt
A passion for, you create a child in
The spiritual world. You may meet
Them there, before or after their
Turn comes to be made real, born
As human. How else to explain why
A poet from a thousand years ago
Reminds me of someone I only met
Yesterday, or why grandparents
Sometimes make more sense than
Mom and dad, or why someone
You rarely even see can still fill you
With both joy and sadness longer
Than time itself whenever you
Think of them?
MORE NEXT DOOR ("CYCLONE SCENE 2")
I hate people that quote the bible on the side of railcars or on signs at ballgames, or ballplayers that thank god for hitting homeruns, like the supreme being is worried about people hitting a small ball or throwing a ball through a hoop, etc., etc., why do christians get a pass on this, if a muslim, or a hindu, or a god forbid and atheist put up their propaganda people would lose their minds... think about it
George Carlin
On Religion
When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there's an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever 'til the end of time!
But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He's all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can't handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!
But I want you to know something, this is sincere, I want you to know, when it comes to believing in God, I really tried. I really, really tried. I tried to believe that there is a God, who created each of us in His own image and likeness, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things. I really tried to believe that, but I gotta tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize, something is fucked up.
Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say "this guy", because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.
No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he's at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.
So rather than be just another mindless religious robot, mindlessly and aimlessly and blindly believing that all of this is in the hands of some spooky incompetent father figure who doesn't give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship. Something I could really count on.
And immediately, I thought of the sun. Happened like that. Overnight I became a sun-worshipper. Well, not overnight, you can't see the sun at night. But first thing the next morning, I became a sun-worshipper. Several reasons. First of all, I can see the sun, okay? Unlike some other gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I'm big on that. If I can see something, I don't know, it kind of helps the credibility along, you know? So everyday I can see the sun, as it gives me everything I need; heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake, an occasional skin cancer, but hey. At least there are no crucifixions, and we're not setting people on fire simply because they don't agree with us.
Sun worship is fairly simple. There's no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don't have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun, it never tells me I'm unworthy. Doesn't tell me I'm a bad person who needs to be saved. Hasn't said an unkind word. Treats me fine. So, I worship the sun. But, I don't pray to the sun. Know why? I wouldn't presume on our friendship. It's not polite.
I've often thought people treat God rather rudely, don't you? Asking trillions and trillions of prayers every day. Asking and pleading and begging for favors. Do this, gimme that, I need a new car, I want a better job. And most of this praying takes place on Sunday His day off. It's not nice. And it's no way to treat a friend.
But people do pray, and they pray for a lot of different things, you know, your sister needs an operation on her crotch, your brother was arrested for defecating in a mall. But most of all, you'd really like to fuck that hot little redhead down at the convenience store. You know, the one with the eyepatch and the clubfoot? Can you pray for that? I think you'd have to. And I say, fine. Pray for anything you want. Pray for anything, but what about the Divine Plan?
Remember that? The Divine Plan. Long time ago, God made a Divine Plan. Gave it a lot of thought, decided it was a good plan, put it into practice. And for billions and billions of years, the Divine Plan has been doing just fine. Now, you come along, and pray for something. Well suppose the thing you want isn't in God's Divine Plan? What do you want Him to do? Change His plan? Just for you? Doesn't it seem a little arrogant? It's a Divine Plan. What's the use of being God if every run-down shmuck with a two-dollar prayerbook can come along and fuck up Your Plan?
And here's something else, another problem you might have: Suppose your prayers aren't answered. What do you say? "Well, it's God's will." "Thy Will Be Done." Fine, but if it's God's will, and He's going to do what He wants to anyway, why the fuck bother praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me! Couldn't you just skip the praying part and go right to His Will? It's all very confusing.
So to get around a lot of this, I decided to worship the sun. But, as I said, I don't pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he's a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn't fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.
For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.
So I've been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don't. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit's foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat's testicles, it's all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.
And for those of you who look to The Bible for moral lessons and literary qualities, I might suggest a couple of other stories for you. You might want to look at the Three Little Pigs, that's a good one. Has a nice happy ending, I'm sure you'll like that. Then there's Little Red Riding Hood, although it does have that X-rated part where the Big Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother. Which I didn't care for, by the way. And finally, I've always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from Humpty Dumpty. The part I like the best? "All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again." That's because there is no Humpty Dumpty, and there is no God. None, not one, no God, never was.
In fact, I'm gonna put it this way. If there is a God, may he strike this audience dead! See? Nothing happened. Nothing happened? Everybody's okay? All right, tell you what, I'll raise the stakes a little bit. If there is a God, may he strike me dead. See? Nothing happened, oh, wait, I've got a little cramp in my leg. And my balls hurt. Plus, I'm blind. I'm blind, oh, now I'm okay again, must have been Joe Pesci, huh? God Bless Joe Pesci. Thank you all very much. Joe Bless You!
(Copyright 1999 by George Carlin. Printed without permission.)
Feel free to complain, try and "save" me, what ever... but I already have a government trying to control me, the last thing I need is a church putting a hand in my pocket to build huge buildings to a man that had great ideas that they can't follow...like giving up your money and living with the sinners... living as an example without judging, giving to Caesar what is Caesar's and god what's god's (this means keep your nose out of government and your morals out of it, live by example not theocracy) We have a christian taliban in this country called the moral majority, evangelicals, and right wingers... wake up and open your eyes to the truth... Jason 13:45
Mike Pickering of M People talks in depth about his own musical and DJ background, the many bands he has been in or involved with, his time with M People and also confesses that the vocals for 'Ride On Time' by Black Box are actually sung by... Heather Small!
This interview is taken from the DeConstruction Records website:
What was the first music you got into?
The first music that got me really excited was I suppose aged 15, 16 was Motown and Stax soul, Invictus, all those American R&B labels.
Were you aware of these records being part of a scene?
Yeah, cos a really really close friend and neighbour Jean Sacks married Phil Sacks, who later on managed the Mondays and succeeded me at Factory. He was a DJ at the Twisted Wheel, so I couldn't go, but I was very aware of the Northern Soul scene. He introduced me to the snobbery of Northern Soul, right? Covering your records up with tape so no-one could see what they were and the secrecy of it all.
When did you start going out?
For me it was the Highland Room at Blackpool Mecca
When would that have been? Were you wearing terrible clothes?!
It'd be about early 70's, we were skinhead/suedeheads, so we wore Crombies and Ben Shermans and the two tone pants and royals, and red socks. I still wear it now, yeah!
And then Punk happened...
Just before Punk, David Bowie and then through Bowie, Lou Reed and Iggy and The Stooges, I kind of discovered all that through Bowie. And that really was the first white music I got into, I was almost racist about music, you know. And that was the first white music that I ever listened to, but then in 1977 or late 76, when punk happened, that completely changed me.
Did you go to the legendary Lesser Free Trade Hall gig?
No I went to see the Pistols at the Electric Circus though, straight away after, but to be honest I liked the Pistols, but they weren't the epicentre of my punk scene, Spiral Scratch by Buzzcocks was what did it for me, just like 2 and half, 3 minute songs with great melodies which was I suppose was akin to northern soul. It was that really that I loved.
What did you do for a job at this time?
Er well I spent quite a long time out of work as lots of people did then, and I got sent on a Tops course, it was re-training but they trained me to be a chef
Really?
Yeah it was great, in the CIS building in Manchester, but I was just so into music at the time, I was lead singer and manager of this kind of new wave punk band called Fireplace
Did you release any records?
Here's a thing, we released one record on Band On The Wall Manchester Musicians Collective album but I weren't on it! I'd fallen out with them already, about two days before... over a girl as well! So I told them to go **** themselves and didn't do it! Actually I'm glad I didn't because it's not stood the test of time.
It must have been around this time you met Rob Gretton?
Well I just hung out everywhere, but years before I'd met Rob through City, we actually got chased by a load of Forest skinheads at Forest away and it was a long journey through the back of a pub, with snarling Alsations, over a wall, we ended up laying in a garden and you could see the doc martin boots really near us, and he went, "I'm Rob Gretton from Wythenshawe" and I went "I'm Mike Pickering from Stockport" and so we always used to go away on the football special together and got really friendly with him, and then he started managing Warsaw so I was kind of there from the beginning really.
What was your role?
Well I was just Rob's mate. No-one had specific jobs, you know what I mean, if the van needed loading, it needed loading... but then what happened was I went to live in Holland, I think in 1979, I got fed up with everything and just went, you know. In Rotterdam I met these guys who squatted in an old waterworks like a big tower, and there was a big hall attached. They went, "if you lads want you can open this hall and do what you want" so we cleared it all out, someone built a stage, got a generator and we started putting on nights where I was DJ'ing. It was kind of very much against the trend, because everything was punk and rock in those days and I was playing Chic and lots of US disco, you know, Crown Heights Affair and that.
I was also using my connections in England to put gigs on, so I had like Human League, the first gig after they split with Heaven 17, Factory nights, A Certain Ratio, Dirty Column and Section 25, but I also put on the second New Order gig after Ian died, because Rob said I want to do some gigs out of England, and when he saw what we'd done, he said, I'm opening a club at home. I want you to come home.
Were you with New Order/ Rob in the states when they were inspired to open the Hac?
Well that was just after. I think they'd been once, but I hadn't been. When we came back, they'd just bought the space which was an old yacht salesroom and part of the deal of me coming home was, cause I'd started Quando Quango in Holland, that I could put records out on Factory. So we did and weirdly enough, no-one wanted to know in England (!) but Larry Lavan, Mark Kamins and a few other DJ's started championing it in New York and low and behold by 1981 I found myself playing for Paradise Garage on the same bill as Chaka Khan and Larry Lavan and you know that was the golden era of New York. There was like the Roxy which was only open on Friday night and was a skating rink for the rest of the week, Danceteria with Mark Kamins which is what we kind of based the Hacienda on, and the Funhouse with Jelly Bean and you know there was Streetwave with Arthur Baker and John Robie and it was amazing, it was like the Golden era of New York.
What was your favourite club out there?
Well I used to love the Roxy on a Friday night cause that had all the break dancing crews, yeah it was amazing but for kind of consistency and for my DJ'ing, Danceteria. Mark Kamins was the first guy that I heard mix a Rough Trade record in with an electro record and there was no compartmentalization and they were mixing it all as well and I was like, "this is amazing" you know what I mean? I remember he played Anne Clark which was a record on Rough Trade, a 7" single and mixed it in to "Hip Hop Don't Stop" by Man Parish and I was just like "WOW" it was amazing. And there was four floors and Run DMC used to play gigs on the 1st floor but the thing that you kind of noticed about it which we transferred to the Hacienda was that it was a meeting point for creative people. You used to get different crowds because it went on all night. The people that I met in that DJ box from Keith Harring, to Madonna, Everybody. Most of them are really nice, except for Madonna!
Is that how she ended up performing at the Hac?
Kind of, yeah. Actually she'd split up with Mark by that time and er you know obviously she went out with all the people that made records for her and I think that she was just bringing out Holiday. It was a bit of a coincidence because I remember going into the dressing room and she knew who I was, cause I'd met her loads of times and going, "Hello there", "Hi Madonna, how you doing?" and she gave me a really withering look and I said, "You know I'm Mike Pickering, Love Tempo - Quando Quango?" and she went "That Dross".
"Oh and nice to meet you'n all love!" and it was great watching her getting cans and all kinds thrown at her from upstairs because she was miming and no-one would have that in those days, know what I mean? Well they wouldn't any day, but it was hilarious. Then Tony asked her to do another song, "Go on, do another song..." "You're joking..."
Were you DJing in the states?
No that was playing live at the beginning, all I know was the sound systems alone terrified me, they were so good. The other club I forgot to mention was The Loft cause at Paradise Garage and The Loft I couldn't work it out. There was no bars, there was spring water in bowls at the Garage. It was obviously a big gay scene but it didn't dawn on me until years later that everyone was on E. I was like, "How creative is the dancing?" You know, I thought It was amazing and at The Loft the penny'd only dropped years later, what it was all about, because that guy, he didn't mix, David Mancuso, he played one record (he still doesn't) but he had the best Hi Fi and the best System. Basically the American clubs they built a sound system and built the club round it. The Garage had 6 huge circular stacks and Larry could fire from one stack to the other, the sound. You've gotta remember in those days in England you kind of danced round a transistor radio, you know what I mean, it was awful. It was the last thing that anyone thought of. It was a real eye opener. It was fantastic.
After all that inspiration... what do you remember about the opening of the Hac?
Well I had a big part of it really, I mean Ben Kelly obviously was a great fantastic designer, but the practicalities weren't always thought of so, I remember seeing them putting a microphone in the DJ box, and I said, "Get that out for a start" and it took years and in fact, I had to do it myself in the end, because at first I didn't DJ there, Id' just book the DJ's/Bands, Lighting guys and the Video Guys etc but it was a real struggle because all the DJ's were like, "I need a microphone" and I was like "I don't want you to talk to the crowd... I want you to play music", you know, cause I'd seen it all, and I couldn't get it through to any of them, it was only Greg Wilson who was a wizard mixer that came and did it. So there were lots of things like that and obviously the sound was a bit of a nightmare the first time we opened.
Wasn't the DJ booth at the side of the stage then?
Yeah, and it had tiny little slits of glass and you could only see people's feet! And they decided to open it 7 nights a week and we were like, "Don't think that's going to work". And they had a silver service restaurant in the middle of the cacophony of noise, it was hilarious.
People always talk about the Hac being cold, empty, etc pre-house but I had mates who used to go to dance to electro and loved it. What are your memories of great club nights before house?
Oh yeah, the playlist was fantastic, from Hewan Clarke, then Greg did it, then I did it. Everyone said it was empty because there was only 300/400 people but I've been there on nights when there's been 75 people and everyone's had a ball. It was just amazing. It became everything we wanted it to become... a meeting place for creative people, whether being bands, video makers, artists, you know they all went to the Hacicenda. The music policy was amazing. The original Nude night on the Friday was actually me and Andrew Berry from the hairdressers below. We used to play everything from Northern, Soul, Electro, what was going to become House like, Dhar Braxton 'Jump back', JM Silk 'Music Is The Key', all that kind of stuff.
Did you think of them as house records?
A lot of them weren't, Colonel Abrahams for me was a house record, then you got Steve Silk Hurly, but for me, the first real house record was No Way Back by Adonis, late 86 and this kid brought it in, one of the young dancers as we had loads of dance troops. On a Friday night even, Simon Topping used to come in and do half hour Latin, it would clear the floor, but when the floor cleared, Jazz defectors and kids like that would come on and do amazing dancing. It was amazing really, it was better than after 88 really... I think 88 & 89 were amazing, but for me before that was better.
It was more challenging?
Yeah it was great, you could play everything. It wasn't all just mixed to the beat.
So do you have any memories of the Chicago House Review - it must have been quite a culture clash! Did you get pudding, chips and gravy for Joe Smooth?
87, yeah I did that. I brought that lot over, yeah. It was Joe Smooth, who later took me out to the projects in Chicago when I played the Milk Bar... Frankie Knuckles, Larry Herd and Adonis. It was brilliant because these guys, we met them when they arrived and we knew everything about them and they were like, I remember Frankie going "you're freaking me out, I can't handle this. How do you know about us, we're from an underground warehouse scene in Chicago" I said, "Wait 'til you come tonight" and we played the night and Frankie DJ'd with me and was just blown away. It was like a little oasis of people in the north of England who knew what they were doing in Chicago and no-one else knew about it.
Before E how big was Nude?
It was really big, we used to get about 1600 on a Friday night
What's your memory of when E happened?
Yeah massive, it happened really quickly. I went to Barcelona with Oaky. Paul Oakenfold and T-Coy. Me and him DJ'd and T-Coy did a PA in this club in Barcelona. We got given E. I didn't get it off the Monday's first time, I got it off these people we knew in Barcelona. I thought "This is amazing." Anyway, a bit of time passed before it happened in the Hacienda. It changed because from the top of the club, coming down to the bar it was like a Mexican wave over about 3 or 4 weeks. From the Entrance of the club coming down. It was unbelievable. The fashion changed, you know to the Timberland boots and baggy clothes, everything changed within 3 weeks. It was so quick. Because once you saw someone on an E, you thought, "I'll have one of them". If you had 25! I remember around that time we did a night with Danny (Rampling). They did a Wednesday and a coach came up from London, it was great.
Did you play London much?
Did Spectrum quite a lot with Paul. I remember we had battle of the DJ's, but we were on platforms on each side of the club. It was great and really good fun. I was really quite close to Paul Oakenfold in those days
There wasn't the north/south divide that's so talked about?
No, it was everyone together. Andy Weatherall with Boys Own, and that all used to come up, No everyone was together.
Didn't last long though?
Very briefly, yeah because when it exploded it kind of... as soon as it went on News at Ten...
North is one of the defining documents of Acid House, how did it come about?
Me and Pete Hadfield... It's like Deconstruction. We had T-Coy 'Carino' and me and Simon Toppin had done that with Rich Cos, and we followed this guy's 8 track, made it on an 8 track and it was just on a 10 minute cassette, and we gave it to Stu Allen, who had this Sunday night programme on Piccadilly Radio. He had a top ten and he made it number 1 straight away. He used to play the cassette for 10 minutes! And he was a fantastic supporter of it. Pete Adfield and Keith Blackhurst managed me for Quando Quango and stuff. And they managed Heather who was in this band called Hothouse. (They also managed Terry and Gerry from the Specials too, because Pete managed the Specials). We couldn't get anyone to put the record out. At the time I was doing the Coldcut's program on Kiss when it was a pirate. We had a lot of support for Coldcut, Jazzy M, all those kind of people even Norman. But we couldn't get it put out...
So there definitely were house supporters down south?
Oh yeah, definitely. Jazzy was playing house and Coldcut were on Kiss. I remember going to the top of the towerblock I don't know where, I think in east London, and I did a mix up there. It was great. Really brilliant. We had to start Deconstruction to put out Hothouse and T-Coy. Hothouse got signed straight away to BMG so we were like, "Aye Aye, we've got a bit of an in here..." so Pete and I went to see this guy who was A&R at the time, John Lloyd and we actually totally blagged it. By this time it was happening at the Hacienda, and ecstasy had hit, and we wanted to call it "North - Sound of the underground" and da de dah. We wanted Central Station to do the Artwork who did the Mondays, and John went, "let's hear some of it then." He's never heard a house record in his life, so we used a few demo's that had been sent in the office and a couple of tracks I'd got, played them and he said, "Yeah, great. Here's 18k go and make the album" - but that's why it's mainly T-Coy who's made the album apart from Gerald helping. Dream 17 by Anette, funnily enough is Simon's Girlfriends' mother. Annette. She came to pick her up, and she said, "Ah yeah, me mum's a good singer." I said can you call me back in the morning. She was a grandmother at the time she recorded it!
Dream 17 was because we were at 17 something road. So we kind of just for a week we were in Richie's basement making this album, and then did the artwork then we had the mother of all launches at the Hacienda on a Wednesday night, it was amazing. We had these huge drapes that Central Station had painted. It was one of the great moments of Acid house at the Hacienda, and the album did quite well although I've never received a penny of it, because we all did it under pseudonyms! And PRS have never been able to work it out. No I ain't bothered. Money was never a motivation in those days.
Was there an ethos behind Decon? Coming from Factory it would be hard not to have been influenced by it's style!
Well I think Pete was a massive fan of Tony's and Pete was brilliant in coming out with manifestos and all that kind of stuff. I saw something in the other day, and it was just a full page thing and it just had "Art and rubbish for the dancing masses" and I thought, "That is brilliant". And when Black Box, "Ride On Time" went to number one we took out a whole page ad going, "Who Sings? Who Cares? Black Box Number 1. Deconstruction" it was just brilliant. You know the t-shirts with "Retaliate first" and "Bomb the past" - That was mainly Pete, he was very clever at that thing, like radical. We were quite weird really, when people came in, I remember Justin when he signed to us with Lionrock, he said "I had to, cause you're the only record label I've been in where they all wear Gucci loafers!!" We were very anti 'the rock and music business establishment', which was really rock. I remember being at RCA at the time we had Black Box coming out, and they wouldn't' let us do posters but they stuck up posters for Dave Stewart's new solo album which must have sold about 2 copies...
We were saying, "You do realize this is going to be a number one record" - Yeah right ok, it'll be a one off... We sold 3 million Guru Josh albums, mainly in Austria and Germany...
How come you didn't sign Voodoo Ray?
Because it was already signed to Warlock - as Gerald had done a deal with Warlock in America. But we were able as we were close to Gerald, to use it when we wanted it on license. But when a New York record dealer like that gets hold of that contract, he ain't gonna let it go for anything...
Tell us about Black Box
What happened was, I got given a white label by an Italian guy on a Friday night at about 9.30, and I thought, "this is amazing"
Were you playing Love Sensation already by that point?
Yeah I used to already play that, I played that for years... But then I couldn't find him. He didn't come back and there was just this sticker on the record. Anyway, on the Saturday afternoon, Pete rang me at home and said, "Have you heard this record, 'Ride on Time' - Black Box"... I went, "Pete, I can't believe you've said that. I played it last night and this guy brought it in, I didn't know who he was, and he just left it. It's an absolute monster... it's a smash." And I think that Pete and Keith did the deal something like Tuesday afternoon. And then we had all the hassle with Loleatta. But you know the story of that right?
No
I'll let it out the bag. Because we've never really let it out the bag, but we had to re-record those vocals as you know. First of all there's Daniel stood in front of us saying, "It's not a sample" and I'm going to Pete & Keith, "It's a sample" and it turns out that Loleatta has no right on it anyway, it's SalSoul, the Irish guys who own Salsoul you don't want to get in a row with and Dan Hartman got the cassette of it, and heard it and said, "You can have it for 50% publishing. I love it" So we flew Heather Small out to where they lived in Italy, and it's Heather Small on Ride On Time. Yeah it's her vocal. If you listen there's certain giveaways but no-one ever knew!
We had to do it really quick so we could release it, because the original one had the sample on, and we re-placed the sample with Heather!
It's probably the biggest ever Hacienda record. People think it's a big pop hit now, but it was massive.
What records remind you of that golden era?
Erm, Well, Reese and Santonio The Sound, Strings of Life, Ketcha Jenkins, I Need Somebody - Massive!
There were some records that were distinctly "Mike Pickering records" - Shaker Song springs to mind. Why do you think that was?
You got to remember in those days, you could own a record, because before media and internet as it is - it would take months. It would mean someone dropping by some other city and you'd have them saying, "I went mad for this record I've never heard in my life" So it could take months before it spilled to another place. Just songs like that. You remember Circuit, "Shelter Me"? There was a mix of that, we used to always play, and I don't think there's any rhyme and reason, but they were just massive favourites that made people go absolutely ape when you put them on. They became the property of that crowd, because when you carry on playing them, you'd have the crowd like that, but at the time we had so many new records, I think we were playing a minimum of 50% new stuff every Friday, but it would be put in. I'd get new stuff and if it was great. It's so much different to nowadays - everyone had their own club, all the big DJ's had your own night. That's how you made your name - Andy Weatherall had his own night, Paul, Danny Rampling - everyone had their own club and their own night. You'd get these records and think, "Can't wait to play this to em tonight" and you knew what they'd like and knew what they wouldn't like... that was the magic of it. As soon as the superstar DJ and the big DJ thing came along. They all just travelled and did spots like they do now, so you never really had your own place, and I always found that a bit weird.
How did you come to make Carino?
Well I'd done Quando Quango and I was kind of learning about production with Bernard from New Order when we did all those Factory singles and then I produced the first Happy Mondays EP and a few other things, so I was just learning really.
Because Simon Toppin and I were really into Latin Music when I used to go out in New York, by this time I was spending a lot of time in New York, staying with Mark Kamins, because he was doing the Quando stuff with me, (New York was a completely different place in those days, quite edgy, but wonderful) but I fell in love with Latin music and Salsa, and I used to go to the Village Gate on Saturday Nights and there were people aged 21-70, old couples dancing about and they'd have a live band, and I just fell in love with Salsa. Simon went to New York to live for 6 months, and he got a job delivering on a van that delivered records to stores but he also very bravely went to the Harlem School of Percussion, which in those days was a bit of a journey to get there and that's why in some of the Quando shots, he looks like a Latino, as he got into the whole mind-set. So when we got home, we thought we'd do a Latin house record, we actually made it like a house record for Latin people.
I always loved fusion of different styles, and Factory was always about that, you know, Rock and Electro, and down to the Happy Mondays when Paul produced them it was like block beats with an Indie band on top. I always liked fusing different types of music. So we thought we'd do that with Latin and house.
You were doing lots of remixes at this time
Did hundreds of remixes - I don't know how we did it actually. We used to do the Friday night and then I'd go to Nottingham to do Saturday night with Graham, we'd be off our tits, and then Monday morning early, we'd start at the studio in Derby and we'd work through til about 6pm on Wednesday and get in the car and drive to Manchester to do the Wednesday night, then Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, DJ'ing and that cycle went on for ages. I don't know how we survived and lived! Because we were just at it all the time, and it was soul destroying at the time. I said to Pete, "I've had enough" I remember doing 'Pineapple Face' by Revenge, Hooky's band. I think we sampled about 3 words, then built the track around that- it's what we were doing all the time and I'd just had enough of it. I started writing songs. Funnily enough I used Lisa Stansfield - she'd demoed for me as she used to be a session musician in Manchester - and Pete said, "you know these are really good these - stop remixing and write more of these songs." Then I met Heather. I saw Hothouse support Barry White at the Royal Albert Hall and she just looked at the floor all the time but I was like, "what a fantastic voice". The people with me were saying, "nah she'll never make it, she's too shy" but I was like, "No, that voice you'd recognize anywhere" and then I wrote 'Colour My Life' and 'How Can I Love you More' specifically for her. That was the start of M People. It was like a loose collective at the beginning, like a Soul II Soul kind of thing. Yeah! Mike's People. But straight away, Me, Paul and Heather became really close, You could just tell it was working.
With Colour My Life - I loved it but because I was a big house DJ, I was beginning to rebel against the beats a bit, and thought, "you know what, I'm going to do a 98bpm". I suppose that's quite Mancunian. So I did that an people thought it was weird I'd done this, but it was then when I done 'How Can I Love you More', Sasha remixed it that and away you go.
How did it feel to suddenly be so successful?
Well it was kind of weird because you felt the success of what we'd created with House music happening, and that was on one scale and then all of a sudden on a bigger scale this bigger success and at the same time, Decon was being successful which I was a direct part of, so all of a sudden, it's like years of doing stuff where everyone thinks you're mad including your mum/dad - everyone thinks you're a weirdo, so all of a sudden, I'm sure a lot of people go through it, it's like a vindication of everything you've done and you realize, people like what you're doing" It's a very strange thing.
What were the highlights?
Glastonbury was great. We did one weekend, which was kind of the height of our powers. We did 2 nights in Edinburgh (some big cattle market) on the Wed/Thurs, then we did Alton Towers, on the Sat, then Crystal Palace Bowl on the Sunday and it was like our gig. I think there were 100,000 people over 2 nights. Helecoptered in and out! Me and Shovel were thinking "this is unbelievable" and then it was lots of great memories, touring Australia, we were massive there. All the tours really. You think we got to the stage of doing 3 mainstream arenas and 3 Wembleys and 3 NEC's, it was brilliant.
Do you miss it now?
No, because I think every band has about 10 years, they become stale in their writing... but successful bands you can feel yourself... you know when it's a job to go in and write a song, that was it for me. I didn't want to do it. I missed when you got big and became an Arena band - somehow without you wanting to become detached at what I was good at, which was working in Youth Culture and new stuff and I really missed it.
And Is that what you're doing now with Deconstruction starting up again?
Yeah. Anyone can do it now. Anyone can do a track, on your laptop, bedroom, whatever, and if it's good enough, let's put it out. And also the same time, developing artists into major artists.
Now you've got Decon back up and running, what have you got coming up?
I've got Diagram of the Heart who are very exciting. That's our first major release which is out soon and also Retrograde, which is Tom Neville and Serge Santiago which is going back to a little bit of the Italian House vibe, very excited about that. We've also got a couple of other things that are just on the lawyers desk which is very exciting so I think by mid summer, we'll have 5 or 6 big things on the go.
And you've got some more underground dance stuff coming too?
Yeah and re-releasing some of the old catalogue, the stuff we think people still want to hear. We're at number 1 in the Cool Cuts charts with Way out West. Then the next record is T-Coy. We got Motorcity Drum Ensemble which I'm really excited about. I feel like I'm 19 again waiting for this remix. I'm so excited! And DJ Marky, and Greg Wilson which I'm also really excited about. After that, N-Joy, then they're going to be putting together these digital bundles (ha ha all going very modern) so they'll put Sasha's mixes of Someday, with Sly One... etc I don't know quite how it works!
You still DJ...
The main place I still DJ is the Warehouse Project. I also DJ in Frankfurt sometimes at the Robert Johnson, which I love.
Your partner runs the Warehouse Project?
My partner is one of the owners, Kirsty. I just love it, for me the warehouse project is the new Hacienda, it's like Manchester trying to do something different. It exists for 3 months of the year, they take over an underground space somewhere in the city. They've been in Boddingtons derelict brewery, now they're underneath Piccadilly railway station in a car park, which is absolutely amazing, Friday night, 5pm the last car leaves, then bang - stages, 2 rooms... they have the cream of the worlds DJ's on. Each weekend you can see the line up is second to none, and live acts too. Yeah it's really exciting. It is like pure warehouse.
What about the music you're playing?
Ooh... I really don't like playing old records. I won't do Hacienda nights anymore. I really hate that. Get really bored of it. I like a lot of the new stuff. What do I like. I like Toccadisco, MCDE, I'll do a top ten if you want. I like Laidback Luke. His new record 'Blau' with Lee Mortimer which is fantastic
I've noticed what's happening with Dance music - only the real new up and coming people are doing remixes and the rest are making their own records, but they seem more sussed these days. I think it's healthier than it's been certainly for the last 10 years
After it almost died a death almost?
It's like House music went into complete recession, so it was having to clear up all the guff and the rubbish, and now it's streamlined, and for want of a better expression it's Kicking.
What's the record you're most proud of?
I'd have to say 'Elegant Slumming' by M-People that album. Love that. I also really loved, and it was so much fun, the England New Order world cup record. I did two mixes on that and it was really good fun. Having Gazza on the 2" tape.
What is your fave house record of all time
I think Someday, by CC Rogers, I also used to really like that Electro Tribe 101, 'Talking with myself' and 'Strings of life' you know what there are so many. 'you're gonna miss me when I'm gone'... amazing - Security, beat club... I just don't want to hear them over and over again in a club!!
www.deconstructionrecords.co.uk/history/
Follow on Twitter:
"......Dionaea...."
"Yes. Forever me, forever beautiful like always."
"How did you get out?"
"Hehehehahahaha.....lemme answer your question...with another question."
"Wha--"
"WANNA SEE ME EAT THIS GUY!?!?!?"
He was carrying a body with him, dragging it behind wherever he went. He whipped it right in front of him and in front of me and....oh god, its so hard to think about. He started to eat the body. His face was covered in blood and tissue as he quickly ate up another human. Then again at this point it's hard to call Dionaea human. Still, I just witnesses cannibalism... It took everything in me not to puke, but I can't remember a time I was this horrified. The only good thing I could take from this was that the person he ate was already dead, so he felt no pain. Then I put the pieces together; this entire block is gone because of him... my God, he ate an entire city block worth of people in a few days. The absolute worst part of this that's gonna stick with me forever was what he did after he was done eating. He left a bone with some tissue left on it, and with one of tendril tried to actually give it to me.
" Haaaaggghhh.....share the love?"
"....."
"c'mon, it's good for you! Trust me! Proteins, vitamins..."
"....you monster. You sick, disgusting monster!!!"
"Oh my sweetheart, that's totally a new one! Not like I haven't heard that screamed at me anytime the past few days! Seriously, aren't you costumed cockteases supposed to be witty or something?"
'C-costumed WHAT?!"
"Eh, it's not just your kind. It's every one of you. You all get under my skin....in the best way possible. Just like everyone on this block."
"Why!? J-just---WHY!?"
"There's one I've heard alot too! But I guess a cutie like is worth is, sooooo anyway, I'm sure you know how your boyfriend put me on ice for a very long time. Well, it's been a bit too long and I'm understandably very hungry. Second, well....I used to hate you all. Humans, good for nothing. But now, I found something you're all too good for. And now I love you for it. Though mainly because you're all so so....juicy, so to say."
".....what the hell is wrong with you?!"
"I dunno. I think I'm pretty perfect. But....not as perfect as you."
"Get the hell away from me!!"
"C'mon, the age of consent in this state is like 16! And hell, even then I like 'em young...."
There's no way I can do this alone. I gotta get out of here and get help. I can't take being around this thing anymore either....
Day 116 of 365: a year in songs and photos
Song: Commander Cody, Hot Rod Lincoln
That's my dad's old Lincoln Continental, circa 1981
I didn't take any pictures today. We were so busy getting my son's room ready to paint, and I used all my free time scanning old photos. So this is what we get tonight. But I have a funny story to go with it (which I wrote in 2005).
When I started in a new school in 9th grade, there was this rumor going around that my father was in the Mafia. There was some suspicious math involved here, I think. My last name + Dad’s Lincoln Continental + his construction business = Mafia. Cement, you know. Cement shoes. Plus, dad just kind of looked the part. He didn’t wear fedoras or anything like that, he just looked.....Italian. Like I said, the math here was suspect. But kids love a good rumor.
I didn't deny. I didn't confirm. I didn't embellish or anything, I just didn't deny. I'd raise my eyebrows when someone came out an asked, "Hey, is your dad a hitman?" Then whistle nonchalantly and walk away. It was too much fun to have people think that my dad could order a hit on them if they ever got on my wrong side.
This went on most of the school year and I did nothing to put a stop to it. A few of my friends who knew the real deal started making up these larger than life stories about my dad's escapades in the Mafia. The stories got wilder as the year went on, stories all ripped right out of The Godfather or movies like it. Death. Vengeance. Car bombs. People sleeping with the fish. I admit it, I was having way too much fun with it.
Things started to get crazy when my mother found out. I got a lecture. She doesn't like being associated with the Mafia. She thinks it makes our family look ugly and vulgar. I tell her it's just a story between friends. Yea, just my friends, mom. Just a few people. No one else believes it. Their parents don't believe it. The principal doesn't believe it....
"The principal?: This freaks mom out. I listen to her drone on about appearances and all and I start to drift off the way I always do when she's lecturing me and I'm vaguely aware that she wants me to put a stop to the Mafia rumors. I reach back and poke my brain a bit to see if I can figure out what she just said and all I get is: "What will the neighbors think?"
Neighbors? The ones who aren't drunks are our relatives. Who cares? Mom does, apparently. I'm told to end the rumors. Ok. I'll try.
The next day I start.
"You know, just so you know, ummm...my dad isn't really in the Mafia." People remind me of stories I didn't deny. Like the one about having to scrub blood and bits of flesh out of the trunk of the Lincoln one Saturday and how I did such a good job that some guy named Uncle Carmine gave me twenty dollars and let me see his gun. And by gun, I mean...gun.
It goes like that all day. No matter who I try to confess to, they laugh and say "Yea, right. Whatever." No one believes me. My father has become The Godfather, or at least sidekick to a godfather who makes cement shoes for a living. And honestly, I was getting tired of it. I had this whole web of Mafia lies going on and I couldn’t keep track of who my father supposedly killed or was going to kill or was going to be killed by. My friends kind of went crazy with the stories and I was getting tired of backing them up. Who the hell is Gino Valentine and why would he want to hide a gun in my locker? They made up the most inane lies ever, and some people still hung on those words as if they couldn’t possibly be anything but true.
I come up with a plan. I'll invite a bunch of people over to my house after school. We'll hang out, watch tv, eat some chips and everyone will see this is a nice, normal, family and we do nice, normal non-Mafia things like watch the news and play Yahtzee! They'll realize the whole thing was a joke. . That will work. I tell my father my plan. He doesn't really care about the Mafia stuff. He thinks it's a big joke and that mom has no sense of humor. But we know we have to humor her and put to rest to this thing, so I ask dad to please explain to my friends that he is a law-abiding citizen. Then they will believe it. If my dad actually tells them it's all lies, they'll stop believing it. They'll be disappointed, but oh well. And really, I think most of these guys know it's all a joke anyhow. They just want to believe that they know someone in the Mafia.
Dad says of course he'll help me out. He'll be glad to help put an end to the rumors. He pats me on the head. I figure he's proud of me for finally doing something my mom asked me to do.
Plan in action. We meet at 7-11. I buy soda and chips, and we walk back to my house, about ten of us. I feel good about this. I'm sick of the horse's head jokes and bodies in the trunk innuendos.
We get to my house, and we’re ready for chips and soda and the 4:00 movie. It's Vincent Price week. They don't know that I've brought them here under a false pretense.
The door is locked. Odd. I ring my own doorbell.
My father answers the door.
He's wearing a pinstripe suit and fedora.
I stare. He looks like a cross between Al Pacino and Al from Happy Days. My friends gape at first, then start laughing. My father says in this affected accent that's half Brooklyn and half caricature, "I can't stay. Gotta go make some cement...," - he winks at them - "If ya know what I mean."
Everyone stares. Wide eyes and slack jaws. Dad grabs his car keys off the counter, puts a scowl on his face and says "I catch anyone drinking anything but soda in this house, I take ya for a ride, capisce?" He struts out of the house, obviously confusing John Travolta with Al Pacino.
Wow, dad. You totally screwed me up there, dad. Now what are they gonna think? Man, mom's gonna be pissed.
But everyone's laughing. Even my mother.
"That was the worst Mafia impression ever!'
'Yea, that was so LAME!
The movie is starting. Everyone heads into the den, the Mafia bit forgotten already. Short attention spans.
I grab a handful of chips and lose myself in "The Bat."
The Mafia era is over. I start wondering if I can convince people that my mother is really a vampire.
The final bell rang and all the other kids ran out for the school. They had homework to do, after all, and a new episode of Starforce 5 is on tonight! Meh, SO over that show. But me and Jackie had to stay. Stay and wait for Mr. Harrison to leave his room. When he did, Johnny picked the lock to his room so we could get the camera. Glad he didn't catch me using my powers on the bolts earlier. I may tell him one day who I am, but not anytime soon. Tim would be so mad... I moved the cabinet out of the way and Johnny took the camera. He then hooked it up to a laptop. Something was weird about this Laptop, though.
"It looks pretty heavy. Like it's made of iron..."
"It's a damage resistant laptop. Soldiers and policemen use these. You could shoot this with a rifle and it'd be fine!"
"Wow! Another thing you found in your dad's closet?"
"Nah, he gave me this. It's actually an older one he used on the job. The new ones the GCPD used are said to be able to survive heavy explosions! Had to do alot of software updates on this one, though. Pretty annoying..."
He plugs in a wire from the micro-camera to the laptop and a video appears on the screen, along with sound. Johnny just fast forwards the video until we get what we're looking for. Carter and Mr. Harrison in the room! Even I could see what was happening; Mr. Harrison handed off some papers to Carter, and Carter gave him a roll of money. How wrong that a teacher can be like this! But I heard something weird in the video.
"Did Mr. Harrison say something about the money making his mom happy?"
"There are rumors that Mr. Harrison still lives with his mom 'cause he's too afraid to move out. Guess they're true, huh?"
"Indeed they are, my meddlesome friends."
That voice...so annoying...only belongs to one person. Carter. He was standing in the doorway to the classroom, a smug smile on his face and two big teenagers behind him.
"I knew something was wrong when I noticed my locker opened and my sheets gone. And I couldn't help but hear that conversation you had with the Principle. And now it seems you have evidence of the transactions me and Mr. Harrison take part in. Hm."
"Yeah Carter, we do. I knew you were a lying scumbag when I saw you. What else could come from the son of a Gotham politician!"
"And only a nosy loser like you could come from...oh, like I care about your family. But I can promise you that you'll regret insulting mine like you just did AND interfering with my work with Mr. Harrison. If only I could do the same to that upper class kid from Brentwood. Drake, I think his name was..."
HAHAHA! Even out of costume, Tim STILL saves the day! but now it's my turn! I mean, sure, Johnny's helping, but I'm sure Steph helped Tim to deal with Carter the first time around...right?
"And lets see here. Mr. Harrison locks his door when he leaves, so you broke in. That's worth suspension. And I see you hid that camera behind the cabinet. In order to do so, you would have to remove the blots keeping it in place, so tampering with school property. Heh, You two are good as done here."
"You think we're afraid of you, Carter? You're just a no-good lier! I've dealt with worse than you!"
"Yes, I know the stories about you and Nelson. Very David and Goliath. But how will you handle my two Goliaths here? Hehe, they'll have fun with you two, destroy the evidence, and I'll have you out of my hair for good! I think I'll tell Principle Moron right now!"
The two teenagers walked into the room as Carter ran off. They stretching their necks and cracking their knuckles, ready to fight. Fighting was the last thing I wanted to do, though. I've done enough of that while I've been here, and I've only been here a few weeks! Me and Johnny step father back as they come closer. There's gotta be a way out. A way to win. Robin and Spoiler would find an answer, so should I...
"Jackie, look. I know you don't like fighting bullies and all, but right now, could you forget about that? Please?...."
Sir Sir Emerson facing his interviewers, Cyrus, Jimmy Tepic and Myrtil.
Myrtil arrived in the Old Imperial Theatre where the urchins were to interview Sir Sir Emerson Lighthouse. Tepic was on the stage, playing his flute.
[11:58] Myrtil Igaly: Hey Tepic!
[11:59] Tepic Harlequin: ello Myrtil, wot yer doin here?
[11:59] Myrtil Igaly: We've got an interview with Mister Emerson!
[11:59] Myrtil Igaly: Remember?
[11:59] Tepic Harlequin: interview? fer wot? he givin us a job?
[11:59] Myrtil Igaly: Nooooooo
[11:59] Myrtil Igaly: WE may be giving him a job
[12:00] Tepic Harlequin: Sir Sir? wot as, chief drug tester?
[12:00] Myrtil Igaly: You remember what we discussed at the urchin meeting?
[12:00] Myrtil Igaly: hehe
[12:00] Tepic Harlequin: errrrr........ Creaky Gloom? he's gonna take on old Creaky?
[12:00] Myrtil Igaly: No that's for him being a kind of embassador
[12:00] Myrtil Igaly: Nooooooooooooooo
[12:01] Myrtil Igaly: That's cause we need a grown-up to deal with other grown-ups in our place
[12:01] Myrtil Igaly: when they wouldn't want to deal directly with us
[12:01] Tepic Harlequin: well.... Sir Sir could probably do a good job as an embarresser, sort of natural at it......
[12:01] Myrtil Igaly: hehe
[12:01] Tepic Harlequin: errrr.... we discussed that?
Jimmy and Mister Lighthouse walked down the central lane of the Theatre towards the stage.
[12:01] Jimmy Branagh: Hoy Myrtil!
[12:01] Myrtil Igaly: Yes we did!
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly: Hey Jimmy!
[12:02] Jimmy Branagh: Hoy Tepic!
[12:02] Emerson Lighthouse: Hey Tepic
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly: 'ello Sir Sir Emerson!
[12:02] Emerson Lighthouse: Hi Myril
[12:02] Tepic Harlequin: oh.... errrr..... i were a bit tierd that evening, an then that Emma lass tweaked me tail....
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly: Right on time, I even heard the clock chime as you were arriving
[12:02] Jimmy Branagh oofs and drops the heavy file boxes on the stage
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly: Oh yes I remember Tepic
[12:02] Emerson Lighthouse nods
[12:02] Tepic Harlequin: ello Sir Sir......
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly looks at the file boxes
[12:02] Emerson Lighthouse: walking is slow these days with my loafers
[12:02] Myrtil Igaly: what's that?
[12:02] Tepic Harlequin: errrrr.... why's yer tobacco smokin pink?
[12:03] Jimmy Branagh: Stuff
[12:03] Emerson Lighthouse: snow gets in and makes my socks wet
[12:03] Jimmy Branagh: Years of stuff
[12:03] Jimmy Branagh winks
[12:03] Myrtil Igaly: Years of stuff?
[12:03] Myrtil Igaly: Alright...
[12:03] Tepic Harlequin: wet socks makes yer smoke pink?
[12:03] Emerson Lighthouse: hehe
[12:03] Myrtil Igaly: Maybe we can have a chair for Sir Sir Emerson on the stage?
[12:03] Emerson Lighthouse: a little upper moorland nightshade
[12:03] Myrtil Igaly: while we sit in the front row
[12:03] Emerson Lighthouse: burns purple
[12:04] Tepic Harlequin: .... nightshade....... as in deadly?
[12:04] Myrtil Igaly: Please take a seat Sir Sir!
[12:05] Emerson Lighthouse puts some refreshments on the stage
[12:05] Emerson Lighthouse: Help yourselves kids
[12:05] Myrtil Igaly glances at the bottle of Jack Daniels
[12:05] Myrtil Igaly: Jimmy, can I have a page of your notebook?
[12:05] Jimmy Branagh: Ah good
[12:06] Jimmy Branagh pulls out the notebook and hands a page to Myrtil and Tepic both
[12:06] Myrtil Igaly: Thanks!
[12:06] Emerson Lighthouse crosses his legs and wishes he had remembered to pee before the interview
[12:06] Myrtil Igaly takes the page, fishes her pencil out of her pocket and scribbles, glancing at the bottle on the stage
[12:07] Myrtil Igaly: Alright
[12:07] Emerson Lighthouse notices Myrtil's glance
[12:07] Emerson Lighthouse: it's real, borrowed it from Victor
[12:07] Myrtil Igaly: Oh I'm sure of it
[12:07] Jimmy Branagh: Business first, refreshments later
[12:07] Tepic Harlequin reaches into his jacket and takes out a rather nice fountain pen... very similar to the one Sir Sir Emerson uses......
[12:07] Emerson Lighthouse narrows his eyes at Tepic
[12:07] Myrtil Igaly: My, that's a very nice pen Tepic!
[12:07] Emerson Lighthouse recalls a visit from the youngster about a month ago...
[12:08] Emerson Lighthouse: around the time his cellar roof collapsed
[12:08] Tepic Harlequin: yup, picked it up bout a month back, someone left it lyin around
[12:08] Emerson Lighthouse bites his tongue
[12:08] Jimmy Branagh: People are awlwhys leavin' things layin' about.
[12:08] Myrtil Igaly coughs and looks up at Mister Emerson
[12:08] Myrtil Igaly: Shall we begin?
[12:08] Emerson Lighthouse stubs out his left hander
[12:08] Jimmy Branagh nods
[12:09] Myrtil Igaly: So, I assume you know what position you are applying for?
[12:09] Tepic Harlequin reaches into his jacket and pulls out a large blue notebook embossed with the Brunel coat of arms....
[12:09] Emerson Lighthouse: hey, like the notebook
[12:09] Emerson Lighthouse: I have one just like it
[12:09] Jimmy Branagh: Oooh, thet's noice, Tep!
[12:09] Tepic Harlequin: yep, good paper too!
[12:09] Myrtil Igaly glances at her notebook page and pouts
[12:09] Emerson Lighthouse: Victor has good taste
[12:09] Jimmy Branagh: Oy'll 'ave ta get me one
[12:10] Myrtil Igaly: Yes would be nice
[12:10] Emerson Lighthouse: I have a box of them, ask me later
[12:10] Tepic Harlequin: middle draw, left hand side.....
[12:10] Myrtil Igaly: Really?
[12:10] Emerson Lighthouse: found it
[12:10] Myrtil Igaly scribbles
[12:10] Tepic Harlequin: yep... don't look in the third drawer down.....
[12:10] Myrtil Igaly coughs again
[12:10] Myrtil Igaly: Time's running, shall we get started?
[12:11] Jimmy Branagh: Go ahead
[12:11] Myrtil Igaly: Sir Sir Emerson.
[12:11] Emerson Lighthouse: Myrtil
[12:11] Myrtil Igaly: You told me you had letters of reference
[12:11] Myrtil Igaly: May we see them?
[12:11] Emerson Lighthouse: yes,...
[12:11] Emerson Lighthouse hands Myrtil a folder
[12:11] Emerson Lighthouse: four
[12:11] Emerson Lighthouse: I ran out of time for the others
[12:12] Myrtil Igaly takes the folder and opens it, browsing the letters
((the letters can be seen on Emerson’s Twitter, here : twitter.com/Emslight/status/678276173546266625
twitter.com/Emslight/status/678276259231744000
twitter.com/Emslight/status/678276368032006144
twitter.com/Emslight/status/678276463972470788 ))
[12:12] Myrtil Igaly stifles a giggle and passes it over to Tepic
[12:12] Emerson Lighthouse sips some jack
[12:12] Emerson Lighthouse looks very serious
[12:13] Myrtil Igaly: Those are really good references Sir Sir Emerson.
[12:13] Emerson Lighthouse crosses his legs again and considers not drinking any more
[12:13] Emerson Lighthouse: yes
[12:13] Myrtil Igaly smirks and scribbles
[12:13] Tepic Harlequin checks over the letters, taking care to observe the lettering......
[12:13] Emerson Lighthouse: Edward was very nice about his
[12:13] Jimmy Branagh leans over Tepic and looks too
[12:13] Tepic Harlequin hands the letters to Jimmy
[12:13] Myrtil Igaly: Oh yes, all four of them were very nice really
[12:13] Jimmy Branagh: Ah, thenks
[12:14] Myrtil Igaly: I'm really surprised at the Underby one
[12:14] Tepic Harlequin whispers: he ain't got to do no forging in this job, do he?
[12:14] Emerson Lighthouse: Tenk was a little brief but to the point - as usual
[12:14] Jimmy Branagh flips through them, humming
[12:14] Jimmy Branagh: Gawd Oy 'ope not.
[12:14] Myrtil Igaly whispers back. "No no, no forging!"
[12:14] Myrtil Igaly: Yes of course.
[12:14] Emerson Lighthouse: foraging?
[12:14] Tepic Harlequin whispers: good, he ain't no good at it!
[12:14] Jimmy Branagh chuckles and nods
[12:14] Emerson Lighthouse starts to gulp the jack
[12:14] Myrtil Igaly: Hmm? Oh don't worry about our whisperings Sir Sir.
[12:14] Jimmy Branagh hands the folder back to Myrtil
[12:14] Emerson Lighthouse whisper away
[12:15] Myrtil Igaly takes the folder and puts it aside.
[12:15] Myrtil Igaly looks up
[12:15] Emerson Lighthouse looks about for an empty cup then crosses his legs again
[12:15] Myrtil Igaly: Sir Sir Emerson.
[12:15] Emerson Lighthouse: yes, Myrtil
[12:16] Myrtil Igaly: I have a question that will let us know if you would be willing to share your sources of information if you were to be working for us.
[12:16] Myrtil Igaly narrows her eyes
[12:16] Emerson Lighthouse ponders
[12:16] Emerson Lighthouse: okay
[12:16] Myrtil Igaly: How did you learn about this job offer?
[12:17] Emerson Lighthouse: It was that Dawkins kid, johnny – not that it was his fault, really. I got a new shipment of Ravilan fire rum in for the holidays. Big party later in the week see, for the crew of the Penelope. Anyway, I wanted to test it out and Johnny was up for a free shot or two, maybe three, but I never measure so it could have been more like three doubles.
[12:17] Emerson Lighthouse puts on a sympathetic face.
[12:17] Emerson Lighthouse: I forgot he’s only ninety pounds, soaking wet… he told me about the position just before he fell off the barstool.
[12:17] Myrtil Igaly lets out a cry behind her gritted teeth. "Johnny Dawkins!"
[12:17] Jimmy Branagh raises an eyebrow and whispers "Soft"
[12:18] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[12:18] Emerson Lighthouse: he is kind of
[12:18] Myrtil Igaly frowns and scribbles
[12:18] Emerson Lighthouse nods in agreement
[12:18] Myrtil Igaly smiles. "Thank you Sir Sir."
[12:18] Myrtil Igaly: We will now ask you questions in turn to see if you'd be fit to work for us.
[12:18] Tepic Harlequin: we will? gosh....
[12:19] Myrtil Igaly: Yes Tepic!
[12:19] Emerson Lighthouse feels like that time he was in court...
[12:19] Jimmy Branagh: Yer turn Tepic!
[12:19] Tepic Harlequin: oh..... an he's gonna be our Ambassador?
[12:19] Myrtil Igaly nods, looking at Tepic, a bit worried
[12:19] Jimmy Branagh: More loike a lobbyist
[12:19] Myrtil Igaly: Maybe it's best if I ask the first question?
[12:20] Tepic Harlequin: ok, what's the capital of Peru?
[12:20] Myrtil Igaly: Oh okay
[12:20] Emerson Lighthouse: Pinto
[12:20] Emerson Lighthouse: or is it Kidney
[12:20] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[12:20] Emerson Lighthouse scratches his head
[12:20] Tepic Harlequin: he's bean an gone an done it now......
[12:20] Myrtil Igaly put the tip of her pencil against her piece of paper but doesn't know what to scribble
[12:20] Myrtil Igaly: Was that right Tepic?
[12:21] Tepic Harlequin: errrr........ not quite.....
[12:21] Emerson Lighthouse: truthfully I spend more time in Columbia than Peru
[12:21] Jimmy Branagh: 'ee's thinkin' of the Islets of Langerhans
Cyrus walked in quietly, looking as serious as ever.
[12:21] Myrtil Igaly: Hey Cyrus!
[12:21] Jimmy Branagh: Hoy Cyrus
[12:21] Tepic Harlequin: ello Cyrus
[12:21] Myrtil Igaly: Please meet Cyrus, he'll be your fourth interviewer.
[12:21] Emerson Lighthouse: Hey Cyrus - help yourself to the whiskey and smokes
[12:21] Cyrus Forgrave : Hello. Sorry I'm late.
[12:22] Myrtil Igaly: No worries. Only the candidate has to be on time.
[12:22] Emerson Lighthouse: I just aced the first question, right
[12:22] Cyrus Forgrave : Ah, no , thank you.
[12:22] Myrtil Igaly: Sir Sir Emerson brought some letters of reference, Cyrus, take a look!
[12:23] Jimmy Branagh passes the folder down
[12:23] Myrtil Igaly: Your turn to ask a question Jimmy.
[12:23] Jimmy Branagh: Awlroight ...
[12:23] Tepic Harlequin finishes a letter of recommendation for Victor Mornington, in Emerson's handwriting, and signs it with Emerson's signature...
[12:23] Myrtil Igaly glances at what Tepic's doing and whistles
[12:23] Cyrus Forgrave picks up the letters and looks them over. He raises an eyebrow while reading the contents. “How curious.” he murmurs.
[12:23] Emerson Lighthouse pulls at his shirt collar
[12:24] Emerson Lighthouse: is it hot in here?
[12:24] Cyrus Forgrave : I’m quite comfortable.
[12:24] Myrtil Igaly exhales some fog as she breathes
[12:24] Myrtil Igaly: Hmm not really
[12:24] Jimmy Branagh stands, places a hand inside his coat like Napoleon, and says in an almost stentorian voice "MISTER EMERSON".
[12:24] Myrtil Igaly jumps in her seat
[12:24] Emerson Lighthouse: yes Jimmy?
[12:25] Jimmy Branagh: "As you can see..."
[12:25] Emerson Lighthouse thinks Jimmy doesn't look like a cute kid anymore
[12:25] Jimmy Branagh gestures to the file boxes he placed on the stage when he arrived earlier.
[12:25] Emerson Lighthouse me looks over
[12:25] Jimmy Branagh: "... we've 'ad our oye on you faw some toime."
[12:25] Emerson Lighthouse: as it should be
[12:25] Emerson Lighthouse: I'm famous
[12:26] Tepic Harlequin: 's true......
[12:26] Jimmy Branagh: You've been involved in a great many circumstances in thet toime
[12:26] Myrtil Igaly giggles softly
[12:26] Jimmy Branagh: In fact, Oy ain't never seen so many circumstances.
[12:26] Emerson Lighthouse: how do you define 'circumstances'?
[12:26] Jimmy Branagh: Stuff
[12:26] Emerson Lighthouse gets uncomfortable
[12:26] Emerson Lighthouse: stuff?
[12:26] Jimmy Branagh: An' Oy'm asking th' questions 'ere!
[12:27] Myrtil Igaly: Things
[12:27] Tepic Harlequin: is yer Jimmy? i ain't heard one yet.....
[12:27] Emerson Lighthouse downs the Jack and pours another
[12:27] Jimmy Branagh: So, Mr. Emerson, wot Oy'd loike ta ask is, should ya gain this position, wot do YOU expect ta get out of it. An' don;t take too long answerin'.
[12:28] Emerson Lighthouse: Chivas from Victor's liquor stores
[12:28] Tepic Harlequin: now that's a good question!
[12:28] Myrtil Igaly: Chivas?
[12:28] Cyrus Forgrave : Remember, the soul out wit is brevity.
[12:28] Myrtil Igaly raises an eyebrow
[12:28] Jimmy Branagh: Thet's it? Chivas?
[12:28] Myrtil Igaly: Well that was brief at least
[12:28] Tepic Harlequin: sticky brandy in an odd shaped bottle....
[12:28] Emerson Lighthouse scrunches up his face in thought
[12:29] Emerson Lighthouse: yeah, pretty much
[12:29] Jimmy Branagh scribbles and grins up at Emerson
[12:29] Myrtil Igaly hesitates a few seconds and then scribbles
[12:29] Jimmy Branagh: Thenks Mr. Emerson!
[12:29] Jimmy Branagh: Cyrus?
[12:30] Jimmy Branagh nods to himself
[12:30] Cyrus Forgrave : Mr Lighthouse, say we needed you to get us something from City Hall, how would you go about that?
[12:30] Jimmy Branagh whispers: Oy loikes Chivas ...
[12:30] Myrtil Igaly nods in approval
[12:30] Myrtil Igaly: Good question
[12:30] Emerson Lighthouse: What sort of thing?
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: because it depends on who in city hall has it
[12:31] Cyrus Forgrave : Say, the records of one of our members. Birth, criminal… et cetera.
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: anyone but Underby is easy
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: just walk in and get it
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: but Underby is the only one who locks his door
[12:31] Myrtil Igaly: Will probably be Underby who has it...
[12:31] Tepic Harlequin: does he?
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: so that is tricky
[12:31] Emerson Lighthouse: yeah, already tried
[12:31] Jimmy Branagh: There ain't no locked doors in Babbage
[12:32] Jimmy Branagh: Tep can beat any of 'em
[12:32] Emerson Lighthouse: true, but I don't trust Mr. Underby not to booby trap his office
[12:32] Tepic Harlequin: cep the Asylum...
[12:32] Jimmy Branagh: Well, yeh
[12:33] Emerson Lighthouse: Well... let me say
[12:33] Tepic Harlequin: oh... he don't....
[12:33] Emerson Lighthouse leans in and lowers his voice
[12:33] Emerson Lighthouse: this may surprise you kids but...
[12:33] Myrtil Igaly leans in too to hear
[12:33] Jimmy Branagh notices Emerson twitching in his seat
[12:33] Emerson Lighthouse: I am not above a little lock picking myself
[12:33] Emerson Lighthouse winks
[12:34] Myrtil Igaly grins, sitting back in her chair
[12:34] Tepic Harlequin raises his eyebrows....
[12:34] Cyrus Forgrave : That is good to know. I am satisfied.
[12:34] Jimmy Branagh: Ya don’t say ...
[12:34] Emerson Lighthouse: I know
[12:34] Emerson Lighthouse: I look like the upstanding bar owner
[12:34] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[12:34] Emerson Lighthouse: but I was a kid once
[12:34] Emerson Lighthouse: honed some skills
[12:34] Myrtil Igaly scribbles too
[12:34] Emerson Lighthouse sips on his Jack
[12:34] Jimmy Branagh: Hmmm, anyone else 'ear runnin' water?
[12:34] Tepic Harlequin whispers: upstandin? sit-downin, nore like!
[12:35] Myrtil Igaly: Running water?
[12:35] Cyrus Forgrave writes detailed notes
[12:35] Myrtil Igaly looks around
[12:35] Myrtil Igaly: Ooooh yes, now that you say
[12:35] Emerson Lighthouse crosses his legs again and wishes talk of running water would stop
[12:35] Jimmy Branagh: Ya know, loike a little waterfall ...
[12:35] Myrtil Igaly: yes, it goes like that. "Tssshhhhhhhh..."
[12:35] Emerson Lighthouse 's neck turns red
[12:35] Jimmy Branagh: Interestin', thet
[12:36] Myrtil Igaly nods
[12:36] Jimmy Branagh: Okay. let's continue
[12:36] Tepic Harlequin: whose turn is it?
[12:36] Jimmy Branagh: Myrtil's
[12:36] Myrtil Igaly: Sir Sir Emerson, to elaborate on Cyrus' question I'd like you to tell me what you would tell Mister Underby to convince him to let you see those records we would need.
[12:37] Myrtil Igaly: Or even better, to take them.
[12:37] Cyrus Forgrave : nods
[12:37] Emerson Lighthouse: I wouldn't tell him anything because it would be two in the morning and the only people in the room would be me and an accomplice
[12:37] Myrtil Igaly chuckles
[12:37] Tepic Harlequin: good answer!
[12:37] Myrtil Igaly: Alright.
[12:37] Myrtil Igaly scribbles
[12:38] Cyrus Forgrave : I'm told he often sleeps in his office.
[12:38] Emerson Lighthouse: I would go in sock feet
[12:38] Myrtil Igaly: Aren't you in good terms with Mister Underby?
[12:38] Emerson Lighthouse: he loves me like a nephew
[12:40] Myrtil Igaly: Tepic, wanna ask a question?
[12:40] Tepic Harlequin: yep!
[12:40] Emerson Lighthouse sips his Jack
[12:40] Tepic Harlequin tears the recommendation he just wrote out of the notebook and hands it to Sir Sir Emerson....
[12:41] Emerson Lighthouse takes the sheet
[12:41] Tepic Harlequin: is that yer handwritin an signiture, Sir Sir?
[12:41] Emerson Lighthouse squints
[12:41] Emerson Lighthouse: which one is this?
[12:41] Emerson Lighthouse: Victor's Tenk's or Edwards
[12:41] Tepic Harlequin: the one yer wrote fer Mr Goat..Mornington!
[12:42] Myrtil Igaly raises an eyebrow
[12:42] Jimmy Branagh observes Emerson
[12:42] Emerson Lighthouse: I took dictation from Victor, he was busy so I scribed what he said
[12:42] Emerson Lighthouse: No that is Victor's signature in my handwriting
[12:43] Emerson Lighthouse: not my signature
[12:43] Emerson Lighthouse: I have more flourishes
[12:43] Myrtil Igaly: you forged Mister Vic's signature?
[12:43] Emerson Lighthouse sips his Jack
[12:43] Tepic Harlequin: so Mr Go..Mornington forged this letter from you?
[12:43] Emerson Lighthouse: with his permission. He is my father after all
[12:44] Myrtil Igaly: True true...
[12:44] Myrtil Igaly scribbles
[12:44] Tepic Harlequin: he is?
[12:44] Emerson Lighthouse: yes, not many people know it though
[12:44] Cyrus Forgrave : Mr Mornington is your father?
[12:44] Emerson Lighthouse: he adopted me last spring
[12:44] Cyrus Forgrave : I see.
[12:44] Myrtil Igaly: during the Oiling Festival
[12:44] Emerson Lighthouse: if you ask him he may deny it though
[12:44] Myrtil Igaly: He's just shy about it
[12:45] Myrtil Igaly grins
[12:45] Emerson Lighthouse: here is the thing about Victor...
[12:45] Emerson Lighthouse: Most people don’t know this, but Victor is a very humble man and great philanthropist. I suspect if you were to question him on the validity of the reference letter he would go beet red with humility and possibly even curse so as not to let his charitable nature become public knowledge.
[12:45] Tepic Harlequin whispers: bloomin benused, i reckons....
[12:45] Myrtil Igaly: Awwww!!!
[12:45] Jimmy Branagh chuckles and scribbles
[12:45] Myrtil Igaly: Well then we better not question him about this letter.
[12:45] Myrtil Igaly nods and scribbles
[12:45] Emerson Lighthouse nods
[12:46] Myrtil Igaly: Jimmy, question?
[12:46] Cyrus Forgrave stares at Mr Lighthouse through his smoked glasses
[12:46] Jimmy Branagh: Oh Oy dunno. Oy'd loike ta see Mr. Vic turn beet red!
[12:46] Emerson Lighthouse hopes they don't ask about Edward
[12:46] Myrtil Igaly: Oh alright, we'll go ask all four of them then.
[12:46] Emerson Lighthouse: ask all four what?
[12:47] Myrtil Igaly: Your references?
[12:47] Emerson Lighthouse: wait I need to explain something before you do that
[12:47] Myrtil Igaly smiles
[12:47] Emerson Lighthouse: the thing with Edward is...
[12:47] Jimmy Branagh waits
[12:47] Emerson Lighthouse starts to tap his foot
[12:47] Emerson Lighthouse: scratches his head
[12:48] Myrtil Igaly smiles wider
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: fumbles for his nightshade
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: gulps his Jack
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: realizes he has no light
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: curses silently
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: the thing about Edward...
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: Oh, I got it
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse snaps his fingers
[12:48] Tepic Harlequin: scuse us fer a min, gotta use the facilities... back in a sec.....
[12:48] Myrtil Igaly: Sure Tepic
Tepic walked out of the theatre.
[12:48] Emerson Lighthouse: Edward loves me. I’m like the grandson he never had but always wanted. If you ask him, however, he will probably deny writing this reference letter as I swore him to secrecy regarding the nature of the job. He would rather die than break my trust.
[12:49] Myrtil Igaly: Awwwww!
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse tries to recall the other names on the letters
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: Tenk
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: He's a busy busy busy man
[12:49] Myrtil Igaly nods
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: he does so many of these he might not even remember and
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: .
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: .
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: .
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: .
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: .who was the last one from again?
[12:49] Jimmy Branagh: Not a problem. Oy talks to 'im awl th' toime
[12:49] Emerson Lighthouse: oh yeah, Underby
[12:50] Emerson Lighthouse: hm... yeah, go ask him
Tepic came back from using the facilities.
[12:50] Myrtil Igaly: Welcome back Tepic!
[12:50] Myrtil Igaly: Feel better?
[12:50] Tepic Harlequin: thanks, that's better, up fer a couple more hours interviewin how!
[12:51] Myrtil Igaly: Yep!
[12:51] Emerson Lighthouse is about to burst he has to pee so bad but he keeps a stoic expression
[12:51] Myrtil Igaly grins and turns to Jimmy
[12:51] Myrtil Igaly: Do you have a question for Sir Sir?
[12:51] Jimmy Branagh: Awlroight
[12:51] Jimmy Branagh: Mr. Emerson, ifn you wos a deadly disgusting parasitic bug, wot koind of deadly disgusting parasitic bug would you be?
[12:51] Myrtil Igaly wrinkles her nose
[12:52] Cyrus Forgrave nods
[12:52] Tepic Harlequin looks on in admiration at the question
[12:52] Emerson Lighthouse: a skinklebug
[12:52] Jimmy Branagh nods
[12:52] Jimmy Branagh: Why?
[12:52] Myrtil Igaly whispers to Tepic. "What's a skinklebug?"
[12:52] Emerson Lighthouse sighs a relief, no Popplefot questions
[12:53] Emerson Lighthouse: a skinklebug lives in the mountains around Falun, very nasty
[12:53] Myrtil Igaly: Ooooh
[12:53] Emerson Lighthouse: like an earwig but with bigger hair
[12:53] Myrtil Igaly wrinkles her nose again
[12:53] Tepic Harlequin: s' true, saw em when i were comin back after me time in prison there.....
[12:53] Jimmy Branagh: Ah, they must live near sparklin', free flowin' waterfalls!
[12:53] Cyrus Forgrave : I’ve never heard Petra mention such thing. And she is from Falun.
[12:54] Emerson Lighthouse: It has been my experian that Falunians don't discuss the skinklebug
[12:54] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[12:54] Myrtil Igaly looks at Tepic in surprise. "You were in prison in Falun?"
[12:54] Emerson Lighthouse: some sort of national embarrassment
[12:54] Emerson Lighthouse: not in Falun
[12:54] Myrtil Igaly: Oh, so that's what you want to be, I see.
[12:54] Tepic Harlequin: only fer a day or two, didn't like it so left......
[12:54] Myrtil Igaly scribbles
[12:54] Emerson Lighthouse: not that I remember
[12:55] Emerson Lighthouse: I was only in prison once actually and it wasn't my fault
[12:55] Emerson Lighthouse: not in Falun though
[12:55] Emerson Lighthouse: though I hear there is a warrant out for me
[12:55] Tepic Harlequin: only once? not much experience then?
[12:55] Emerson Lighthouse: something about using Victor's credit card to pay for a vacation
[12:55] Emerson Lighthouse: it will blow over
[12:56] Myrtil Igaly: Oh well that's not too bad
[12:56] Myrtil Igaly: Cyrus, maybe you could have the last question?
[12:56] Tepic Harlequin wonders how good an ambassador someone with only one warrant on them would be.....
[12:56] Emerson Lighthouse: Does anyone have a light?
[12:56] Tepic Harlequin holds out a silver lighter to Sir Sir....
[12:57] Jimmy Branagh points at the projector
[12:57] Cyrus Forgrave : Mr Lighthouse, what do you think you could bring to this role, that none of the other candidates could supply?
[12:57] Myrtil Igaly whistles. "Nice lighter!"
[12:57] Myrtil Igaly nods at Cyrus' question and glances at Mister Emerson, waiting for his answer.
[12:57] Emerson Lighthouse: thanks Tepic wait a minute
[12:57] Emerson Lighthouse: I recognize this lighter
[12:58] Myrtil Igaly: Uho...
[12:58] Emerson Lighthouse: integrity, Cyrus
[12:58] Tepic Harlequin: oh... is it yours? Found it on the street the other day, yer must have dropped it.....
[12:58] Myrtil Igaly lowers her head quickly not to show her grin and scribbles on her notebook page
[12:58] Cyrus Forgrave writes
[12:58] Jimmy Branagh: People are so careless ...
[12:58] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[12:59] Emerson Lighthouse pockets the lighter he has been missing for about a month with the monogram EL on the side
[12:59] Cyrus Forgrave : What is that smell?
[12:59] Myrtil Igaly sniffs the air
[12:59] Emerson Lighthouse: I think it is Jimmy
[12:59] Jimmy Branagh: Perhaps a free flowin' mountain stream?
[12:59] Myrtil Igaly: Seems like it's that purple smoke coming from Sir Sir Emerson’s cigarette more likely
[13:00] Jimmy Branagh: Ain’t me
[13:00] Emerson Lighthouse: didn't want to say anything about it earlier
[13:00] Emerson Lighthouse: glad you mentioned it first
[13:00] Jimmy Branagh: Oy 'ad a foine bath last noight
[13:00] Emerson Lighthouse: with water?
[13:00] Myrtil Igaly: Flowing water
[13:00] Jimmy Branagh: Of course
[13:00] Jimmy Branagh: It was!
[13:00] Myrtil Igaly: Running continually
[13:00] Myrtil Igaly: Very nice those Turkish Baths
[13:00] Myrtil Igaly: Alright, we're done with our questions. Do you have any for us Sir Sir?
[13:00] Jimmy Branagh: Through an open spigot!
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse: I was hoping to run with Holmes and Watson tomorrow
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse: got my speedo ready
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse: but I'll be away unfortunately
[13:01] Jimmy Branagh: Cor ...
[13:01] Myrtil Igaly: We shouldn't miss that!
[13:01] Jimmy Branagh scribbles
[13:01] Myrtil Igaly: Awwww!
[13:01] Cyrus Forgrave : Interesting sound the water makes when it first pours into a tub. Sort of a jingling sound.
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse: dammit
[13:01] Myrtil Igaly: Indeed Cyrus!
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse crosse his legs again
[13:01] Emerson Lighthouse is glad there is an alley close by
[13:01] Jimmy Branagh: Yes, it's quoite releasin'
[13:02] Tepic Harlequin: reckon after this interview i's gonna go an do a bit of tinkling on me flute.....
[13:02] Emerson Lighthouse regrets that fourth shot of Jack
[13:02] Myrtil Igaly: Oh yes, your flute tinkling is very soothing
[13:02] Jimmy Branagh: Yesh
[13:02] Jimmy Branagh: Very relaxin'
[13:02] Myrtil Igaly: I suspect you don't have any pressing question for us then sir Sir?
[13:02] Jimmy Branagh: No need to hold back ...
[13:02] Emerson Lighthouse: I might need to be excused soon
[13:02] Emerson Lighthouse: uuuuuummmmmmm
[13:03] Myrtil Igaly: Oh we're done when you are!
[13:03] Emerson Lighthouse holds his breath and thinks about the desert
[13:04] Jimmy Branagh: Oy gots no more questions
[13:04] Jimmy Branagh: Anyone?
[13:04] Tepic Harlequin: errrrr....... no?
[13:04] Myrtil Igaly shakes her head
[13:04] Cyrus Forgrave : Nor I.
[13:04] Emerson Lighthouse: Okay Urchins, good luck and Happy holidays, I need to run behind the building for a
[13:04] Emerson Lighthouse: .
[13:04] Emerson Lighthouse: smoke
[13:04] Myrtil Igaly: Thank you for coming over Sir Sir Emerson! We'll be keeping in touch after we've seen all the candidates and made our choice.
[13:04] Emerson Lighthouse: thank you Mytil
[13:04] Jimmy Branagh: Thenks Mr. Emerson!
[13:04] Emerson Lighthouse waves and runs for the door
[13:04] Myrtil Igaly: And thanks for the bottle!
[13:04] Jimmy Branagh: Gee, he sure is walkin' funny. Must be the Jack
And thus ended the fourth interview the urchins held to find a “grown-up ambassador”.
This is one of several photos that I took at a Thanksgiving parade in Portland OR back in November 2013, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I did almost no editing at all before deciding to upload it to the restricted set of "friends and family" photos on Flickr, ear the end of an exhausting multi-week project to upload some 40,000 photos that I had archived on my computer but never uploaded anywhere else ...
All I did with this batch of photos was to make a preliminary pass to eliminate about half of the images that were blurred, out of focus, or blocked by someone who decided to walk in front of my camera just as I was pushing the shutter button. So this particular photo (and all of its brethren uploaded to the "NYC Subways, 2013" set) were merely 1-star "candidate" photos that should have gotten several more passes of critical reviews before any decision was made to upload them. I had not done any cropping, adjustments for white-balance errors (though this one was reasonably okay in that respect) or other color adjustments ...
Now that I've done so (on the afternoon of Mar 12, 2014), I still don't think it deserved the five-star rating that would have gotten it uploaded to Flickr as a "public" photo... there's no tension, nothing that makes you think, "Whoaaa ... I've gotta go back and really think seriously about that photo!" I did think it was interesting enough to get a four-star rating, but that still meant it was intended only for my long-suffering "friends and family" on Flickr...
Nevertheless, one of my loyal Flickr friends did me the honor, a little earlier today, of marking the photo as a "favorite." Under the circumstances, I've decided to make it a "public" photo. Who knows ... maybe it will grow on me if I keep looking at it. But for now, I think I still have to put it in the "loser" set on Flickr, among other losers for the year 2013...
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Virtually everyone in America, as well as millions of other people around the world, know that Thanksgiving is one of the main occasions for organizing a huge parade.
It’s especially true in New York City, where I live — hundreds of parade workers converge on a one-block stretch between Columbus Avenue and Central Park West on 77th Street on the night before Thanksgiving to assemble the floats, and pump the huge balloons full of helium, so they’ll be ready to go the next morning. The parade itself lasts for hours, and stretches all the way down Central Park West and Broadway, and ultimately through Herald Square and past the main entrance to Macy’s on 34th Street. The whole thing is televised for the benefit of viewers all around the world, with TV commentators and an endless procession of marching bands, baton-twirlers, singers, dancers, jugglers, magicians, Broadway actors, and other forms of entertainment…
While New York City may be the only example of a Thanksgiving-Day parade that people around the world actually see on their TV screen, it’s definitely not the only such parade that takes place in this country. I’m sure that every big city has its own version of the turkey-day parade, as do most of the medium-size cities, and quite a few smaller towns and villages, too. They may not be visible on television, but a lot of local citizens and visitors turn out to watch such parades, if only because their sons and daughters are typically marching in the high-school bands that form a big part of the event.
On this particular occasion — in November of 2013 — I happened to be in one such medium-size city, where the parade took place on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving. It was in Portland, Oregon where we were spending the holiday period with one of our sons and his family; the parade took place in the “Pearl District” of downtown Portland … and, to our amazement, we were able to park our car about a block from the parade route, and walk right up to the corner (at Davis St and NW Park, if you want to track it down on Google Maps) where all of the bands and floats and costumed marchers walked by. In fact, I was able to take the “parade experience” even one step further: the people were friendly enough, and the security was light enough, that I was able to walk right out into the middle of the street with my camera, to photograph the floats and bands and marchers as they approached me … scampering out of the way only at the last moment.
Admittedly, Portland is a much bigger city than a tiny village of a thousand people somewhere in the midwest … but it still felt like “small town America” to me, and it was a great spectacle to watch. I got the impression that many of the visitors and observers standing along the street actually knew the people marching past them … and in any case, the marchers laughed and smiled and walked right up to us, handing out little pieces of candy to all of the children. Maybe next year I’ll go looking for a really small Thanksgiving parade in one of those tiny midwest-America villages, before retreating back to the Big Apple to watch the spectacle of thousands of marchers parading past millions of observers, and a TV audience of tens of millions …
I wish that I had taken some video clips of the parade, because the sounds and the music and the motion were a big part of what we experienced. But for better or worse, all I took was a bunch of traditional still photos. Actually, I took a LOT of still photos — nearly a thousand, altogether — but I’ve winnowed the collection down to 50 “keepers” that I hope will give you a sense of what Thanksgiving is all about…
Actually, if you live anywhere besides New York City here in the U S of A, you already know what Thanksgiving is all about, at least to the extent that it’s symbolized by the parade. But for those of us who spend most our time in New York City, it was a very pleasant experience indeed. After an hour, it was all over; we walked back to our car a block away, and drove back to our son’s house … and a day later, we were back in New York City. And thus ended another Thanksgiving holiday, at least until 2014.
[23:30] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] nudges her with his elbow again, putting down his book finally "That's 'cause they're starin' at yer tits, luv." he'd shrug, grinning softly to himself "Good save. I was ready ta dump the bitch the canal."
[23:32] Fluffy Snoodle tosses her hands up in zee air, like she just doesn't care. Though no, seriously. "Hah, I'm good at doing things like that, and I don't blame people for staring my boobs. Sometimes I stare at them too." What? It's not weird. "And hey, can't say you don't stare. OH! And another thing, this outfit and my hairstyle at this very moment makes me look like a major bitch." See, that scares people away.
[23:36] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] slipped the bookmark into his page, tucking the book away in his belt loop "I never said I didn't stare. Jus' when ya ain't lookin'." he'd cant his head at the last comment, giving her a once over "I think they expect you to like. Whip them or some shit." he'd pause, tapping his chin "On second though, tha' don't sound so bad."
[23:38] Fluffy Snoodle snorts and looks herself over again, "I have no whips anyways. The most I could do is claw spank and bite." Durdy, yus. "And Gareth, never thought you would like that kinda thing. I'ma take a mental note of that." Hurhur, seriously. Mental note made.
[23:40] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] chuckles softly "You never seen my pictures have you?" he'd bring up his cellphone, tapping away as he made his way through the pictures. Eventually he'd make it to a picture of Gareth, suspended several feet off the ground by four steel hooks. Extreme, innit?
[23:41] Fluffy Snoodle has to push her bangs up to see that and nearly chokes on her own spit, "My god! That looks incredibly painful." Even she wasnt that extreme. "That...wow, just wow. I don't have anything to even say about that."
[23:44] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] grinned proudly "Actually, the only pain is in the initial hooks. You go into a trance once they hoist you up. Don't feel a thing." he'd flick through more pictures, another picture of a shirtless gareth, holding up the... devil horns sign? The red marks of whips across his chest "I cut most of me ties to that whole scene back when I was recruited into the SAS."
[23:46] Fluffy Snoodle nods slowly staring at those pictures, "I wouldn't mind seeing more shirtless pictures." Hah, shameless. "Though seriously, you look like you've had some fun durring your times." Fluffy just snorted out a laugh, leaning back against the bench. "Never too late to start again, hm?"
[23:50] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "Of course I did. Once ya go down that road, normal sex is just... boring." Wisdom." he'd flick through the other pictures, varying in graphicness "Of course, but eh. Most people around here are... dirty. Or have taken one too many dicks in their time."
[23:53] Fluffy Snoodle stares at him before bursting out in a giggle-fit, "Wow, Well um...Thats interesting." She'd take her gas mask off and readjust her piercings, "I know plently of girls who arent whores." Yus...most of the packies. "Though, I don't think they're into that hardcore stuff."
[23:56] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] wiggled his eyebrows "You know it's true, luv." he'd give her another playful nudge before letting either arm rest atop the backrest "Eh. I've never been one for random fucks. Half the time you run the risk of catching something."
[23:58] Fluffy Snoodle snorts and attaches the mask to her belt, "Half the time? This is Midian, try all the time. S'why I don't do it either." Fluffy just shook her head and looked up to the smog. "And yes, it's true, can't deny it." Most of midian were whores and manwhore so on so forth. "You might get some mutated form of AIDs here."
[0:06] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "Well I would hope you wouldn't. I'd like to think I'm a decent judge of character." he'd laugh, plucking the cigarette from his lips and casting it into the canal. "Or maybe I'm just too much of a cynic. I do want to put a bullet in the brain of ever dumb asshole in this fuckin' city."
[0:10] Fluffy Snoodle snorts, "Well, you've almost got the right job for it." She'd say wiggling her brows...oh wait, he cant see that. "Just need to go beat the shit outa someone." Yeah, HINTHINT WINKWINK. "Go pick someone of your choice!"
[0:15] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] cocked a brow "You mad? It's midnight. I'm too fuckin' sleep deprived to fight." he'd shrug, tugging out a pack of gum and flicking out a piece. He'd point it in her direction "Want one?" he'd say, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth.
[0:18] Fluffy Snoodle shakes her head, "Nah, I usually sit there trying to chew it with my fangs. Usually doesn't end up well." Usually ends up her looking like a moron too. "And no, I'm not mad, I'm trying to light a fire under your ass to get to work. They may not hire you if you take too long. Just lookin' out for yooooou~" She'd stand up and rub her butt off, "Can't sit too long in this...don't want it to stretch out too much." Then it wont be as sexy, nope.
[0:25] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] would just shrug, chewing away at the gum "I know I know. Tomorrow, I'll go kick someone's ass. I've just been busy as fuck with my apartment." he'd stand, patting his pants "You could never get me into latex. It's too... squeaky if you ask me." he'd chuckle, crossing his arms across his chest "And eh, careful ya don't run face-first into a sign or nothin' with that haircut of yours." har har.
[0:27] Fluffy Snoodle looks to her hair...which would be her going cross-eye'd. "Meh, I wont, I'm too good for that." Hah, she was also clumsy as fuck. "And, I think guys look good in latex pants, if they're shirtless anyways." Again with the eyebrow wiggle. "You're cleaning your apartment?" Hmm...a guy cleaning, thats not weird at all.
[0:33] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] cackles "Still. I'd rather go shirtless and in a pair of ratty jeans." he'd tap his chin a bit "Speaking of which. I'm wearing my ratty jeans and goin' shirtless tomorrow." he'd nod softly "Aye. It's better than being a gigantic shithole. Just in case, ya know. Someone comes over."
[0:35] Fluffy Snoodle stretches, aww listen to that latex squeak, and yawns, "Welp, you didn't let me go over sooo I figured y'know, you don't let anyone go over." Sagenod time! And with that - Fluff would shamelessly fix the latex on her ass. Twas a little wrinkly.
[0:42] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "Not like there's much to see. Nothing exciting like the magical fairy cavern you live in." he'd shrug "How about I take ya sometime soon, then. I'll finish up the last of the cleaning tonig-." he cut off, his head canting slowly to the left as he watched her fix her latex. Creeper stare!
[0:43] Fluffy Snoodle gives that creeper stare right back, "I like my magical fairy cavern thank you." She'd say poking her tongue out as she finished fixing it, "Besides, me stepping in a room just makes it all the better." Full of herself? Nah, just fucking around.
[0:46] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "FUCK your magical fairy cavern. I've got a shitty apartment that's half bombed-out. How's that?" oh yes, livin' in style "Mmmm. Yeah. I guess. Maybe just a little better."
[0:48] Fluffy Snoodle tosses her hands into the air and huffs, "RIGHT!" Saracsm, "Actually having your own place is much better than living with a bunch of retards." Retards that I love though, thats another story. "And just a little better? Pssh, I light the room up. A friend told me I'd be a glowsticks wet dream." As awkward as that sounds, it's true. She was infact told that.
[0:54] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "Most likely, I like my quiet. Too much time around too many people an' I get a little squirrely." he'd shrug, giving her a prod in the belly "Eh. You're mediocre. 4 outta 10." he'd stick his tongue out at her, teasing of course.
[0:56] Fluffy Snoodle narrows her eyes at that and crosses her arms, getting that prod in the stomach, "Oh-hohoho, you did not just say that." She scoffed. "I'm definately off the charts." Again, just fucking around, she's not -that- full of herself.
[1:00] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] snorts softly, grinning all the wall "You know what? 2 outta 10. You're nothing special." he'd stick his tongue out at her. He was joking, of course. But oh did he ever love to taunt her.
[1:03] Fluffy Snoodle now just makes a ':O' face and stares at him, "Fine, you're a 0 out of 10." Hah, take that. "I know I'm purdy, don't gotta believe what you say, nope." Fluff did that weird...snap head thingy mabobber. She was just teasing him too of course. Two can play at that game. Mar har.
[1:05] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth]: "Pfft. I ain't here to please you." he'd grin softly "Oh no no. It's okay, you just go back to your delusions. I'll go back to being the pinacle of male attractiveness." now that was a mouthful.
[1:07] Fluffy Snoodle is doing her very best not to laugh now, "Oh, mister Gareth, you tell me that I'm delusional?" She let out a taunting laugh, "You may think you're the pinacle of male attractiveness, though I -know- that I am the pinacle of female attractiveness." Hah, take that. That was more of a mouthful too, that was like...overloading to the point of drooling.
[1:08] KlistiesSeMio Ewinaga is Online
[1:11] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] would roll his eyes, though his gaze slowly drifted behind her, his eyes narrowing a bit "Who's tha'?" he'd ask, putting on his most convincing voice. If she turned around, he'd wind up, and attempt to smack her ass, flat-palmed, as hard as he could. Oh yes, he went there. When he did that, he'd jump back, making sure to put a safe amount of distance between him and her.
[1:14] Fluffy Snoodle would infact look just because she was that gullible. As she recieved that smack to the ass she'd yelp as his hand connected to her ass, creating a loud 'snap' and she leaped forwards, somehow ending up behind him only to smack his ass if she could before moving back to where she was before. "That hurt!" She'd whine, turning around and bending over, "Now, kiss it and make it better." Hah, kiss my ass, foo'!
[1:17] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] perked up as his own arse was smacked, giving it a sore rub. He'd grin softly "That was the point.." he'd wiggle his eyebrows "Careful what you wish for. I could turn into that ass-licker."
[1:19] Fluffy Snoodle snorts, "Well, it wouldn't be -as- creepy." She'd say with a nod, still rubbing her ass, "Since I know you and all...and you didn't come flying at me like a goddamn monkey from the top of a building." Seriously, that was pretty awkward, "Oh, and you don't smell bad."
[1:26] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] would just winked "Jus' be careful whatcha wish for, luv." he'd grin and chuckle, raising an arm to sniff at his armpit "Really? Why I'm flattered."
[1:28] Fluffy Snoodle is still bent over waiting, "It still hurts." She'd say with a grunt, "ANd yes really...well, your jacket didn't at least when I stole it from you." Fluffy flicked her tails to him and shrugged. "And who says I'm not being careful? Though...if you slap it again, I'll punch your ass till it's tender." Hrhr, tenderizer.
[1:34] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] would rub his chin, then gentle scratching sound of stubble grinding together. Almost looking descisive, until he'd shrug, lean down and giving her arse a small peck. Following that, he'd cast his hand out again, attempting to give her arse another smack, on the other cheek, of course.
[1:37] Fluffy Snoodle jumps away though somehow still gets that damn slap, though she got the ass kiss too so she'd raise her hands in the air victoriously, "Fluffy wins agaaaain!" And here come the quiet cheers from her mouth, turning around to look to him. "Now I can tell everyone I got you to kiss my ass." This was, of course, the first time she got someone to actually kiss her ass. Hrhr.
[1:43] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest "Jus' remember, luv. I did it willingly." chuckling, he'd wiggle his eyebrows "Oh. And there's 206 bones in the human body. Want another one?" see, she wasn't the only one who could come up with cheesey pick-up lines.
[1:45] Fluffy Snoodle snorts, "Let me go find my whip first." She'd say acting as if she was about to walk off towards the den though she'd stop and poke her tongue out, "Even if you did do it willingly, I still got you to do it. See, if I wouldn't have bent over and offered it never would have happened." That didn't sound dirty at all either.
[1:50] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] raised his eyebrows at that "Yeah yeah. Don't act like it's much of a victory." he'd sigh, his mouth drawing open to let out a yawn "Well, it looks like I'm actually tired for once. I'mma head 'er home. I'll see you tomorrow?"
[1:52] Fluffy Snoodle shrugs, "Perhaps." Her players going away though! Depressing isnt it? "See you around, dork." She'd say with an innocent smile and a wiggle of the fingers...or a wave. Whatever you wanna call it works. "It's still a victory."
[1:53] Gareth Croshaw [Osoth] grinned, stepping away whilst waving his hand "Yeah yeah. Half-smile. See ya around, Fluff."
Today I chose to wear a denim skirt, tights, turtleneck and sweater with my flats for my errands, which included the pharmacy, post office, gas station and nail salon. My tech was thrilled to see me looking so feminine, and said she'd like for me to be dressed this girly every time I visit her.
Because of my feminine outfit, she said today was my day for a full set of red acrylics. But I somehow convinced her to just go with the regular French fill. She agreed, but insisted that I can't leave the shop without girly nails to match my outfit. So, in place of red, she chose a pretty iridescent pearl UV-cured polish, which she told me would be as feminine, and almost as noticeable as, red.
So, my fingernails all became pretty pearlescent! And she's right, they're feminine....
She reminded me that to leave them alone till my next fill will save me a lot of work trying to remove the pearlescent color, and anything I do may mess up my nails in the process. She chose the color to look attractive with anything I wear. But, if I really feel the need for change, my only choice will be to paint over them with another color...she'll happily do this for me if I stop by wearing the dress or skirt I need to match. Or I can get whatever colors I like at the pharmacy and do it myself. She highly recommended that approach - every girl should own lots of different colors of polish, and many change their nail color nightly, to match the next day's outfit, as they watch their favorite shows on the telly.
Good thing I like the color she applied. I've decided to just wear it till my next fill, then let her re-apply it for me, since I'm not quite ready to start painting my nails every night. Yet. But she insists that day will come...
But now that I'm wearing nail color full time, she showed me bottles of pretty pastel blues and pinks for my hands starting about Easter, and a really attention-grabbing shade of hot pink she wants to give me with a pedicure later this spring. Once I'm fully equipped with girly nail colors, she tells me that I'll probably start painting them on my own between fills, just like the other girls.... Then she showed me a blue to match my denim skirt, or a white to match my sweater. We girls gotta have our nails match our outfit, whether we're wearing skirts, dresses, leggings or capris!
When I left the shop, she again complimented my pretty nails, told me she's thrilled that I'm getting more comfortable in skirts, and she hopes that soon I'll be wearing them all day, every day. Then she reminded me to be careful with my nails till they're fully dry later this afternoon, And before I left, she decided to take a picture of me, so I can remember my day.
It was a really fun visit, and her support is legendary!
Yoko Ono’s own relationship and partnership with John Lennon have given her access and opportunities she might never have achieved on her own, but her status as a pop icon has largely obscured her own achievements as an artist. Now where is this more obvious than in the area of filmmaking. Between 1966 and 1971, Ono made substantial contribution to avant-garde cinema,
Most of which are now a vague memory, even for those generally cognizant of developments in this field. With few expectations, her films have been out of circulation for years, but fortunately this situation needs to be changing; in the spring of 1989 the Whitney Museum of American Art presented a film retrospective along with a small show of objects - eighties versions of conceptual objects Ono has exhibited in 1966 and 1967 – and the American Federation of Arts re-released Ono’s films in the spring of 1991.
Except as a film-goer, Ono was not involved with film until the 1960s, though by this time she began to make her own films, she was an established artist. At the end of the fifties, after studying poetry and music at Sarah Lawrence College, she became part of a circle of avant-garde musicians (including John Cage and Merce Cunningham): in fact the “Chambers Street Series.” An influential concert series organized by LaMonte Young, was held at Ono’s loft at 112 Chambers. Ono’s activities in music led to her first public concert, A Grapefruit in the World of Park (at the Village Gate, 1961) and later that same year to an evening of performance events in which Yvonne Rainer stood up and sat down before a table stacked with dishes for ten minutes, then smashed the dishes “accompanied by a rhythmic background of repeated syllables, a tape recording of moans and words spoken backwards, and by an aria of high-pitched wails sung by Ono” (Barbara Haskell’s description in Yoko Ono: Objects, Films, the catalogue for the 1989 Whitney Museum show).
In the early sixties Ono was part of what became known as Fluxus, an art movement with roots in Dada, in Marcel Duchamp and John Cage, and energised by George Maciunas. The Fluxus artists were dedicated to challenging conventional definitions in the fine arts, and conventional relationships between artwork and viewer. In the early sixties, Ono made such works as Painting to See the Room through (1961), a canvas with an almost invisible hole in the centre through which one peered to see the room, and Painting to Hammer the Nail in (1961), a white wood panel that “viewers” were instructed to hammer nails into with an attached hammer. Instructions for dozens of these early pieces, and for later ones, are reprinted in Ono’s Grapefruit, which has appeared several times in several different editions- most recently in a Simon and Schuster/ Touchstone paperback edition, reprinted in 1979.
By the mid sixties, Ono had become interested in film, as a writer of mini film scripts (sixteen are reprinted in the Fall 1989 Film Quarterly), and as a contributor of three films to the Fluxfilm Program coordinated by Maciunas in 1966: two one-shot films shot at 2000 frames per second, Eyeblink and Match, and No.4, a sequence of buttocks of walking males and females. Along with several other films in the Fluxfilm Program (and two 1966 films by Bruce Baillie), Eyeblink and No.4 are, so far as I know, the first instances of what was to become a mini-genre of avant-garde cinema: the single-shot film (films that are or appear to be precisely one shot long), No.4 (Bottoms) (1966).
For the eighty minutes of No.4 (Bottoms), all we see are human buttocks in the act of walking, filmed in black and white, in close-up, so that each buttocks fills the screen: the crack between the cheeks and the crease between hams and legs divide the frame into four approximately equal sectors: we cannot see around the edges of the walking bodies. Each buttocks is filmed for a few seconds (often for fifteen seconds or so; sometimes for less than ten seconds), and is then followed immediately by the next buttocks. The sound track consists of interviews with people whose buttocks we see and with other people considering whether to allow themselves to be filmed; they talk about the project in general, and they raise the issue of the film’s probable boredom, which becomes a comment on viewers’ actual experience of the film. The sound track also includes segments of television news coverage of the project (which had considerable visibility in London in 1966), including an interview with Ono, who discusses the conceptual design of the film.
No. 4 (Bottoms) is fascinating and entertaining, especially in its revelation of the human body. Because Ono’s structuring of the visuals is rigorously serial, No.4 (Bottoms) is reminiscent of Edward Muybridge’s motion studies, though in this instance the “grid” against which we measure the motion is temporal, as well as implicitly spatial: though there’s no literal grid behind the bottoms, each bottom is framed in precisely the same way. What we realize from seeing these bottoms, and inevitably comparing them with one another- and with our idea of “bottom”- is both obvious and startling. Not only are people’s bottoms remarkably varied in their shape, colouring, and texture, but no two bottoms move in the same way.
On a more formal level No.4 (Bottoms) is interesting both as an early instance of the serial structuring that was to become so common in avant-garde film by the end of the sixties (in Snow’s Wavelength and Ernie Gehr’s Serene Velocity, 1970; Hollis Frampton’s Zorns Lemma, 1970 and Robert Huot’s Rolls: 1971, 1972; J.J. Murphey’s Print Generation, 1974…) and because Ono’s editing makes the experience of No.4 (Bottoms) more complex than simple descriptions of the film seem to suggest. As the film develops, particular bottoms and comments on the sound track are sometimes repeated, often in new contexts; and a variety of subtle interconnections between image and sound occur.
Like No.4 (Bottoms), Ono’s next long film, Film No.5 (Smile) (1968, fifty-one minutes), was an extension of work included in the Fluxfilm Program. Like her Eyeblink and Match- and like Chieko Shiomi’s Disappearing Music for Face (in which Ono’s smile gradually “disappears”), also on the Fluxfilm Program- Film No.5 (Smile) was shot with a high-speed camera. Unlike these earlier films, all of which filmed simple actions in black and white, indoors, at 2000 frames per second, Film No.5 (Smile) reveals John Lennon’s face, recorded at 333 frames per second for an extended duration, outdoors, in colour, and accompanied by a sound track of outdoor sounds recorded at the same time the imagery was recorded. Film No.5 (Smile) divides roughly into two halves, one continuous shot each. During the first half, the film is a meditation on Lennon’s face, which is so still that on first viewing I wasn’t entirely sure for a while that the film was live action and not an optically printed photograph of Lennon smiling slightly. Though almost nothing happens in any conventional sense, the intersection of the high-speed filming and our extended gaze creates continuous, subtle transformations: it is as if we can see Lennon’s expression evolve in conjunction with the flow of his thoughts. Well into the first shot, Lennon forms his lips into an “O”- a kiss perhaps- and then slowly returns to the slight smile with which the shot opens. During the second shot of Film No.5 (Smile), which differs from the first in subtleties of colour and texture (both shots are lovely), Lennon’s face is more active; he blinks several times, sticks his tongue out, smiles broadly twice, and seems to say “Ah!” Of course, while the second shot is more active than the first, the amount of activity remains minimal by conventional standards (and unusually so even for avant-garde film.) It is as though those of us in the theatre and Lennon are meditating on each other from opposite sides of the cinematic apparatus, joined together by Ono in a lovely, hypnotic stasis.
The excitement Ono and Lennon were discovering living and working together fuelled Two Virgins (1968) and Bed-In (1969), both of which were collaborations. Two Virgins enacts two metaphors for the two artists’ interaction. First, we see a long passage of Ono’s and Lennon’s faces superimposed, often with a third layer of leaves, sky, and water; then we see an extended shot of Ono and Lennon looking at each other, then kissing. Bed-In is a relatively conventional record of the Montreal performance; it includes a number of remarkable moments, most noteworthy among them, perhaps, Al Capp’s blatantly mean-spirited, passive-aggressive visit, and the song “Give Peace a Chance.” Nearly all of Ono’s remaining films were collaborations with John Lennon.
When the Whitney Museum presented Ono’s films at its 1989 retrospective, Rape (1969) provoked the most extensive critical commentary. The relentless seventy-seven-minute feature elaborates the single action of a small filmmaking crew coming upon a woman in a London park and following her through the park, along streets, and into her apartment where she becomes increasingly isolated by her cinematic tormentors. (Her isolation is a theme from the beginning since the woman speaks German; because the film isn’t subtitled, even we don’t know what she’s saying in any detail.) The film was, according to Ono, a candid recording by cinematographer Nic Knowland of a woman who was not willingly a part of this project. When Rape was first released, it was widely seen as a comment on Ono’s experience on being in the media spotlight with Lennon. Two decades later, the films seems more a parable about the implicit victimization of women by the institution of cinema.
Fly (1970) has a number of historical precedents- Willard Maas’s Geography of the Body (1943), most obviously- but it remains powerful and fascinating. At first, a fly is seen, in extreme close-up, as it “explores” the body of a nude woman (she’s identified as “Virginia Lust” in the credits); later more and more flies are seen crawling on the body, which now looks more like a corpse; and at the end, the camera pans up and “flies” out the window of the room. The remarkable sound track is a combination of excerpts from Ono’s vocal piece, Fly, and music composed by Lennon.
Up Your Legs Forever (1970) is basically a remake of No.4 (Bottoms), using legs, rather than buttocks: the camera continually pans up from the feet to the upper thighs of hundreds of men and women, as we listen to the sound of the panning apparatus and a variety of conversations about the project. Though UP Your Legs Forever has some interesting moments, it doesn’t have the drama or the humour of No.4 (Bottoms).
Ono and Lennon also collaborated on two Lennon films (whether a film is a “Lennon film” or and “Ono film” depends on whose basic concept instigated the project). Apotheosis (1970) is one of the most ingenious single-shot films ever made. A camera pans up the cloaked bodies of Lennon and Ono, then on up into the sky above a village, higher and higher across snow-covered fields (the camera was mounted in a hot-air balloon, which we never see- though we hear the device that heats the air) and then up into the clouds; the screen remains completely white for several minutes, and finally, once many members of the audience have given up on the film, the camera rises out into the sunny skyscraper above the clouds. The film is a test and reward of viewer patience and serenity. For Erection, a camera was mounted so that we can watch the construction of a building, in time-lapse dissolves from one image to another, several hours or days later. The film is not so much about the action of constructing a building (as a pixellated film of such a subject might be), as it is about the subtle, sometimes magical changes that take place between the dissolves. Erection is more mystery than documentation.
Imagine (1971)- not to be confused with the recent Imagine: John Lennon (1988, directed by Andrew Solt)- was the final Ono/Lennon cinematic collaboration: it’s a series of sketches accompanied by their music. Since 1971 Ono has made no films, though she did make a seven minute video documenting the response to a conceptual event at the Museum of Modern Art: Museum of Modern Art Show (1971). She has also made several music videos that document her process of recovering from Lennon’s death- Walking on Thin Ice (1981), Woman (1981), Goodbye Sadness (1982)- as well as records and art objects.
Of course, she remains one of the world’s most visible public figures and the most widely known conceptual artist.
I spoke with Ono at her office at the Dakota in May 1989.
MacDonald: Were you a moviegoer as a child?
Ono: I was a movie buff, yes. In prep school in Tokyo you were supposed to go directly home after school. But most kids often went to the movies. We used to hide our school badges and sneak into the theatre.
MacDonald: Do you remember what you saw?
Ono: Yes, I mostly saw French films. There was a group of kids who like American films- Jimmy Stewart and Katharine Hepburn, Doris Day and Rock Hudson, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby- and there was another crowd of girls who thought they were intellectuals, and went to French films. I was in the French film group. We would go to see The Children of Paradise (1945), that sort of thing. It was a very exciting time. I loved those films.
MacDonald: Did you see some of the early French surrealist films from the twenties?
Ono: Those things I saw much later. We’re talking about when I was in high school in the late forties. I saw the surrealist films in the sixties in New York and Paris.
The films I saw in high school that were closest to surrealism wee the Cocteau films, Beauty and the Beast and Orpheus (1950). Those films really gave me some ideas.
MacDonald: The earliest I know of you in connection with film is the sound track you did for Taka Iimura’s Love in 1963 by hanging the microphone out the window. I know the later Fluxfilm reels that were made in 1966, but did the Fluxus group get involved with film before that?
Ono: No. I think that one of the reasons why we couldn’t make films or didn’t think of making films was that we felt that it was an enormously expensive venture. At that time, I didn’t even have the money to buy canvas. I’d go to army surplus shops and get that canvas that’s rolled up. During that period, I felt that getting a camera to do a film was unrealistic.
MacDonald: Grapefruit includes three tiny descriptions of conceptual film projects that are identified as excerpts from “Six Film Scripts by Yoko Ono.” Were there others, or was the indication that there were six scripts a conceptual joke?
Ono: No, there were six at first; then later there were others. At the time I wrote those scripts, I sent most of them to Jones Mekas, to document them. Actually, that’s why I have copies of them now.
MacDonald: There seems to be confusion about the names and numbers of the films on the Fluxfilm Program, and about who did them. I assume you made the two slow-motion films, Eyeblink and Match, and the first film about buttocks, No.4.
Ono: Those are mine, yes.
MacDonald: Did people collaborate in making those films, or did everybody work individually and then just put the films onto those two Fluxus reels?
Ono: One day George (Maciunas) called me and said he’s got the use of a high-speed camera and it’s a good opportunity, so just come over (to Peter Moore’s apartment on East 36th St) and make some films. So I went there, and the high-speed camera was set up and he said, “Give me some ideas!” Think of some ideas for films!” There weren’t many people around, at the beginning just George and…
MacDonald: Peter Moore is credited on a lot of the slow-motion films.
Ono: Yeah, Peter Moore was there, and Barbara Moore came too. And other people were coming in- I forget who they were- but not many. When I arrived, I was the only person there, outside of George. I don’t know how George managed to get the high-speed camera. I don’t think he paid for it. But it was the kind of opportunity that if you can get it, you grab it. So I’m there, and I got the idea of Match and Eyeblink and we shot these. Eyeblink didn’t come out too well. It was my eye, and I didn’t like my eye.
MacDonald: I like that film a lot. Framed the way it is, the eye becomes erotic; it’s suggestive of body parts normally considered more erotic.
Ono: The one of those high-speed films I liked best was one you didn’t mention: Smoking.
MacDonald: The one by Joe Jones.
Ono: Yes. I thought that one was amazing, so beautiful; it was like frozen smoke.
MacDonald: There’s a film on that reel called Disappearing Music for Face…
Ono: Chieko Shiomi’s film, yeah.
MacDonald: I understand you were involved in that one too.
Ono: Well, that was my smile. That was me. What happened was that Chieko Shiomi was in Japan at the time. She was coming here often; it wasn’t like she was stationed in Japan all the time, but at the time I think she had just left to go to Japan. Then this high-speed camera idea came up, and when George was saying, “Quick, quick, ideas,” I said, “Well, how about smile”; and he said, “NO, that you can’t do, think of something else.” “But,” I said, “Smile is a very important one, I really want to do it,” because I always had that idea, but George keeps saying, “No you can’t do that one.” Finally, he said, “Well, OK , actually I wanted to save that for Chieko Shiomi because she had the same idea. But I will let you perform.” So that’s me smiling. Later I found out that her concept was totally different from what I wanted to do. Chieko Shiomi’s idea is beautiful; she catches the disappearance of a smile. At the time I didn’t know what her title was.
MacDonald: I assume No.4 was shot at a different time.
Ono: Yes. At the time I was living at 1 West 100th Street. It was shot in my apartment. My then husband Tony Cox and Jeff Perkins helped.
MacDonald: The long version of the buttocks film, No.4 (Bottoms), is still amazing.
Ono: I think that film had a social impact at the time because of what was going on in the world and also because of what was going on in the film world. It’s a pretty interesting film really.
Do you know the statement I wrote about taking any film and burying it underground for fifty years [see Grapefruit (New York; Simon and Schuster/ Touchstone, 1971), Section 9, “On Film No.4,” paragraph 3, and “On Film No.5 and Two Virgins,” paragraph 2]? It’s like wine. Any film, any cheap film, if you put it underground for fifty years, becomes interesting [laughter]. You just take a shot of people walking, and that’s enough: the weight of history is so incredible.
MacDonald: When No.4 (Bottoms) was made, the idea of showing a lot of asses was completely outrageous. Bottoms were less-respected, less-revealed part of the anatomy. These days things have changed. Now bottoms are OK- certain bottoms. What I found exhilarating about watching the film (maybe because I’ve always been insecure about my bottom!) is that after you see hundreds of bottoms, you realize that during the whole time you watched the film, you never saw the “correct,” marketable jean-ad bottom. You realize that nobody’s bottom is the way bottoms are supposed to be: the droop, or there are pimples- something is “wrong.” I think the film has almost as much impact now as it did then- though in a different way.
Ono: Well, you see, it’s not just to do with bottoms. For me the film is less about bottoms than about a certain bear, a beat you didn’t see in films, even in avant-garde films, then.
This is something else, but I remember one beautiful film where the stationary camera just keeps zooming toward a wall…
MacDonald: Wavelength? Michael Snow’s film?
Ono: Right, Michael Snow. That’s an incredibly beautiful film. A revolution in itself really. Bottoms film was a different thing, but just as revolutionary I think. It was about a beat, about movement. The beat in bottoms film is comparable to a rock beat. Even in the music world there wasn’t that beat until rock came. It’s the closest thing to the heartbeat. I tried to capture that again with Up Your Legs Forever. But in No.4 (Bottoms) it worked much better. Maybe it was the bottoms. That film has a basic energy. I couldn’t capture it in Up Your Legs Forever.
MacDonald: No.4 (Bottoms) plays with perceptions and memory in different ways. For a while it seems like a simple, serial structure, one bottom after another. Then at a certain point you realize, Oh I’ve seen that bottom before… but was it with this sound? No, I don’t think so. Later you may see another bottom a second time, clearly with the same sound. A new kind of viewing experience develops. Did you record all the bottoms and the spoken material for the track, and then later, using that material, develop a structure? It seems almost scored.
Ono: Yes. I spent a lot of hours editing. It wasn’t just put together. The sequence was important. A sympathetic studio said that I could come at midnight or whenever no one was using the facilities, to do the editing. I got a lot of editing time free; that’s how I was able to finish it.
MacDonald: On the sound track some of the participants talk about the process of getting people to show up to have their bottoms recorded, but I’m not completely sure what the process was. You put an ad in a theatrical paper apparently.
Ono: Well, we had an ad, yes, but most of the people were friends of friends. It became a fantastic event. You have to understand, the minute the announcement was made, there was a new joke about it in the newspapers everyday, and everybody was into it. We filmed at Victor Musgrave’s place; he was a very good friend who was very generous in letting me use his townhouse.
MacDonald: Did you select bottoms or did you use everybody that was filmed? Were there really 365 bottoms involved?
Ono: I didn’t select bottoms. There was not enough for 365 anyway. And the impact of the film as a happening was already getting lost from filming for so long. And there was the rental of the camera and the practical aspect of the shooting schedule. At a certain point I said, “Oh well, the number’s conceptual anyway, so who cares. It’s enough!”
MacDonald: I assume that when you did the early Fluxus version of No.4, you just followed people walking across an apartment. For the long film you’d built a machine to do the filming, which allowed you to film in more controlled close-up; we can’t see around the sides of the bodies the way we can in the earlier film.
Ono: Well, in the first No.4 I was pretty close too. But, as you say, it wasn’t really perfect. In London we did it almost perfect. In London we did it almost perfectly. My idea both times was very visual. All my films had very visual concepts behind them in the beginning. I mean No.4 (Bottoms) has many levels of impact- one being political- but originally I simply wanted to cover the screen with one object, with something that was moving constantly. There’s always a background. The closest you get to what I mean s like some macho guy, a cowboy or something, standing with his back to the screen, but you always see a little background. The screen is never covered; so I thought, if you don’t leave a background it might be like the whole screen is moving. I just wanted to have that experience. As you say, it didn’t work in the early version, but it was the first idea I had for the film actually.
And also, the juxtaposition of the movement of the four sections of the bottoms was fascinating, I thought.
MacDonald: No.4 (Bottoms) reminds me of Edward Muybridge’s motion photographs.
Ono: Oh I see, yeah.
MacDonald: Was the finished film shown a lot?
Ono: Well, I finally got an OK from the censor and we showed it in Charing Cross Road. Then some American Hollywood producer came and said he wanted to buy it and take it to the United States. Also, he wanted me to make 365 breasts, and I said, if we’re going to do breasts, then I will do a sequence of one breast, you know, fill the screen with a single breast over and over, but I don’t think that was erotic enough for him. He was thinking eroticism; I was thinking about visual, graphic concepts- a totally different thing. I was too proud to make two breasts [laughter]. I think there was an attempt to take the bottoms film to the United States, but it was promptly confiscated by the censor.
MacDonald: At customs?
Ono: Yes.
MacDonald: There’s a mention on the sound track that you were planning to do other versions of that film in other countries, and the film ends with the phrase, “To Be Continued.” Was that a concept for other films, or were there some specific plans for follow-ups?
Ono: Well you see, all my films do have a conceptual side. I have all these scripts, and I get excited just to show them to people because my hope is that maybe they will want to make some of them. That would be great. I mean most of my films are film instructions; they were never made actually. Just as film instructions, I think they are valid, but it wouldn’t be very good if somebody makes them. I don’t have to make them myself. And also, each film I made had a projection of future plans built into the idea. If somebody picks up on one of them, that’s great.
At the time I was making films, what I felt I was doing was similar to what The Rocky Horror Picture Show [1975] did later. I wanted to involve the audience directly in new ways.
MacDonald: How did Film No.5 (Smile) come about?
Ono: When I went to London, I still kept thinking about the idea of smile, so when I had the chance, I decided to do my version. Of course, until John and I got together, I could never have rented a high-speed camera. Well, maybe if I’d looked into it, I could have. I don’t know, but I thought it would be too expensive.
MacDonald: Did you know Lennon well at the point when you did Film No.5 (Smile)?
Ono: Yes.
MacDonald: Because I wondered whether you made the film because you wanted to capture a certain complexity in him, or whether the complexity that’s revealed in that seemingly simple image is a result of what the high-speed camera reveals, or creates, as it films,
Ono: Well, certainly I knew John was complex person. But the film wasn’t so much about his complexity as a person. I was trying to capture the complexity of a visual experience. What you see in that film is very similar to how you perceive somebody when you are on acid. We had done acid trips together, and that gave me the idea. I wondered how do you capture this?
MacDonald: It’s a beautiful film.
Ono: Well, of course, you know from the statements I made about Smile [see Ono, Grapefruit, “On Film No.5 & Two Virgins”] that my idea was really very different from the film I finally made. My idea was to do everybody’s smile. But when I met John, I thought, doing everybody’s smile is going to be impossible; and he can represent everybody’s smile.
MacDonald: What I find incredible about Smile is that as you watch John’s face, it’s almost as though you can see his mind working. I don’t know whether it’s an optical illusion, maybe it’s created by the way that the camera works. But it’s almost as though as you watch, the expression is changing every second.
Ono: I know. It’s incredible, isn’t it? Of course I didn’t know what exactly a high-speed camera would do. I knew in general, but I didn’t know what the exact effect would be. And, of course, I never would have known unless George Maciunas had rented a high-speed camera and called me up. George was a very interesting person. He had a very artistic mind. I never knew why he didn’t create his own art; he always wanted to take the role of helping create other people’s work. But that combination was very good; he not only executed what we wanted, he gave us the opportunity to look into the areas we would never have looked into. He had that kind of mind.
MacDonald: With Two Virgins you and John began collaborating on films and in the next few years there was a whole series of collaborations. Judging from the credits on the films, I assume that one or the other of you would get an idea and then both of you would work the idea out, and whoever had the original idea for a particular film- that film was theirs. Normally, the directorial credit is considered the most important one, but on these films there’s a more basic credit. It might be “Film by Yoko Ono,” then “Directed and produced by John and Yoko.” Am I correct: was it that whoever had the original concept for the film, that’s whose film it was?
Ono: Yes.
MacDonald: I remember reading years ago in a collection of Rolling Stone interviews that when you and John got involved with politics and in particular with the Bed-In, It was partly because Peter Watkins had written you a letter. Is that how you remember it?
Ono: Well, yes, Peter Watkin’s letter was a confrontation to us, and at the time we had a conversation about what we felt we had been doing politically: “Well, I was doing this, Yes I was doing that.” As a Beatle, John was always asked, “What is your position about the Vietnam War,” or something else; and I think that their manager, Brian Epstein, was very concerned that they wouldn’t make any statements, and so they didn’t make any direct statements. But a covert statement was made through an album cover that was censored, as you know. And I was standing in Trafalgar Square, in a bag, for peace and all that. So separately we had that awareness, and we were expressing it in the ways that we could. I was doing it more freely because it was easier for me. So we were comparing notes after getting the letter, and then we were saying, “Well what about doing something together,” which was the Bed-In (and the film Bed-In), so Peter Watkin’s letter definitely did mean something to us.
MacDonald: How much control did you (or you and John) have over the way Bed-In looks? You credit a large crew on that film. What was your part in the final film, other than as performers?
Ono: We always maintained careful control over the finished films. I was generally in charge of editing, which I did for that film, and for others, frame by frame. I mean I would have a film editor working with me- I don’t know the technology- but I would be very specific about what I wanted. When Jonas [Mekas] did the John and Yoko screenings at Anthology [Anthology Film Archives], I had three editing machines and editors brought into our hotel room, and I edited Bed-In there because of the deadline.
I enjoy the editing part of filmmaking most of all; that’s where the films really get made.
MacDonald: Rape is often talked about as a parable of the media intruding into your lives, but when I saw it again the other week, it struck me as very similar to pieces in Grapefruit.
Ono: Well, they keep saying that. I’ll tell you what happened. By the time that I actually got to make the film, John and I were together, and the reporters were hounding us, but the Rape concept was something I thought of before John and I got together.
MacDonald: In Grapefruit there’s “Black Piece II,” a part of which is “Walk behind a person for four hours.”
Ono: It was that kind of thing, right. But it was also a film script
[“Film No.5 (Rape or Chase)”]
MacDonald: How candid is the Rape footage? It no longer looks candid to me.
Ono: It was completely candid- except for the effects we did later in the editing. The girl in the film did not know what was happening. Her sister was in on it, so when she calls her sister on the phone, her sister is just laughing at her and the girl doesn’t understand why. Nic Knowland did the actual shooting. I wasn’t there. Everything was candid, but I kept pushing him to bring back better material. The type of material he brought back at first was something like he would be standing on the street, and when a group of girls passed by, he would direct the camera to them. The girls would just giggle and run away, and he wouldn’t follow. I kept saying he could do better than that, be he actually had a personal problem doing the film because he was a Buddhist and a peacenik: he didn’t want to intrude on people’s privacy. I remember John saying later that no actress could have given a performance that real.
I’ve done tons of work, and I don’t have time to check it all out, but I wish I could check about this strange thing, which is that a lot of my works have been a projection of my future fate. It frightens me. It simply frightens me. I don’t want to see Rape now. I haven’t seen the Rape film in a long time, but just thinking about the concept of it frightens me because now I’m in that position, the position of the woman in the film.
MacDonald: In the video Walking on Thin Ice, we see a similar scene, but with you.
Ono: I know. And why did I think of that song? After I wrote that song all sorts of trouble started to happen, all of which was somehow related to the song, that feeling of walking on thin ice. Sometimes I intentionally try to write something positive. But in a situation like that, art comes first. I really thought “Walking on Thin Ice” was a good song when it came to me. I had no qualms about recording it. The artistic desire of expressing something supersedes the worry, I suppose, and you think, ah it’s nothing, it’s fine, it’s just a nice song or something; and then it turns out that it becomes my life and I don’t want that.
Just recently I was in this film where I performed as a bag lady [Homeless, by Yukihiko Tsutsumi, unreleased at time of interview]. I was a bit concerned what it might mean to enact a bag lady, in terms of future projections. But I reasoned that there are actors who die many times in films, but live long lives, so actually enacting death makes their real lives longer. Well, in the first scene it was a beautiful April day, one of those I’m-glad-to-be-in-New-York days, and I’m wearing these rags and I’m pushing an empty baby carriage in this beautiful green environment. And as I was doing it, I remembered the song “Greenfield Morning” and the line, “I pushed an empty baby carriage all over the city.” That was the first song we recorded for Yoko Ono’s Plastic Ono Band, and I think it’s in Grapefruit, too- I mean the instruction “Push an empty baby carriage” [See “City Piece: Walk all over the city with an empty baby carriage” (Winter, 1961) near the end of the first section (Music) of Grapefruit]. So I’m pushing the baby carriage and I’m thinking I don’t want to know about this. That aspect of projection is interesting, isn’t it?
MacDonald: Yes.
Ono: If you are somebody who makes films with a commercial concern or other concerns, other than just inspiration, maybe that sort of thing wouldn’t happen. I don’t know. But inspiration is very much connected with your life in past and future.
MacDonald: Apotheosis is a gorgeous film. It’s one of the collaborations that’s listed as John’s film, though the idea of stripping things away until you’ve got a white screen is very much like some of you work.
Ono: Well, I’ll tell you what happened. I think some of the instructions are already there in Grapefruit, or maybe not, maybe it’s one of the instructions that haven’t been published [Ono is referring to the second version of her film script, “Film No.1 (A Walk to the Taj Mahal)”]. There was a constant feeling of wanting to take an object that’s on the ground- not necessarily an object, could be a person- in fact the original idea was a drunken guy walking in a snowy field; you don’t see the drunken guy, but the camera suggests that he’s drunk because of the way it moves. So he walks and sways, and finally the camera goes up in the sky. When we did the cover for the “Two Virgins” album, where we were both naked, one of us said, “Why don’t we make a film where the camera moves from the ground up, shooting our naked bodies, and then just goes up in the air.” Later, John said, “Well, let’s make one where the camera goes up.” So the idea stemmed from that. What happened, of course, was that we didn’t expect the balloon film to be the way it was turned out. We went up in the balloon, and it happened to be a snowy day.
MacDonald: You were in the balloon with the camera?
Ono: Up to a certain point. The part where you go into the cloud, and then break out of the cloud, was taken later. The footage that came back from the lab was beautiful. It was just something that happened naturally, the dogs barking, everything that happened- it was an incredible experience. We didn’t expect it was going to be that beautiful. A lot of things just happen, you know.
MacDonald: If you allow them to, I guess.
Ono: Yes!
MacDonald: Fly seems almost the opposite of Apotheosis in a way; it seems…
Ono: Very much intentionally calculated?
MacDonald: Right.
Ono: It’s true
MacDonald: You did the sound [for the vocal piece Fly] before you did the film. Had you had the idea in mind then?
Ono: I was always thinking about the idea of fly. Actually, I was always fascinated with the pun “fly and “fly” in English. There was also a conceptual event about flies and where they fly to.
MacDonald: The piece you did for the Museum of Modern Art?
Ono: Yes. Did you see that Museum of Modern Art catalogue? [A 112-page, one foot by one foot catalogue- the title seems to be Museum of Modern FArt (Ono is carrying a shopping bag with the letter “F” directly beneath the Museum of Modern Art marquee)- which details her concept at length; the catalogue was designed by Ono and produced by Michael Gross.] At the end of that, I talk about how to fly,
MacDonald: I know the video with the sandwich-board guy in front of the Museum of Modern Art who interviews people about the Yoko Ono show that “isn’t there” [The Museum of Modern Art Show]. In the text for that piece, you explain how some flies were exposed to your perfume and let loose and that people are following those flies around to see where they land.
Ono: The catalogue was made for that event; it had all sorts of interesting stuff in it, about how to fly and all that. All the pages are postcards that you could mail, so the catalogue and Fly piece could fly all over the place.
MacDonald: So MoMA had this on sale?
Ono: No, no, no, no! MoMA would not do it. MoMA was busy saying to people, “There’s no Yoko Ono show here.” People would come in and ask, is there a Yoko Ono show, and they would say no. They were very upset; they didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t sell the book anywhere. Nobody bought it, so I have piles of it.
MacDonald: Earlier, in the mid sixties, you did a number of descriptions of environmental boxes that the viewer would go inside of and images would be projected on the outside. Eyeblink was involved in a number of those descriptions, and another was called “Fly”. I guess the idea was that a viewer would go inside the box and on all sides you would project images that would create the sensation that the viewer was flying.
Ono: How do you know about those boxes?
MacDonald: I found the descriptions in the Fluxus Codex, in the Yoko Ono section [See John Hendricks, Fluxus Codex (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1988), p.418 for the descriptions]. Was either piece ever built?
Ono: They were never built. I haven’t seen these ideas since I did them. Whenever I had an idea, I sent it to George Maciunas. He probably kept them. I don’t even have the originals for those. I’ll have to get this book. You know, I have this thing about reading about me. When something about me is in a book, I mostly don’t want to know about it.
MacDonald: One of the interesting things about watching the film Fly is that one’s sense of what the body we’re seeing is about, and what the film is about, is constantly changing.
Ono: A cartoon in a newspaper gave me the idea. There’s this woman with a low-cut dress, and a guy is looking at her, and the guy’s wife says, “What are you looking at!” and the guy says, “Oh, I’m looking at a fly on her.” I wanted the film to be an experience where you’re always wondering, am I following the movement of the fly or am I looking at the body? I think that life is full of that kind of thing. We’re always sort of deceiving ourselves about what we’re really seeing.
MacDonald: Do you know the Willard Maas film, Geography of the Body? It’s all close-ups of bodies, framed so that you can’t quite tell what body part you’re looking at- but they all look erotic. Eyeblink is a little like that, and Fly is full of the same effect. If you go close enough, every part of the body looks the same, and they’re all equally erotic.
Ono: Oh, there’s an incredible film instruction that has to do with that close-up idea. It’s a travelogue [“Film No.13 (Travelogue”]. You have a travelogue to Japan or somewhere, and you say, “Well, now I’m on Mount Fuji,” and there’s an incredible close-up of stones; and then, “We bathed in a mixed bath,” and you see just steam- you get it?- and then, “We ate noodles,” and you see an incredible close-up of noodles… so in effect you can make a travelogue of any country without going out of your apartment! “Then we saw geisha girls,” and you see an incredible close-up of hair [laughter]. I wanted to make that, but I just never got around it.
MacDonald: Freedom [1970], the little one-minute film of you trying to take your bra off, was made the same year as Fly.
Ono: Yeah, isn’t that a great little film?
MacDonald: It’s so paradoxical. You show freedom as the ability to try to break free, which implies that you’re never really free.
Ono: Right, exactly.
MacDonald: You mentioned earlier that you didn’t think Up Your Legs Forever worked as well as No.4 (Bottoms). I thought it was interesting to see that people’s one leg is very different from their other leg.
Ono: The best thing about that film is the title, I think. My first vision for that film was like going up all the legs, up, up, up, to eternity. [“Film No. 12 (Esstacy)”- the misspelling of “ecstasy” is left as it was in the original film script, at Ono’s request]. But in making it, that vision got lost because of what was necessary to film the legs. I don’t know how you can do what I originally had in mind.
MacDonald: Jonas and Adolfas Mekas are thanked at the end of Up Your Legs Forever.
Ono: Because they did the editing. That was one of the few films I didn’t edit myself.
MacDonald: Somebody mentioned to me the other day, and I assume it’s not true, that Erection was originally a film about John’s penis. Was there a film like that?
Ono: Yes, there was. But it wasn’t called Erection. I think it was called Self Portrait, and it wasn’t an erection, it was just a long shot of his penis. That was his idea. The funny thing was that Self Portrait was never questioned by customs because of it’s title, and Erection, which was about the erection of a building , was questioned.
MacDonald: Is there a relation between the 1971 version of Imagine and the recent Imagine: John Lennon?
Ono: There’s no relationship. We wanted to make surrealistic film in the tradition of Luis Bunuel and Jean Cocteau. It was John’s idea to say just one or two words at the beginning, and make the reset of the film silent, like silent movie. I liked that idea and we did it. I think that now it’s more or less known as a forefather of MTV. Each scene came from some idea John or I had. It was really a collaboration between John and me.
MacDonald: Are you involved in film now? Are you planning to make films? You made several videos in the early eighties, but it’s been a while since you’ve made a film.
Ono: I don’t know; it might get to that. I’m one of those people who can’t do something unless I’m totally motivated. That’s one of the reasons I jump from one medium to another. I did the Whitney Museum show, and suddenly all the inspiration is sculptural; and then last night or the night before, I went to the studio to do some music. But I’m not getting that feeling like I gotta make a film- except for The Tea Party [the film script “Film No.7 (Tea Party)”]: for years I’ve been wanting to make that one, but because of the technical difficulties I don’t seem to be able to get it together. I think one of the reasons I’m not making more films is that I’ve done so many film scripts. I’d like to see one of them made by somebody else. Maybe one day out of the blue I’ll feel it so strongly that I’ll make a film myself again.
.
The doors were closed as Julie arrived. Not a flicker of light inside the darkened recesses of the cheaply decorated restaurant as she placed the sopping wet end of her almost finished roll up back into her mouth and drew heavily on the nicotine which raced through her throat like an impetuous puppy dog chasing a ball.
Broadway Street was blissfully quiet on this end of season morning before the few tourists and locals who normally ventured out for a caffeine fix or the delights of a brunch, had shown their grubby little faces.
Another day of purgatory beckoned. Summer hours, oh such joy. She dreamed of those heady days of being seventeen once more, back to High school and the summer of nineteen sixty nine when she was crowned the proms beauty queen and Tommy Jay could not keep from putting his sticky hands and fingers all over the respectfully grateful and obliging recesses of her pert little body back then. But times change and the march of time cannot be halted by wishful thinking or fanciful notions.
Feeling a strand of hair brush against her nose, one which had somehow, miraculously evaded the bombardment of extra firm hold lacquer which had, as always, been liberally applied in an effort to keep the wayward beast at bay, Julie reached up with her right hand. Her eyes focussed upon the dry and wrinkled skin that clung to the bones in her hand, her gaze turning towards her reflection in the doorway glass which was most unflattering in it's portrayal of her features.
Life, it seems takes hold of those who so rapidly age, and despite recollections of youth that seemed just a matter of a few short years previously, Lady fate had intervened and dined upon the trials and tribulations of her misfortune, spitting out a dried up husk where once there had been such fresh faced beauty. She had not been the only one to view life through the bottom of an empty whiskey glass, as lady fate herself had raised her glass and toasted her sad demise.
She hardly recognised the washed out face now staring back at her in the smeary glass frontage. Now Sixty years worth of hopes and aspirations, self abuse and neglect had taken their toll as shallow, soulless eyes screamed from behind the thickly applied black mascara that would not have looked out of place on a Broadway rendition of the Rocky Horror picture show.
" You gotta be seen by the punters at the back Kid, lift the roof with that voice of yours"
She could hear her mothers proud words and see her standing there wiping non existent specks of dirt from her daughters cheeks with her wet handkerchief. Memories like daggers to the heart as a tiny pool of water welled within the confines of her right eye, causing her to gently drive it away with her fingers, laughing at her own frailties as she looked around and hoped that nobody had seen her. For a moment or too she stood and stared at her reflection, looking deeply like she had not done since the days of her stardom. Bleached blonde hair way too youthful for her advancing years, craggy flesh and wrinkles painted by layers of foundation that could no longer hide the bitter truth were hard to take. Singing the words to a Joe Walsh tune that she had back home in her collection, she threw her cigarette onto the floor in disgust.
" Life's been good to me so far "
Placing her black shiny stiletto over the cigarette she pushed down, arms folded across her chest and swivelled her foot to finish off those dying embers.
"Ain't that the bitch"
A husband who had long since left her for the youthful baby sitter with the perky breasts and buns like a gym teacher, who used to look after their son, and the memories of life before body shaper under garments which scooped up the lumps and bumps, sucked in the cellulite and kept everything self contained and pacified like a lion tamers whip and chair to his quarry, were all that now remained. And Arnie would soon be here to complete the misery of her demeanour.
Every inch the antithesis of the modern man, overweight and oversexed, rolls of putrid flab bouncing down from his stomach and erupting over his belt loops as gravity did her worst, chubby little fingers like hand made sausages with their innards exploding out of the seams pushing on the sellotaped black plastic frames of those Lennon styled spectacles which did their best to balance upon his squat nose and cauliflower ears. How he loved to fondle and grope whatever flesh of hers that he could grab on every occasion that she needed to pass him in the kitchen gantry as he prepared the fried gastronomic disasters that he coughed and sneezed over for the paying customers. She could almost taste his body odour without him being present, and smell the halitosis which emanated from within that vile and toothless mouth from which he offered regularly the speculative desires with which he hoped to fulfil on her reluctant flesh.
Summer hours and the prospect of staying till late each night, way past the time when the last sleepy punters had been prised from their twentieth coffee refill and pushed out into the moonlit night. The thrill of cashing up with that fat fuck trying any which way to get a hand in those armoured knickers of hers, when the only stiff thing that she required came out of a bottle and read forty per cent proof on the side in pleasingly bolt font. She'd stumble home in those damned high heels, eventually conceding defeat and whipping them off to walk barefoot those last few hundred yards to her grimy backstreet apartment five floors up in a part of town where even the muggers were scared to venture out alone.
How life can suck sometimes.
Looking down at her suitably cheesey peach and white uniform, Julie afforded herself a wry smile. It seemed like gravity had spent more than the prerequisite time on her body as she noticed how everything seemed to have shifted and gone south of the state line these days. Had her left breast always been so lopsided, or was it just the cut of her blouse, she pondered.
“ Ma would turn in her grave”, she murmured, as she raised her left wrist and gazed at the miniscule black hands on her Timex wristwatch, given to her by her son the last Christmas before he moved away for good. Now she treasured his rare phone calls and even more the infrequent letters promising one day that he'd visit with Melissa and the kids, though that had never yet happened. Those letters remained filed and placed within the pretty pink cardboard box that nestled underneath her creaky old worn out bed in that cockroach infested apartment.
“ For Christ's sake Arnie, you annoying little fat man, where the hell are you “, she rattled off impatiently, turning to scour the streets for any sign of her employer. Whoever would have thought it. Seven bucks an hour taking orders from happy folk who little knew the pain and turmoil that their dutiful and attentive waitress felt within, nor the life that she might have had if she had followed her talent and not been quite so timid. Once the words of Streisand, Ella Fitzgerald, Elkie Brooks and Julie London used to leave her lips, whereas these days only regret and sadness seemed to do so.
“ Cry me a river..... I'm positively God damned drowning in those tears honey “
It was a quarter to eleven, fifteen minutes before opening time. Fifteen all too brief minutes until the clock hands reached their destination, heralding the sheer unadulterated hell of another working day to keep the drinks cupboard stocked and the demons at bay. Such a long fall from grace. And oh so quick was that fall. But old habits die hard and perhaps there was a little show still left inside the girl. Just then, Julie felt the urge to sway and sing, like a scene from a Gene Kelly film, Ginger Rogers to Fred Astaire as she shimmied as best she could in those high heels, swivelling her ageing hips and singing away, oblivious to all and sundry around her at the time.
“ Old man trouble, I don't mind him, You won't find him round my door I've got starlight”
In her mind, Julie was transported back to those days of seventeen when she was that beauty queen, back to the days when she could sing and dance and the sparkle and effervescence had not yet left those jaded eyes. In her mind, she still had it.
In her mind.
.
Written on December 2nd 2011
Photograph taken at 09:43am on August 30th 2011 off Broadway Street and the North Roosevelt highway 101 in Seaside, off the Oregon Coast Highway 101, Oregon, USA.
Nikon D700 48mm 1/125s f/9.0 iso200
Nikkor AF-S 24-70mm f/2.8G ED IF. UV filter. Nikon GP-1 GPS. Hand held
LATITUDE: N 45d 59m 35.32s
LONGITUDE: W 123d 55m 39.73s
ALTITUDE: 17.0m
River Grau skids to a stop once he reaches the railing at the docks. "Beat yeah!" He grins under his mask as he pulls himself ontot he railing and over the other side.
Jaina Lefevre slows down as she reaches the railing and heads for the ramp, skipping down. "That's cause you got faster sneakers. Mine are slow."
River Grau pushes off and lands onto the sandy ground below. "Your sneakers are slow, just like you!" He ran towards the chairs, shuffling sand around.
Jaina Lefevre sticks her tongue out at him and then moves towards the edge of the water. She walks along slow and stops to pick up a bit here and there, then holds them out on her hand. "See? These get washed off and they're pretty."
River Grau nodded and looked over to the little glass peices. "Oh. What did they used to be before they looked like glass? Glass ain't just appear from no where."
Jaina Lefevre shrugs and pushes them around with her finger. "Bottles and jars and plates and cups and stuff. Sometimes they comes from old, old ships that sank ..." she grins up at him. "Like pirates..."
River Grau nodded, sticking his shoe in the water. "Pirates are supposed to be on ships but that Kat lady she was cat gem of the pirates. An' she ain't got a wooden leg or parrot, but she seemed cool. 'Cause -all- pirates are cool."
SierraAlexandria Ahn stands on tiptoes trying to see over the railing"ninjas better the pirates."
Jaina Lefevre looks up at the new girl. "Nuh uh." She curls her fingers around the glass and then hands them to River. "Here...let's keep lookin."
River Grau takes out his phone just to send a text message before slipping it back in his pocket. He looks over his shoulder at the new girl before looking back at Jaina. "Okay." He nudges the ground with his shoe, searching.
Jaina Lefevre watches the new girl go and mutters. "Copycat." about the ponytails. She wanders along the edge of the beach, sneakers getting a little wet as she picks up more seaglass. "Ooh! I got a red one!"
River Grau notices a couple of peices glinting in the sand. Reaching down, he grabs two peices of glass. A green one and a brown one. "Like these? Green is nice, I ain't sure I like the other one." His phone vibrates and he sends off another text.
Luci Jameson hops and jumps down the steps to the beach, a book tucked under her arm. "Hey hey hey hey, Jainey-loo!"
Jaina Lefevre turns as she hears the call. "Luci!" She waves frantically and takes a few steps closer...out of the muddy area. "Look! River and I are findin' more sea glass bits. I got a red one!"
Luci Jameson walks carefully across the beach so she doesn't get sand in her sneakers. "Ya know, I never saw that sh--stuff, before you gave me the one I got. But it's frickin everywhere." She rattles her arm, bracelets jangling. "Got something for youz."
River Grau threw away the brown one from his pile and hodlds up the green one to show Luci. "An' I gotta green one. Mine is nicer."
Jaina Lefevre looks at River and grins, then shoves her bits of glass into her bag. "You got somethin' for me?" She pats her bag. "I got jeans. I made sure, so we could do an 'venture."
Luci Jameson grins down at the bear mask. "You got a face under there, little dude? I like green AND red, ya know." She unties one of the bracelets around her wrist, a brand spanking new one in purple and blue with glitter and little zigzag bolts knotted into the design. "Ooooh. You're like a girl scout. All prepared and stuff."
Jelly Tremor limped over to the rail. Too soon to walk, but she didn't care. Black pearl eyes watching the other kids on the beach. Respirator releasing the softest of hisses.
River Grau shakes his head at Luci, "I'm a bear. Rawrrrr." Frowning under his mask he sent out another text, "If she dun' message me, then Mister Randulf is gonna be my Daddy without askin'. Her fault." He grumbled. An ear flicked as he heard the respirator noises and tried to pinpoint the familiar noise as he had yet noticed Jelly.
Jaina Lefevre looks at the bracelet and her eyes go wide. "You made me a new lucky bracelet?" She looks from the bracelet, to Luci and back again. "Really?" Then she frowns. "What's a girl scout? Is that like a park ranger?" She looks over at River and nods. "Good."
Luci Jameson stoops to put her book on the sand. She straightens and unties the bracelet. "Gimme your wrist, Jainey-loo. Yup. New lucky bracelet. And we'll tie this one on so it won't fall off. Girl Scouts...they've like rangers, yeah. Sure. Sort of. They go to meetings and sell cookies and do fun stuff for badges on their uniforms." She glances over at River. "Who you texting, Brer Bear?"
Jelly Tremor climbed up the railing with her sticky little hands before dropping down the other side. Keeping her right leg straight. Landing hard on her left. Dragging her right foot in the soft shifting sand towards the group.
River Grau lifted his head to answer Luci and noticed Jelly. He waved. "My Momma, need'a ask if Mister Randulf can be my Daddy or not. Maybe he ain't gonna say yes though, I gotta wait two days." He eyes the salamander's foot, "You get hurt?"
Jaina Lefevre holds out her wrist for Luci and just stares in awe at the beautiful bracelet. "It's the bestest thing ever..." she whispers and then glances over at Jelly. "Ooh..you hurted? You gonna be okay?"
Luci Jameson looks behind her. The mask--gas mask? wtf?--makes her frown, and squint for a closer look, but that's it. "That," she says, "is a tremendously cool jacket." She wraps the bracelet around Jaina's wrist and ties it carefully, tight enough to stay, but not too snug. "There ya go, Jainey-loo. All yours. You gotta name it, too. If you name something, you put magic in it. Betcha didn't know that." She grins.
Jelly Tremor patted the small cast around her knee. "It got blowed off last night. Ain't nuffin'. It'll be good as new inna couple days.", black eyes smiling to the group. Hiding the pain the jolt from jumping down did to her. Respirator hissing with another breath while she eyed over the new person. "Thanks ya... I did have blood all over it tho... hadda wash it at da commie center."
Luci Jameson's eyes widen. "Jiminy, kiddo! What is up with you guys getting hurt all the dang time? Learn to run faster, munchkins." She puts her hands on her hips and rocks in the sand. "Look. You know, I came to Midian...holy crud, more than a year ago. And I've NEVER been caught, or stabbed, or shot. Had one guy try to kick my teeth in, but I ran faster than him."
Jaina Lefevre touches the bracelet with her fingertips and her eyes shine as she looks up at Luci. "Gonna call it 'zaps' cause it has bolts on it." She reaches out to give Luci a hug if she lets her. "Thank youse." Then glances up at her. "Bullets is faster'n running."
River Grau 's brow furrowed as his phone buzzed and he typed away at his important questions. An ear flicked to show he was still listening to Jelly. "Oh, so you can grow 'em back? Legs an stuff? You should been to church last night, it was fun. There was'a fight an' everything." He left out who was fighting.
SierraAlexandria Ahn hops down and looks at the older kids"hewos."
Luci Jameson crouches down and snuggle-hugs Jaina tight. "Welcome, kiddo." She leans back and bites her lip. "Yeah, I know. Bullets is faster. You sound like That Guy that Guin makes keep an eye on me." She smooths Jaina's shirt. "Maybe he should be keeping an eye on you guys."
Sable Levee just smirks as leaning on the railing seeing all the brats below thinks of yelling out BOO just to see them scatter
Jelly Tremor shrugged her small shoulders. "I ain't planned on gettin' shot, but he seen me an' shot me leg off before I stabbed his friend.", she shrugged a little. Looking to River. "Yah. I can grow 'em back, but I got it reattached cause I didn' wanna be inna wheelchair while it did... an' I heard. I was dis'pointed I missed it.", her eyes smiled to River, but looked to the new kid.
Jaina Lefevre grins. "Who's That Guy?" She asks Luci, then glances over at Jelly. "My Mommy got her leg shot too but she's all better fast." She looks over at River. "That's cause River likes fights, but only sometimes." A glance at the new girl and she mutters "Copycat" and turns away.
River Grau looked up from his texting. For now, he ignored the new girl behind him mostly because he did not like new children most of the time. "Oh, I wish I could grow foots an' stuff." Blinking at Jaina, he shrugged. "I ain't start the fight. She just blamed me for gettin' hurt an' attacked me."
River Grau looks up from his text and at Jaina, "Momma says I can't get'a Daddy unless she marries."
Luci Jameson stands up again. Criminy, she's taller than all of them. Ankle biters, whoo! "He's...um...That Guy. Guin's friend. Name's Bastian. SEbastian. Tall, long hair, looks Mexican. Carries knives and smokes these cigarettes that smell like cookies." She looks over at River again. "Who's your mom?"
SierraAlexandria Ahn shuffles her feet slightly"what you doings?"
Jelly Tremor's mask gurgles with a broken giggle. "Yah. AIn't gonna take me no time ta be all better.". she stepped closer. Using her tail for balance. "I sure a fight'll happen if I went ta school.. Conor go there too?", she asked to anyone that would know before looking back to the new girl. "Talkins. Who are ya?"
Jaina Lefevre rolls her eyes at River. "Well, then she should be a better Mommy. Daddies and Mommies don't have to be together - just has to be Daddy and Mommy to -you-. Besides. He's around. She's not." She shrugs. It seemed awful simple to her. "Can I meets him, Luci? And can we has an 'venture?" She looks over at Sierra. "And you can't come, cause...cause you're wearin' pink." She grins at Jelly. "Yeah...Conor was there. Flirtin' with the new girl."
SierraAlexandria Ahn curtizes" my name is sierra."
River Grau stares at his phone, frowning. "Miss Alayni is my Momma.." He nods to Jelly, "Yeah, he goes there. Ain't gonna talk to him now more though, he's mean." A new text message was sent.
SierraAlexandria Ahn looks at the Jaina girl and looks down at the sand"why...can't i come? Dis is what me was sent her with..."eyes water up slightly
Luci Jameson wrinkles up her nose. "He won't let you. He's all the time keeping an eye on me to make sure nothing happens. Bo-o-oring. We can have an adventure without him. And sorry I missed class last night. I wanted to be there, but I sorta lost track of time." She ignores the two girls and lets them duke it out, because dude, that's the way things go. She nods at Jelly. "What's up with the mask?"
Jelly Tremor nods while her eyes grin at the news. "Goood..", her mask hissing with her cooed word. She glanced down to her knee. Hoping it would be better sooner than later. Eyes blinking as she looked up to Luci. "It helps me breathe.. My lungs could dry out an' I could die wit'out it for too long."
Luci Jameson's eyes widen. "Dude, that SUCKS."
River Grau sighs, shoulders slumping. "Momma say that is broken family an dun' wanna broken family.. When a Daddy an' Momma ain't together." He looks down at the sandy beach, sighing. "An' I really wanted Mister Randulf to be my Daddy."
Jaina Lefevre shrugs. "Cause you're wearin' pink." She turns to Luci. "Okay. I gots pants. I can put them on under my skirt and we can go, yeah?" She looks over at Jelly, eyes wide. "Wow, that must suck. Guess you won't be kissin' no boys neither, huh? It's okay. It isn't all that great." She glances quickly at River and frowns. "Ain't broken. Broken is when a Mommy don't come around for weeks and leaves you 'lone. That's broken."
Jelly Tremor shrugs a little. "Kinda used ta it now.", she mentioned till she looked to River. "Ya can have more'n one daddy. Ain't nuffin' wrong wit' dat. Ya gotta do watcha gotta do ta survive an' be happy."
SierraAlexandria Ahn walks over and out of the blue kicks Jaina in the knee"you big meanie!"
River Grau blinks a little at his text, scratching the side of his head. "Momma says she likes Mister Randulf. But says I only gonna have a Daddy if she marries somebody.. Maybe I can ask them to marry." He nods to Jelly.
Luci Jameson gives Jaina a rueful smile. "I can't right now, Jainey-loo. I've got to go soon." She stoops and picks up her book again, waves it a bit. "Schoolwork. Sister Lis gives me the stinkeye if I don't get it done before supper. And...hey! What the fuck?" She blinks at Sierra and snatches at the kid to haul her back. "God, are you on crack?!"
SierraAlexandria Ahn swings her arms as she is grabbed, hissing "dun touch me!"
River Grau grinned widely as his phone buzzed again, "I can have him as a Daddy if he says yes!" He even bounced a little on his heels he was so happy. "I'm gonna have a Momma and a Daddy if he says yes."
Luci Jameson doesn't let go. "Oh, what...I can't touch you, but you can go kicking peeps? Knock it off, Princess Pimpsmack."
Jaina Lefevre sidesteps Sierra's kick and moves to shove her with both hands, but Luci saves her - maybe. "Maybe her brains dried out 'cause she ain't got a mask like Jelly." She glares at the little girl. "You're a booger-snot."
SierraAlexandria Ahn blinks, tilting her head to the side"what pimpsmack means?"yep she was distracted already, who would blame her she was only 4
Jelly Tremor furrowed her brows at the new girl. Li'l spunk in that one. Eyes went back to River with her hidden smile. "Good ta hear!", but then she heard the mask comment. "eh maybe.", she looked back to the new girl then. "Ya need a steam mask too?"
SierraAlexandria Ahn reaches into her backpack pulling out an inhaler"i gots dis if me needs it."
River Grau snapped out of his texting trance now that was taken care of. He growls at Sierra. "Get away from Jaina or I will throw you in the ocean an' put your head there 'till you dun' b reath no more. You ever even -touch- my bestest friend again.." He glared, and looked like he might mean it.
SierraAlexandria Ahn pouts"i sowwy, hew say me can pway cause i wears pinks. i sorries. forgib me?"
Jaina Lefevre grins over at River and shoulder-nudges him. "That's good stuff, River. See? It's all good. Then you won't be jealous 'cause you got people too." She looks at the brat and then puffs up as River defends her. Yep. This is a good day. Learned about kissing and got a lucky bracelet and River stood up for her.
Luci Jameson eyes Sierra. "Never mind what it means." Pink skirt, shoes, looked clean. Somebody's kid, not street. "And take it down a notch, little dude." She laughs, grins at River, and sets Sierra back on her feet. "That's, like, serial killer talk."
SierraAlexandria Ahn: me just got dwopped off in da city
SierraAlexandria Ahn: da people just put me down beside da cab and gots back in an left*pouts*
Jelly Tremor: "Whats wrong wit' drownin' Someone? Is more fun ta stab here.", points to her shoulder where it meets the neck. "Get it good, ya sever da major veins an they bleed out."
River Grau blinks a bit. He was only trying to scare the child and has yet to hurt someone unless in self defence. "Yeah, join the club." He rolled his eyes. "You hurt Jaina, I hurt you, got it??"
Jaina Lefevre looks at the weird kid. "You brain damaged or somethin? I'm -five- and I can at least manage whole words, nevermind sentences." She sighs and looks over at River. "Thanks River. Tha's cool."
Luci Jameson's eyebrows lift. Okaaaaay, conversation went to weird place in 2.5 seconds. "So, yeah, homicidal kids. It's frickin Children of the Corn. Aaaanyway, I'm outta here. See ya around, Jainey-loo."
SierraAlexandria Ahn looks down shuffling feet" i don'ts hear that goods so my speech not that goods."
Jelly Tremor narrowed her eyes at the new girl. Working it over in her head before. "Eh too much work.", she looked to Luci with a giggle. "Ya dunno my momma, do ya?"
SierraAlexandria Ahn points to the hering aids in her ears.
Jaina Lefevre waves to Luci. "See ya Luci! Thanks for my bracelet!" She glances at the kid. "Maybe you should see my Auntie Lilli. She can drill holes in your head and make it -alll- better."
SierraAlexandria Ahn looks down her eyes watering up, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand
Luci Jameson lifts both hands, the book in one. "Not sure I want to meet your mom, kiddo. No offense. I'll stick with Father E and the nuns. Bye, guys." She starts away. Wow. Sister Lis would hear that stuff and shit technicolor Twinkies.
SierraAlexandria Ahn wanders off following Luci
Jelly Tremor cackled with Luci's answer. "Damn skippy ya dun wanna meet her.."
SierraAlexandria Ahn sees Luci go and runs off crying
Jaina Lefevre snorts and shakes her head. "Dumb baby." She looks over at Jelly. "My Moms are pretty scary too. So..I'm Jaina..."
River Grau waves to Luci as she leaves. "I still think your mom is gonna attack me but she ain't seem as scary as she usually is." He laughs a little as he sees the girl run off crying. "My Mom ain't scary but she's a doctor and real nice an' gives lotsa hugs."
Jelly Tremor looked back to Jaina with her eyes grinning. "Names Jelly... An yah, River... she been Diff'rent lately. Says she's found someone, but I dunno.. she ain't tellin' me who."
Jaina Lefevre nods. "My moms are scary kinda different...and River's mom is nice sometimes but she don't wear much clothes."
River Grau shakes his head, "My Momma is nice. She was happy when she found out that I wanted Mister Randulf as my Daddy. I think she was scared she ain't know who I was askin'. ..an' most nobody wears clothes here. It's hot. an.. an.." He really couldn't think of any more excuses.
Jelly Tremor looked away a little. "I think I talked ta her once, but I try not ta talk an' meet too many peoples. Momma choked me an' dragged me 'roun' town last time... er literally dragged.", she nodded.
Jaina Lefevre giggles at River. "It's not /that/ hot. And Mama Deets dresses pretty, and Mommy Deb dresses in uniforms." She looks at Jelly. "I knowed I was a little freaked by you at first. You made me feel scared. But I ain't scared no more - and I ain't gonna touch you, but that's cause you'll make me itch. Not 'cause I'm scared."
River Grau nodded at Jaina, "Good 'cause it ain't good to be scared. I mean yah can be scared an' that's okay, but it matters how yah act when scared. Screamin' an' cryin' or bein' mean to people ain't a way of bein' scared. Just gets more trouble an' feelings hurt."
Jelly Tremor giggles. "I wouldn' letcha touch me anyways... so yah. I ain't gonna ever be able ta kiss noone.. or hugga normal person, but I ain't gonna hurtcha less ya do somethin' ta make me mad."
Jaina Lefevre looks from River to Jelly. "Do they has boys like you? And...you /really/ don't wanna kiss a boy. It's kinda dumb. I don't get why 'dults do it so much. Just made my nose tickle."
River Grau says nothing about the kissing. In fact, he would look away from Jaina as he grumbled and mumbled lowly. "You asked for the stupid kissin', not like I wanted to."
Jelly Tremor was peanut's hellspawn after all. She shook her head a little at the question. "Only my real daddy, but me an' momma hadda kill him..", she murmured with a small lower of her head. Giving a shrug. "Who said I wanted ta kiss a boy..?", she grinned at that one. Looking back to jaina.
Jaina Lefevre looks back at River for a moment and then turns to Jelly. "You wanna kiss girls instead? My Mama's kiss a lot, but they don't make babies."
River Grau sighs at all this talk about kissing. He didn't want to talk about this as it seemed silly so shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Sea glass.. Oh, we were looking for sea glass." His attention turned tot he ground, in which he started searching in.
Jelly Tremor shrugged a little while she straightened up a bit. trying to atleast put a little weight on her hurt leg, but couldn't. "Ain't like I could if I wanted anyways.", she mentioned to jaina before looking to River. "Sea glass?"
Jaina Lefevre grins and nods. 'Yeah. I was showin' River how to find seaglass. It's really pretty and when you clean it up it's all shiny like treasure." She digs in her bag and holds out a piece of shimmery blue smooth glass. "See?"
Jelly Tremor raised her brows at the smooth glass. Small hand reaching out for it, but she pulled it back. Not wanting to get the piece of glass all slimey. "It is purty.", she agreed with a nod.
Jaina Lefevre reaches forward and drops the 1/2 inch diameter flattened ball into Jelly's hand. "Here...you can have it. And if you get it all slimy, it'll shine more...see?"
Peanut Scientist shifts her critical eye from her daughter to Syle. She was in a rather good mood, until she saw Jelly's injuries, attitude changing like a girl's decision on a prom dress. Crossing her arms, she slowly shakes her head, "Since when did MPD start carin' 'bout mah kind, hm? Part'cularly meh ass an' how its doing. But ah'll tickle yer curiosity. Just stitch'd up, oth'rwise fine. Anythin' else yeh wanna ask -off'cer-?"
Jelly Tremor jerked her hand back a little. Afraid to touch it since it was Jaina's before she was told. Looking down to it. She rubbed her slime around the smooth glass. Seeing how much prettier it looked. That made her smile. "Thanks, Jaina.", her black orbs smiling to the other girl till she heard her Momma. Head turning to look.
Sayde Fall looked down the boardwalk once more. "You do what you have to do to survive love. Especially here."
Jaina Lefevre grins at Jelly and watches the bit of glass shimmer. "Tha's cool. You can make 'em prettier." She picks up one in her hand and rubs the sand off and then spits on it, rubbing it around in her hand with spit. "Nope. Don't work so good."
Akiel Martian: "Aye, tell who hurt yer lass, so I can rip their throat out..", he said, again, casually. Smiling pleasantly, "..ye' whether it be on or off duty, I dun' tolerate people touchin' a child fer anythin' other than a spankin' and it better damn well be their kid they be spankin'..", his gaze shifted back to the children and nodded, sighing a bit, "..glad you're alright."
Jelly Tremor looked back to jaina as she giggled. Watching the wad of spit coat the new piece. "Try droppin' it in a glassa water an' placin' a light source near it.", she smiled. Opening her jacket to slip her piece of smooth glass into her pocket. head turning again to look towards her momma and Wolf. "It was one a them cops las' night. Blew m'leg clean off at da knee."
Peanut Scientist turns on her heel, striding up to Syle and going to wrap her fingers around his vest to bring him down to her level. Whether she did so or not she'd still whisper harshly, masking hissing as she kept her tone low. Her tail whipped about in agitation, slime slapping against the pavement.
Jaina Lefevre looks over at Jelly and then up at Peanut. "I think yer mom is kinda pissed. I'm gonna go try the water thing. Bye Jelly! " She grins and waves and then makes her way up the ramp.
Jelly Tremor smiles a bit and waves to Jaina. "See ya 'roun'.", though she turned to limp towards the ramp as well. Dragging her leg through the sand.
May 2002. "The Met Cafe", Providence, RI.
From "the tour diary":
monday, may 13, 2002 - providence, ri
from pete:
woke up very well rested in vivek and tracey's pad in the sky. their turtle rex was staring at me out of his aquarium home, and I stared back at him wondering what he was really thinking. this was to be my last week of the tour so I was starting to feel a little melancholy (lights go down, violins play in background). as much as I miss lil the kill and the kids, I going to very much miss being in tour mode and playing w/watt and jer. at this point in the tour we've become a pretty well oiled machine and the shows have become much less scary and quite a bit tighter. hopefully things will fall into place when I get back and I'll be able to do the tour in the fall (it'll be a big step for me but I am forever the optimist).
vivek walks us back down to street level and we leg it on over to the lot where we parked the boat. watt pays the damage ($28.00!). we bid goodbye to and thank him and we're off towards providence. the sky is very dull and gray and the rainy weather hasn't let up yet (it's been with us since north carolina). we get out of manhattan relatively easy and I try to take some snaps as we go down FDR drive but there's too much rain and haziness to take anything remotely viewable. I am excited as I'm going to meet joe d. (aka joe depasquale) for the first time. mike's been telling us about him the whole trip and he sounds like an interesting cat. joe d. worked for the mayor, buddy ciani, who is being brought up on corruption charges and all kinds of other shit, it's front page news up here and it looks like they're going to put this cat away for a long time (they've got video of him and some of his crew accepting bribes. they called it "bringing the pizza and soda"). joe is also running for town council in providence (it's his fourth try).
we pull up to the pad around 3:00 (a place called the met cafe). parking is really scarce but we found a spot about a block away from the club, the only downside being that we would have to leg all the tools a good distance to the club in the rain (though it wasn't raining too hard at this point). nobody was at the club yet and we had about two hours til' loadin so me and jer went in search of some chow. we find a little deli right down the street from the pad called nick's, I order a tuna sandwich while jer orders some gluttenous item. the chow was very good. we finish eating and just then it starts to pour outside (buckets) so we dwcide to go back to the boat. as we near our spot we notice a big tourbus and trailer parked in front of this old theater that is a couple of doors down from the met, looks like there was another band playing right next to us so of course we had to go check it out. there were some cats that looked like crew members standing outside so jer asked them what band it was. "monster magnet" the cat replies. the guys name was ben and he was on the magnet crew. the place they were playing is called lupe's and is connected to the met and owned by the same cats only it's bigger. we watch as the cats load out all of the tools. those guys had so much equipment it was amazing! jer goes into the pad to ask if we can park behind the tour bus as there is a large space blocked off and our equipment will get drenched in the rain. the cat (I think he worked for lupo's) tells jer "no, I guess you're shit out of luck as we have another tourbus coming." well thanks for helping out the little guy you fucking putz, (fwiw, the cats on the monster magnet crew cool to us). watt goes to talk to someone inside and gets the same speil, only this guy tells him "well you know man, big band, big bus, little band, little bus, whatever. one of the crew cats says we can park the boat in back of the bus to unload, but we have to move it again. watt decides against this as we would probobly end up losing our coveted space and end up having to park much farther away. the downpour lets up a little but it's still coming down pretty good but we opt to do the load-in anyway. we get about half the tools into the pad when it starts coming down like niagara falls. me and watt make a run for it and jump in the back of the boat and shut the hatch. after about five minutes there is a slight respite in the downpour (it's still coming down but not so agro). we finish the loadin and set up the tools on stage after which the soundman (john) shows up. the monster magnet's lighting guy shows up to take a peek and rap w/watt and gives him a cd of his own band. the cat (tim is his name) is really cool and asks us what time we're going on. "11:00," watt replies. "well doesn't that eat a bag of dicks" he replies (monster magnet is going on at the same time). he said he and a bunch of his crew mant to come in an check it out if they can. watt says "sure, no problem." some of the crew come in to hear our soundcheck and applaud approvingly when we're done. me and jer are hungry so we go in search of some chow. jer wanted to go to this small sushi place but it was closed, so we find a little cuban joint next door. the chow is very kind and we munch happily. we head on back to the pad and once again it is pouring so we run in quickly. monster magnet is in the midst of their soundcheck and we check it out for a while. not really anything to pique our interest so we go back into the met. jer goes to chimp diary on his puter while I sit in the dressing room chimping in longhand. cobra does their soundcheck and they sound very good. I continue my chimping as I am way behind.
I hear cobra start the set and stop my chimping. I decide to lay my head back and give 'em a listen. they are raging as always and the crowd is extemely raging. I peek outside the door and the place is packed! I can't believe it. monday nite, pouring rain and these cats brave the elemants to see the show. much respect to all of you. the cobra's do their last song so I go to wake up the chief. I inforrm him (as jerry informed me) that there are twice as many people at our show as there is at monster magnets' (I felt bad for them and the road crew having to do all that work for naught but somebody on their crew definitely tossed some bad karma our way and it came back to 'em). the chief is incredulous but shares my feelings about the bad karma thing.
mike does the segueway into the first song and my rig takes a dump once again. shit! I yell for mike to stop and start to do a spiel while I try to get the machine going again. after about five minutes I am successful and we continue with the set. the crowd is very understanding about the glitch and they give us much love and enthusiasm during the set. to compound my nervousness about my rig, john the singer of cobra verde has issued us a challenge; we have to do a spiel about the tour in croatian (watt tells me to say something about what I learned on my first tour; sage advice he calls it). I am really nervous about it but watt tells me it'll be a great character builder so I can't possibly back down. after we do the "big bang theory" watt stops us and tells me to do the spiel. I'm furiously thinking about what to say so I calm myself down and give a little preface to the crowd in english and then continue in croatian, first thing I say I learned is not to drink any bottles of yellow liquid in the boat, second, never ake the captain before he's suppposed to be awakened, third, the answer my friend is not blowin in the wind, and fourth and more important (I said this in english also), is that all over the country, no matter where we've been, people are pretty much the same. there are the good, and there are the bad. I think the people dug on it very much and I'm glad I did it (mike liked it too). the remainder of the show went off without any glitches and I felt really good about the gig (accept for the rain). joe d. came up and introduced himself and introduced me to "mahk" (mark) whose pad we were crashing at. joe d. and his crew helped us load up the boat and we steam off to "mahk's." I'm a little wired up still so I read some of the tour diaries on the hoot page until the sandman hits, after which I konk. hard. laku noc sviraci...
from jer:
I awake in the room vivek set up for us and hop in the shower. very nice pad he has. inherited from his parents a few years ago, now shared w/tracy. I enjoy the view of the city from the corner windows and pet murf the kitty a little. I grab my goods and vevek walks us down to the boat. I nap a hot cocoa from a street vender and catch up at the parking lot. we thank vevek and shove off towards conn.. good timing for a depart and no traffic problems getting out of the city. ny can be nightmare at any time. once clear of the metro area the country side changes to a more rural surrounding. I rest some as we pass into conn.. the state's get smaller in new england so crossing 'em becomes a shorter journey. in no time rhode island comes into view. I watch as pete has difficulties w/directs as usual. the downtown area fortunately is small and the met is found w/just a couple turns. parking here is lame and mike get lucky w/a spot on the same street. someone put up some barriers in front of the club not allowing anyone to park. it's now raining and I see the writing on the wall. gear soak! before loadin pete and myself grab a bite at the deli on the corner. cheap sands. and a dry place to kick for a while. we return to throw the gear and a tour bus is parked in front of the lupo (club next door). we go to examine the deal. monster magnet is playing the big room tonight and I watch as they discharge the piles of equipment. some guy named ben talks some and is bummed that he has to work the merch. for the magnet and can't see our show. a good 1/2 hour goes by and still the gear is being unloaded. I use the door to enter the met from the side. looks a little different from the show of last time. more space for the peoples. searching out an employee of the joint I inquire about parking the boat in front of the club. there's a couple dudes claiming the status and have no trouble telling me I'm "shit out of luck." the rain falls harder. we get the gear and huff it in the downpour. I'm soaked, pete soaked, mike soaked, gear soaked! after all the stuff is in the boss man arrives and informs us that we could have parked in front and the pions don't know their dick from their ass. I towel my drums and get the set up on. the cobras show and have the same soak issues. w/the check concluded I tell pete of a good sushi pad a block and we dash in the rain to chow. of course today's the only day of the week their closed and we opt for a cuban diner next door. it's cheaper and not bad so no complaints. I decide to chimp at the bar tonight and get inspiration from the rock.
I told by mike prior to our set that a local cat named ted will be jamming w/us on two wire songs from the jom and terry show set. pete doesn't know 'em so it's a three piece jam. I'm kinda scared playing 'cause the last time through I had a tough gig. kel was in town and I had some focus problems. this one I'm gonna be on the ball. things roll good and only a small hiccup on bursted man. the set ends and for the encore mike brings up ted. he starts the tune and its much slower than we ever did it. I try to adjust and end up speeding the tune along. mike yells and hisses to slow back to ted pace. I'm so used to doing it faster it's kinda autotron. w/the second tune I stay on the beat and it keeps together. thanks ted for doing a good job. pete returns and the shows finished. I kick and rap w/sean of prov. the kind fellow who put us up last time. he informs me we can't stay at his pad any more 'cause mike smoked so many cigs in the house the smell lingered for 4 days. the wife didn't dig that one t'all. joe depasquale comes to say hi and I meet his pal mark (were staying w/him). joe promises to take us to breakfast in the morning at some grease spoon.
w/mark in the boat we shove off to the crash pad of the night. on the road out of town the rain starts falling hard and visibility diminishes to near blinding levels. mike takes it slow and we navigate off the highway safely. mark's pad in sight we park and I grab my shit fast as not to get totally soaked loitering outside. I'm offered a couch in a separate room and mark hooks me up w/an electric blanket. warm and cozy I will be. I rap a few minutes w/kel and make sure all is well w/her return. her ma was a no show at the house for mothers day and she's feeling a bit lonely. I cheer her up and give her my best reassurance speech. a strong girl she is and it'll take a lot more than a flaky episode to knock my lady down. be good sweetie. I now lay me down to sleep.
from watt:
pop and say hi to murphy the orange cat. he seems tongue-tied. he loves the fingers raking him soft on the back though. I look out the window - whoa, what a drop - straight down! watt's got vertigo and it spooks me, even w/the glass there. what a view though looking straight out, it's towards brooklyn and I'm transfixed for a while, just thinking and thinking - nothing on purpose but just letting things naturally come to me. my head gets warm, gets airy. I hose off and then roust my guys so we can bail early, easier to make the escape from new york city. while they ready, I see the ny times on the table and there's an article on hindu nationalists in india. vivek's family's from india though most live in guiana now. I ask him what he knows about this. he's not that informed, he's been back there only once. I tell him about our name, the minutemen and one reason we picked it in the old days. there was this group of rightwing militant types called the minutemen in the sixties who threatened those who they thought weren't "american enough." we thought if there was another group w/the same name, people would get confused (obviously, we had a much different message) and that would dilute their nonsense. d. boon said those minutemen were reactionary and using the quote, "all reactionaries are paper tigers," he thought it was funny for us to be called that. funnier even, the punk band we started more than a year before the minutemen was in fact, called the reactionaries. it was for the same reason: to get people to challenge labels, messages, slogans, ideologies - all that kind of conflict. d. boon had a knack w/that sort of thing. I had a list of all these band names and he picked both of those from it - god, were most of them the silliest in the world. I'm can be pretty silly even when I think I'm so serious. I lose perspective and the outside gets a big laugh on my insides. d. boon had a good sense at taking on conflict in the social sense. damn, I wish he could've helped me w/the ones raging in my head. in a way, he did by helping me learn to express myself and force me to make myself more clear. d. boon always wanted a clear-headed watt and couldn't fathom why I would get things all so tangled up inside. he said I was too stuffed w/stress, that's why it showed in my music, my words and my way of interacting. he said I had my own industry of it in me - it's own economy, politics and religion w/it. d. boon was always very honest w/me. I loved him so for that, among other things. I could always count on d. boon not to shit me or pull punches when it came to how he felt about me. at the same time, he put so much confidence in me. I could never be scared being next to d. boon. well, the fear me be there at the chamber door, knocking away but he helped give me the strength to fight it. aahhh, I go on and on about him - god, how I leaned on that man...
we hoof back to the lot where the boat is - whoa, twentyeight bucks to park over night! at least the boat was safe so it's worth it. this is an expensive town anyway so it shouldn't be that much a surprise. it used to be nineteen dollars in the lot behind jimbo's on canal but those days are over, he moved to the northeast corner of manhattan, washington heights. he's getting married in august. things change, that's the only thing constant it seems. we say bye to vivek and his partner jim (they run a site called www.starpolish.com) and we shove off towards fdr drive, the fastest way north or south on the east side of manhattan. gray, gray skies and soon rain causing big chops in the east river. we drive by the united nations building but can't see it cuz of the cement overhang above the freeway. we go by roosevelt island and see the abandoned insane asylum on the southern part. I have a good laugh inside likening it to the state of things inside my head. we hit the triborough bridge and leave manhattan. bye-bye. I ask pete to man the barbie purse (ibook) and use the mapping software to help keep me true to our course. I've plotted a route through the bruckner expressway to I-95 which will take us through connecticut and into rhode island. he can't find it. I get uptight and keep telling him to look for the gray - look for the gray, the hatches. this flusters him. what's actually up is I'm using fucked up language to try to communicate him something in my head. the route is delineated by a pattern of crosshatch marks superimposed upon the roads involved but my words offer little help cuz they're confusing. I have to keep my attention on the wheel and can't really physically point it out to him so I get more and more like a nut trying to explain something that he can't see corresponding to what's on the screen. aaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhh... jer finally saves the day by using his finger to show pete what I'm trying to mean. sorry, pete. what a fucking idiot, watt. aahh, I'm mad at myself for being such a bozo. right away, doors start to open and pete sees exactly what's going on. we're all together now. fuck, am I drama queen. surely not the stuff those born to lead are made of. I will say we do get quite a laugh out of it all when calm comes. I sure have a good crew. my mental state is for sure not so hidden to them. they are quite generous and forgiving gentlemen. no construction and relatively light traffic make for an easy glide into connecticut. I usually bypass this way for a northern bypass through the series of parkways where trucks aren't allowed by today we're in luck on the major corridor. not so lucky w/the weather, rain is coming down and gets heavier as we go east. we pass through stamford, new haven and new london - not able to see shit except the road ahead. pete gets a big bottle of gatorade out of the cooler. always, I write "no drink" on vessels used for holding piss but I must've spaced on this one - why else would've someone put it in the cooler. pete holds the jug up to the light. if this is gatorade, what flavor is this? sentiment at the bottom holds a clue. I tell pete to fuck that shit, I don't think it's gatorade. aahh, idiot watt - I can't space on the label thing again. jer finds a big bottle of hydrogen peroxide that has "contains piss" written on the label. I remembered writing on that one right away cuz the danger posed by it not being a clear bottle. jer just then finds another unlabled vessel, a one quart soup thing. there's a spoon in it and it's only half full. I know for sure that's piss cuz that it's probably the yat gaw soup from I chowed in asbury park, now kidney filtered. I grab my marker and write "no sips" on it. my guys laugh pretty hard at all this. we try to have a good time on tour. you can see how it brings out the little boy in one. like perry once told me, "mike, keep the child's eye." jer pops one of those tins of hot sauce 'dines that jumbones gave us and chows me w/them on some blue corn chips. thanks, jer. pete's busy catching up w/chimping. cuz of some bug in jer's 'puter, he's writing by hand in a composition book that danny's bro mike gave him. jer had to work hard to recover some days he lost. fucking machines. oh well, we're working hard to keep these tour spiels coming!
we pull into downtown providence and the rain's really coming down now and it's fucking cold. may thirteenth my ass - it's like november! another reason for coming early was so pete could check his shit out and try to find out what's going on and correct it. there's a big tour bus and trailers and shit bogarting most the curb. we're at the met cafe tonight and it's connected to lupo's heartbreak hotel, the place for I guess what you would call "the real rock bands." some dick tells us to park where we can, that's the way it is for acts who play the met cafe - in his words, "you're shit out of luck." ok, so we gotta load the gear through the fucking driving rain. so we do - no big deal, I guess. after years of shit like that, you get used to it. I've learned to laugh it off. the big rock band crew is quite nice though. the light man, tim, comes over to say hi and talk w/me - he's just read steve blush's "american hardcore" which has a bunch of quotes from me in it. he gives me a cd of his band, the ribeye brothers too. he wants to watch us play but the band he's working for (the big rock one) goes on at the same time. this bums him out and he tells me in a heavy jersey voice, "don't that eat a bag full of dicks?" totally, tim - you're a good man. the drum tech comes by and gives me his band's cd, lord sterling - he was gonna play w/me at the saint in asbury park but this tour came up (all these cats are from the jersey shore). the merchandise cat buys a shirt from me. I was gonna give tim a dos cd but he already had it so I give it to the merch man. they all take a picture w/me. all very cool peeps. so much different from a manager guy who confronts me and says "can I help you" in a very unfriendly tone - I was just trying to give these guys stickers of the boat. I tell him I'm playing next door and some nice man vouches for me. I've had trouble being the right looking person w/some of the big rock people. you know, "big band, big man - little band, little man" and that sort of thing. people who know who I am by what I do though get another perspective though, and much respect to them for the open hearts.
I get some corn chowder and a salad down the block. after a quick sound check w/john, it's to the boat to chimp diary and konk. god damn is it cold, I have two blankies on me to weather it. the drops pound the boat up good. it does calm some cuz the writing puts me in quite a state. a good stress relief though, I konk like that once I'm done. pete comes gets me when it's gig time.
I missed the verdes. I did get to talk w/john a bit when they got here. he's a newspaper writer too and wants to do a story on flannels some time. he likes what I know about them. he really wants me to record and record. I do too, it's been weird these last years - taking so long to make records. I'm going to get back to my minutemen roots and record every seven or eight months like we used to. can't believe I've gotten like I have. a weird phase in my musical life. I have bee touring like crazy though, that's a good thing. I just gotta make records like I used to. seems like I've fallen into a routine that involes us, me and the tour life, as a couple and not remembering to include each of us as individuals. this is a problem. we're so connected, there's no time for records! it's become quite overwhelming. I gotta get things back in the right perspective. shit, I've had enough experience w/it. this is something I'm gonna work really hard on. I've got such great teams to work w/in my life: the secondmen, the jom & terry show, the pair of pliers and the black gang. all mike watt bands that have cats I all very much love - all w/their own distinct voice and personality. I've got tons of music to do w/all of them. I love touring too - don't get me wrong. my love is always getting twisted up w/me, seems almost par. look at this, suddenly I'm questioning what I'm doing and where I'm going! first order of business: this gig, then this tour, then the sickness record... tonight's gig is where I must get to now.
the first part is kind of tough. for one thing, pete's organ fails right after I do my intro! oh no! he gets things going again quick though. whew... wonder what's up. I can tell he's very frustrated by this. hang on, pete. another thing is my guys keep jumping the gun on parts and that kind of cuts into the drama that sharpness accentuates. these parts are straight time anyway and they should wait for me, not to sound like a dictator or something but this will make things pop out better. this happens when material gets a little too familiar. I have to admit I fucked some words also, losing a little nerve too but nothing like brooklyn or manhattan. it's ok though cuz we start getting it much together by the third tune. after "the big bang theory," I have pete spiel to the folks. after sound check, I asked him to come up w/a spiel where he talks in serbo-croatian sage advice he's learned here on his first tour. I ask him about gettin from pedro to cleveland and dealing w/all the different people and towns. he speaks of watching what you drink from in the boat and that he's found people are people, no matter where you go and that's a righteous thing. great spiel, pete. the people really dig it. it's a good set, even w/the shaky start and these providence folks are very kind and good in spirit. very happening. encore time and we bring on ted, a local cat who asked me if he could bring his guitar and do a couple of wire songs. he starts off "ex-lion tamer" at the tempo it is on the original album but by the chorus, jer is speeding it way up. damn. I don't want to make it look like we're trying to steamroll ted. I'm kind of mad at jer - me and him are supposed to be a fucking rhythm section and listen to each other but I can tell it's more from him being scared and not confident about the tune. his hands kind of cramped up again too, it was a hard set for him. "three girl rhumba" is much better. thanks, ted. we bring pete back on and do what we usually do for the encore. I'm happy w/how the show went overall. much congrats to my men.
I sling much, the folks are quite kind. more thanks to me for chimping diary - wow, that's kind of a mindblow. you're very welcome. it seems all like so much self-therapy for me, hard to figure that folks can relate to what I'm rattling off. jer's and pete's are quite good though. joe d is here and gives me some flannel-lined jeans, like the ones his boy sonny has. thank you much, mister joe d! his bud mark is here too and invites us to konk at his pad. I go to settle the show and the lady tells me we had more people at our show than the big rock band - what?! damn. that's a trip. we have to load out in some real rain, what a nightmare. mark rides w/us and the sky is coming down in buckets - I gotta take it slow on the freeway and have the flashers on. I mean it's a fucking torrent. we make it to his pad in nearby warren safe though. it's that same pad I stayed in when I had the pliers w/me. what a time we had that night - the cat who just lived there was deported back to portugal and joe d was very driven to point out certain things in a video that got found there. it was hilarious. we have some good laughs remembering that night. it's a great way to konk.
The Fagaima Road also turns into a river whenever there's a heavy rain.
A FLOOD OF VERSES...
IMMIGRATION
Nature has its own form of
immigration, where you
can't cross the border
unless your credentials
are in order. This can
cause delays, the heart's
own red tape.
Future generations are
contingent upon this
decision! Got the engine,
got the fuel, but there's
nothing like making the
journey only to learn
your passport needs
renewal. Damn you,
Immigration! Try again.
Nonetheless, your fair
country is the land of
opportunity to me, a
place my customs can
continue, contribute.
You're not convinced
yet, but I'm certain
you'll never regret
permitting me entry.
MONSTER PSYCHOLOGY
Frankenstein has the mind of a
killer, and as for fashion sense,
pure disorder – one look at him
and you know, here comes a
non-conformist. Frankenstein
has the heart of a farmer, all
hard work and no nonsense.
Frankenstein has conflicting
impulses. It would be less
complicated if he hated you,
then when you run he’d just
say la de dah, but oh woe to
anyone Frankenstein actually
likes and tries to follow after.
He moves slow but won’t stop,
obsessing on the answer he
thinks you hold – balance for
his sharply divided soul. Lo,
he comes! Stumbles into your
kitchen - inconsiderate, not
very articulate, inconvenient –
saying listen, I know you’re
not obligated to accommodate
me, but at least I’m good at
poetry so…uh… here’s a poem
I would really appreciate
exchanging for a cure.
VOLCANO
Volcano still for now, but still
a volcano. Surface has turned
hard, impenetrable, but below
something still churns, burning
inside. This restlessness will
someday shake your foundation
when the volcano can’t contain
its own hot ash any longer,
and shoots fire at the sky, as if
screaming, “I am here – how
could you leave me like this?
SONG
I wish I could speak like a song,
not confronting the problem
head-on, just by telling a story
that may have nothing to do
with reality as we know it.
Songs enter the reality of
feelings, intangible qualities
that bring sorrow or joy.
Guilt, blame, recrimination –
these wouldn’t be in my
words, but might be there in
the feeling the song conveys.
Or from a limitless choice of
feelings, it could be my
favorite – the sweet peace
when problems resolve and
all is well for everyone. While
that may not be true outside
the song, better somewhere
than nowhere.
WATER
Water won’t stop for you –
you can only dive in and
go with it if you desire.
Hold water and soon it’s
not itself anymore – the
pure needs to move to
bring life. Water will
drown you if you don’t
know how to flow with it.
Water can clean you,
heal – we’re baptized in
water, not fire. Water is
that part of us that comes
and goes, warm or cold,
just going with the flow,
just seeing to the needs
of its partner the earth.
SUPER-VILLAINS
I don’t play the villain very well –
no reason, no evil vision. I’d only
hurt by omission, not knowing.
But if I were a super-villain, a
challenger of Batman, nemesis
of Superman, I wouldn’t be
The Joker or The Penguin, I’d
be The Teacher, with a mystical
ability to bore to death my
enemies no matter what I say.
Or else I’d be The Preacher,
with a supernatural power to
render anyone who comes
in contact with me so utterly
guilty they fall on their knees
begging forgiveness. Or better
yet, The President, preying on
everyone’s loyalty to home and
family till they do whatever I
tell them unquestioningly.
Heroes quietly resist becoming
corrupted by their own power,
but others holding authority
without moral values find the
easy slide to the Dark Side
too tempting to avoid.
TOAST
My moods fly all over the place
like kamikaze insects, controls
set for my candle, in thrall to
their conviction its burning tip
will bring truth and purity, not
death or injury. They’re piling
up in the wax. Sacrifice in vain?
Perhaps not, if in the last flash
before turning to toast these
brave but misguided pilots
catch a glimpse of why we aim
for the sun. One with fire, life
itself blazing, even if it changes
them to toast, a trail of crumbs
other naïve seekers can follow.
My moods rise from their ashes
like new planets forming.
MR. RAIN
Too much –intense – more than
we can handle – rain brings life
but too much brings disruption.
Is there some point you’re trying
to make, Mr. Rain? Tired of us
dissing your bud the sun? Or just
concerned for the hydration of
this place? Gentle rains can be
sensual, but this intensity speaks
of angrier intent, like someone
doesn’t take you seriously so
you’re gonna show ‘em. As for
collateral damage, too bad, this
whole island can wash away
for all you care. Tell you what –
let me know who displeased
you and I’ll do the job just as
a favor, then you can turn off
this tap that’s flooding your
friends with your enemies. If
this entreaty leaves you angry
still, consider instead your
utility bill, Mr. Rain.
SYMBOLS
Given his natural accent, this
singer’s attempt to mimic the
vocal mannerisms of Stevie
Wonder resulted in the words
“ribbon In the sky” sounding
more like “lizard in the sky.”
Careful how you bend the
vowels and mangle the
consonants, especially if
you’re born in a village,
not some inner city. I had
visions of a giant lizard
soaring in the clouds,
signifying love immortal
with a regal wave of its little
front leg. How grateful I was
the gesture didn’t originate
from its little back leg, given
what that typically portends.
But anyway, this momentary
re-visioning of Stevie’s lyric
at least filled the day’s quota
for something completely
different. As far as symbols
go, who’s to say it’s any less
appropriate than chocolate?
PIECES
Of course people used to ride
dinosaurs - everybody knows
that. It was on that show, The
Flintstones. When they went
extinct because some aliens
with poor vision were shooting
at Uranus but hit us instead,
we switched from dinosaurs
to horses. Then when all the
horses became Muslims due
to global warming, we had to
invent the car. But you know,
Henry Ford was a secret
Muslim, just like Obama. He
knew we'd have to buy our
gas from Allah Oil. Now they
keep trying to bomb our solar
cars to save their economy,
but their religion won't let
them wear glasses so they
keep leaving bombs in the
wrong place or forget they're
wearing them till they go off.
All these little historical pieces
fit together just fine once you
suspend your common sense.
GOODBYES
Saying goodbye to someone who’s
dying, it’s like you’re trying to rush
them along or something. No, this
is supposed to be a tribute, a thank
you for the part you played in my
life. Good, bad or indifferent, all is
forgiven and some things we'll
always celebrate.. By all indication,
this visit with my Dad will be my last.
Some stupid part of me thinks that
if I don’t go, this will somehow alter
the inevitable. I know better, even
if my feelings don’t. Some people,
you just want to be there for them,
even knowing it won’t make much
difference. My showing my face
at this time of important transition
hopefully won’t hasten it. He’s had
some issues with me, and I with him,
but they all seem insignificant now.
And when I say goodbye, it will be
like all our other goodbyes, not
farewell forever, more like, ok,
gotta go, but catch you next time.
CONFLICT
Conflict inside someone else, I just
happened to give it a face without
trying - without trying - I don't let
myself into these things just for fun.
It's not fun, and you know your idea
far better than the person your idea
is about . I just happened to give it
a face, but behind that mask I never
asked to wear there's more going
on than you want to see because
I just happened to give a face to a
conflict inside yourself. No fun to
contemplate your own conflict - far
easier to just insist the source is
external and looks a lot like me.
And it just goes around in circles,
in a predictable cycle like the moon.
GUARANTEE
I would like a guarantee, signed
in blood, a sense of commitment
besides just mine. But guess what -
I'm on my own till harvest time
looks guaranteed, then they all
want to be concerned. How did
it get this way? Is it any different
for anyone else? If you gather
around you everyone with the
same assumptions, fall into line,
is some agreed-upon outcome
really guaranteed? Or is it all
just going through the motions,
hoping that our familiar songs
and dances will guarantee our
once and future prosperity,
same as the Aztecs once were
certain that the change of the
seasons was only guaranteed
by them feeding a hungry sun?
UNPRODUCTIVE
Bright sunny days and rainy,
cold nights - it's like I never
left home. I have unlimited
mileage and knowledge of
the Big Island highways, so
I'm re-visiting while I'm
visiting. I like not having
to worry about deadlines
or headlines or anything
but keeping an eye on the
oncoming cars. This isn't
the most productive use
of my time, but I've earned
the privilege of being
unproductive. It's calming,
I have time to reflect, no
one is relying on me for
anything as far as I know.
Holidays will pass and I'll
have to be productive
again, and remember you
have to keep going at all
costs just to earn the
temporary right to stop.
PORPOISES
My father remembers very clearly
how the Air Force transferred him
from Tokyo to Guam in the months
after World War Two. He recalls
how Japanese in the city streets
would collect cigarette butts and
carefully fashion a desperate puff,
then sleep in concrete pilings, or
sleep in doorways. I like it better
when he tells of how as a boy he
took ships from Hawaii home to
Samoa for school vacations. On
clear days, he'd crawl out on the
stern and see porpoises riding
on the waves the ship made, like
they were surfing. Yet for all my
patient explaining, he still can't
recall the Lee Auditorium, even
though he drove by it every day
since it was built. Some memories
live far longer than others. He
might leave soon, and when he
does, I hope in his thoughts he's
not with the Japanese, broken,
but with the porpoises, finding
bliss in something as simple as
just staying on a wave.
SELL
Can I sell you on an idea? No,
I won't even try, it's Christmas
time when giving is legitimate,
or rather, more legitimate than
the rest of the time, when
giving often looks like selling
in disguise. Everything here is
still free, anything valuable
perhaps disguised as worthless,
no obvious profit to be made
from trying to bottle what you
find or recycle what you feel.
It cannot be anything other
than what it is - a little gift, as
valuable or worthless as it
seems upon first impression,
or maybe much later when
the idea has had time to take
root and appears as something
very different when blooming
than it did when just trying to
hang on and not blow away in
the wind as a flake would.
DULL
You can't drink, smoke, inject
or snort something good. None
of these make things right or
make things gone, they only
make things dull. Ironic how
so many need to fully dull
themselves to how wrong
things really feel, yet refer
to it as feeling good.This is
not to say I won't get every
bit as dull as everyone else
if nothing else is happening,
or even enjoy it like any
other intentional stupidity.
all the while knowing that
to buy into the synthetic
happiness the dullness tries
to sell me in place of the real
thing would be a big mistake.
GIFTS
Some gifts don't come in pretty
paper, like the gift of freedom,
being free to come or go, free
to answer or to question, free
from the shackles of external
stimuli, free in the heart and
mind to roam or settle down,
free to see yourself as either
old or perpetually new, or both.
The real gifts may or may not
be under the tree, and some
are meant to be enjoyed and
soon forgotten while others
will require every second of
your attention or else they'll
turn around and bite. The gift
of freedom is like the gift of
a tiger on a short leash.
MARGINALIZED
Most of us are marginalized
in some way or other, but the
trick is to not identify with that
intangible status imposed from
who knows where by God only
knows who. Marginalized -
consigned to the margins, by
comparison with those who
supposedly have an advantage.
Advantage is like gasoline -
it doesn't mean anything
without the right vehicle. You
are the vehicle, marginalized
or otherwise, and remember
what happened with the
tortoise and the hare - those
who take their advantage for
granted become like Humpty
Dumpty, unprepared for the
going getting bumpy because
they've never had to survive
on life's margins.
CARPENTRY
If you want to get closer to the
truth, you can always sharpen
your carpentry skills. You'll
gain an appreciation of proper
structure, well put together,
balanced, true - the fruits of
your labor will either stand up
or collapse. How much closer
to the truth could you ask for?
Remember how a humble
carpenter of Nazareth once
applied his principles of
symmetry to his people's
most sacred oratory to
lovingly construct a way
of living and believing that
even today is still standing.
ALWAYS OPEN
I came to the Big Island
hoping for a sense of
closure. Well, I didn't
get it. What I got instead
is the realization that for
some people the heart
is like 7-11 or Jack In The
Box, always open,even
if you never stop by,
always there for you
just in case you need
something, even in the
dead of the stormy night.
FLAWED PERFECTION
GI Joe is a man with one part
missing, and Barbie is lacking
something in her anatomy too.
This is intentional - these are
dolls after all, incomplete by
design. Those missing parts
aren’t meant to be played with,
but if you do anyway, let it never
be said you got the idea from
the dolls. You can imagine GI
Joe as protector, and Barbie as
companion to someone worthy
(a protector, for instance), but
they lack the design for a union
of their energies, a blending of
their qualities to be anything
but theoretical. Perpetuating
life is not their business, thus
they become natural targets
for abuse when admiration is
no longer entertaining. Dolls
can take anything and never
seem to hurt, but once you
break them out of frustration,
they lose that perfection you
once found comfort in, even
if it was a flawed perfection.
GOSSIP
The gutter grabs the conversation
soon enough. It started out very
politely, just how you doing, then
devolved quickly into I know what
you’re doing and who you’re doing
it with. (No you don't.) All part of our
daily bread-baking I guess, this
morning’s morality review, what’s
hot, what’s going down in our little
Garden of Eden, some vicarious
stimulation on the back of someone
else’s reputation, but in the end
it’s just a trail of crumbs that still
hasn’t led anyone out of their
imaginary gingerbread forest
back to some big rock candy
mountain of wisdom. Why can’t
you just mind your own business?
PASSING THOUGHT #732
I don’t remember what we
even disagreed about. Do
you? It must just happen
spontaneously.
HEAVY FUEL
Emotional nuclear waste,
still active but of no known
practical use, potentially
explosive if not handled
properly. Sealed up tight
in the bottom of the sea
till it burns out or leaks
out. Created by us, then
quickly beyond control.
Safety requires its very
existence be denied. It's
a scandal anything this
powerful resists being
channeled positively.
SURFACE INDIFFERENCE
Long ago I chose to let it
weigh on me, thinking it
would make me strong at
carrying that kind of load.
Lo and behold, it feels no
less heavy now than it did
to begin with. Letting it
weigh on me just became
a habit taxing my peace of
mind. Attitudes that come
so easily convince us we
can program ourselves like
machines, as if mechanical
is more advantageous than
flexible. Think circulation.
It may be human to cling
to what’s precious, but to
hold on too hard is to risk
crushing what we should
instead seek to nurture.
WORLD GO ‘ROUND
Wherever we happen to be at,
we all make the world go ‘round
with our joys and sorrows, with
our triumphs and failures, with
our mistakes and when we’re
right and we know it. I will not
lie – I’m tired of problems, but
it’s been in facing problems
that I discovered so much that
I would otherwise never have
bothered to find out, so who’s
to say, really, what’s a blessing
or a curse. I stay on my path
with no idea of what’s going to
happen next. They say that God
watches over fools and drunks.
I know I’m not a drunk, but as
far as being a fool, well, it just
depends on who you ask.
HOME
You carry home around with
you, so in those moments it
feels like you’ll never return
there’s still a history where
you began if not where you
ended. Ah yes, history, how
things got this way. Choices
and results. No changing it,
except in how you relate.
Home made me who I am,
and as much as I may try to
shake it off like a maverick
trying to lose a saddle, at
my core will always be my
home, come what may.
MINEFIELD
Minefield of ego is a curse
from deepest hell, distortion
of good intentions, bent out
of shape by self-glorification.
Comparison is the weapon
often known to backfire,
then the minefield of ego
falls prey to its own traps,
blows itself apart. Woe the
aftermath – ego emerges,
bloody but unbroken, uglier
than ever. Ego rules over an
empty field of rubble. Can’t
really recall any reason for
the battle, but self-satisfied
simply to have won.
EXORCISM
This music chases away demons.
One listen and the buggers don’t
have a chance. They hear it and
they’re headed for the pavement.
Screaming, off they flee, wringing
their ears. Still the music lingers
in them, eating at their evil like
a cancer we can finally be happy
with. See them writhe, moan,
agonize, paralyze. Finally they’re
neutralized, free souls again. Big
Boss Demon fears this music, so
that’s why he’s always tried to
own it, slow it down, stow it, but
once it really gets going, even he
can’t control it. This music chases
away demons. I just wonder what
keeps bringing them back.
BIG CHICKENS
So many big chickens wandering
in and out of my poem. Giant
chickens, too fat to fly. Bashful
chickens, clucking fowl reflections
between the lines. Unfulfilled
chickens, withholding eggs as a
point of negotiation, threatening
to ruffle feathers unless treated
fairly, plotting to crow 24-7 so
dusk becomes confused with
dawn and whatever sleep we
can steal is filled with dreams
of secret ingredients and deep
fryers. Oppressed big chickens,
never fairly represented on the
collective menu, know full well
we’ll just laugh at them, but
when their civil disobedience
renders the nation’s breakfasts
one continual catastrophe, who
will have the last chuckle then?
SECURITY
Security – we’re all friends if not
family under the same security
blanket. Security bestows status,
sets us apart from the average.
Security comes at the cost of
silence when the most secure
dip fingers in the public till for
private reasons. Security divides
the spoils. As goes my security,
so goes the well-being of our
country. An equation even a
baby could follow. Well follow
this, all you political paunukus –
bending over for security and
expecting us to do the same -
security is an illusion, like fancy
clothes give an impression you
somehow look special when
stripped to your well-stretched
skin. Drums of corruption, sirens
of hypocrisy sometimes get so
loud that even the deaf and the
blind sense vampires nearby,
attracted by the scent of the
defenseless – an easy feed.
VACUUM HEART
Not to sound redundant, but Vacuum
Heart really sucks. Mechanism for
joy removal patrols the room. Goes
right for the dirt every time. Down
to earth suddenly means covered
in it. Why can't Vacuum Heart
partner with someone just as
obsessed with cleanliness? The
sight of me apparently makes
Vacuum Heart's hoses clog up,
motor overheat, plug exit the
well socket. Ok, I get it, I deserve
to be chased away with a broom.
Left to Vacuum Heart, antiseptic
splendor would prevail, all and
sundry spotless as a hospital,
no dirty corners of the mind left
unswept. For filth never sleeps,
it waits patiently for opportunity
to dominate. To sidestep that
soily fate we rely on Vacuum
Heart, superhero of spiritual
housecleaning.
DIG ME OUT
Aluminum cans will preserve
soda and beer till the caveman
renaissance. Enclosed unto itself,
protected from time like the
mummies, a soda or beer can
may not outlast eternity but will
easily outlive you and me. Life
is short compared to unopened
soda and beer. We have no time
for what doesn’t suit our taste
when more appealing options
compete for our attention on
the shelves of our existence.
Exaltation of convenience, just
use it, lose it, and on to the
next one. You take it in, into
your body’s confidence, more
a part of you than your dearest
friend, but only until the drill
of mutual usury completes its
exchange, then what remains
makes its less illustrious exit.
Possibly as a punishment for
awareness like this, I remain
unopened on the shelf, passed
over in favor of more current
designs. Do soda and beer
change their flavor over time?
Cavemen or future apes may
dig me out of the rubble one
day, mysterious remnant of a
strange long gone age. That’s
if someone doesn’t dig me out
of the bargain bin first.
WISHES
My wishes – so intense – it must
mean I’m not dead – that’s good
to know. I hold no one under any
obligation to grant me one single
wish or even the time of day, but
still I whisper my wishes to the sky,
the wind, the rain, passing cars,
dogs prolonging their species in
the street, just any old thing. But
never people, who’d use that
knowledge as leverage. No one
asks me my wishes – I appreciate
that discretion or that disinterest.
And so I wouldn’t splash across
the page the exact nature of my
wishes. This isn’t a bulletin board.
Cutting through a jungle of ideas,
the vines of abstraction, I wish I
could find expression for a wish
you were wishing too.
DISCLAIMER II (III?)
My poetry is probably not
the best way to get to know
me, if you want my opinion.
I have a pretty good filter,
but this Is what emerges
when it’s switched to off
mode. I take an energy
that might make some
turn to a bottle, a needle
or a gun, and I try to do
something different with it.
Don’t ask me how this
energy came to be – too
long a story. Poetry is what
I do with feelings to keep
from being eaten by them.
Enter at your own risk. If
you see something you
recognize clearly, then all
this blood on the pages
hasn’t been in vain.
LEGEND
Have I the heart to tell the
story yet again? This disaster
repeats itself predictably, like
the city clock. Likewise, if I
repeat the tale enough, it
passes into legend, a lesson
for anyone who’ll go down
the same path. I’ll change
the names in case it makes
you feel you’re under attack.
Once upon a time someone’s
faith was badly misplaced.
From there, tell the legend
yourself, your personal take
on faith and faithlessness.
Legends can be reinvented –
it’s fairer that way. Have I
the heart to render a story
so personal in anonymity’s
cloaked terms? Just another
old tale no one takes very
seriously till suddenly it’s
about them.
DON QUIXOTE
The Windmill Man, the walking
metaphor, aiming his lance at
the windmills and still missing –
God forbid he should connect,
that would be a catastrophe.
Windmill standing in for whole
other glory. Defined – assigned
to a corner of your mind – a
place in the natural order. I’d
go for the opposite. Already
starting to rebel, test the limits,
formulate an escape. Catch me.
Let me go. Be my windmill and
you needn’t worry I’ll never
return. Keep me dreaming the
impossible dream – simply
remain impossible.
BIG SHIP
I wanna be a barnacle – attach
myself to a Big Ship and travel
economy. See the world and
not even join the Navy. Calm
or rough seas, it doesn’t matter –
you just keep me hanging on.
But please, Big Ship, don’t sail
the Hudson River, it’s polluted
and barnacles don’t have the
benefit of protection. We might
catch an infection from those
sick New York waters, turn
unhappy campers on your
hull, disgruntled eco-tourists
poisoned en masse. A 9-11 for
crustaceans and our Big Ship
could care less, just scrape us
all off casually as shaving. Ok,
so maybe I don’t wanna be a
barnacle after all. Big Ship,
floating diva - Titanic-sized
ego, why not try a blind date
with an iceberg.
MIRRORS
If you want me to greet you as a
friend, you have to greet me as
a friend. We’re mirrors – we see
ourselves in each other – the open
warmth or closed defensiveness,
the easy exchange or difficult
minimum civility, unquestioning
embrace or involuntary revulsion.
So many ways it can go. We have
no indicator of which way is up
except each other. Like any
mirror, the image reflected may
not always be a true picture, but
don’t we all look a bit different
depending on which side of
ourselves someone chooses
to focus on or to overlook.
GAIN
Careful in that period of gain,
It makes me grateful, but also
uncomfortable, apprehensive
that the scale will swing back
the other way with a period
of loss. That’s the nature of
the scale. But for now, enjoy
a period of gain, when you
feel like it isn’t just pointless
toil after all, when you feel
like your luck has returned
from a long journey, when
you can dare to believe you
actually deserve it. So this is
how it feels – I’d forgotten.
Like the first fine clothes that
really fit. I could get used to
this. There I go again – I know
better than to get used to this.
AVOIDANCE
Were I allowed to levy a two cent
tax on every hint my critics lob
at me like grenades to a foxhole
that my love of travel betrays an
elaborate avoidance of settling
down, I could retire and travel
for life. Since I’m so well-versed
at avoidance, I avoid the subject,
avoid my critics, and carry on
traveling. Avoidance is their
term, not mine. I prefer terms
like adventure, discovery, and
revelation. The world is not yet
done revealing itself to me –
nor to them – they’ve settled
down prematurely. Besides, if
settling down is all it’s cracked
up to be, and I’m truly Mr. Bad
Example, why are they even
watching me? I’m supposed
to be miserable and they’re
supposed to be happy.
BULLDOZER
Bulldozer, like a sumo wrestler
you push, push, push me out
of the circle, out of the picture,
out of history. Make certain
I stay on the margins of the
existence you’re comfortable
with. Bulldozer, like a giant
pecking chicken you dig, dig,
dig away at the foundation
of any relation between us.
Anything once assumed is
now assumed meaningless.
Bulldozer, you’ve flattened
any reason to feel. Efficiency
empty of humanity is nothing
but machinery. Bulldozer, like
Jack the Ripper you prefer to
see yourself as simply clearing
a path of the detritus blocking
progress. If it’s in your tracks,
it’s asking for it.
PIE
Shame on you ungrateful relations,
all scrambling for your slice of the
pie. The estate tastes the same no
matter who serves it – at least for
the moment. This is a perfectly
reasonable pie – it’s you disputing
your portions. Hey, I warmed the
oven. Hey, I cleaned the kitchen.
Hey, I took out the garbage. Hey,
I went to the market. Hey, I wiped
the plates. Hey, I just ate off the
plates, but I gave him the recipe
and he baked it for me. You’ve
all got such a compelling story.
It takes a committee to raise a
pastry. Can one little pie cause
such controversy? May its fruit
be less bitter than the dispute.
No Thanksgiving pumpkin nor
sweet apple tarted was left out
to cool by our dearly departed.
ARK
The endless rains have rent our
Flag Day asunder. I say it’s God’s
commentary on the Fono pay
raise. Think you’ve got money
to waste? Maybe I’ll just ruin
you Flag Day entertainment
Sense of entitlement brought
the tsunami – how soon you
forget. Everyone build their
own fautasi – you’ll all need a
modern day ark to sail the few
remaining clean hearts away
from this South Seas Sodom
to somewhere kinder where
there is no Fono, no matai,
no faalavelave, no bingo -
your most enduring values
can start again from scratch.
IRRIGATION
Sun took a vacation and we
won’t be complaining about
the heat for awhile. Enough
water now to wash all our
cars. Scenery greener than
green, plants drunk on
moisture – careful you don’t
overdo a good thing. Does
anyone or anything still
need irrigation? Nature
is upping her thoroughness,
getting to the cases that
complain they’re left out.
No one goes thirsty on my
watch – you’re all my babies
and I’ll make sure you’re
healthy. Everyone needs a
friend like her, but how do
you say politely, Mother
Nature, enough is enough?
CORE
Childhood seemed so much less
complicated – lines so clearly
drawn, and besides, who expects
kids to be responsible anyway?
Questions answered simply.
Now, as time goes on, it’s more
a matter of answers I don’t have.
Mysteries overtake conventional
wisdom. We’re forced to relate
outside our frame of reference –
it can get overwhelming. But as
complex as it seems, existence
at its core is absurdly simple.
We’re all just here for awhile -
seeing, feeling, reflecting, and
evolving if we let ourselves.
Facing the mysteries the way
people always have, sometimes
coming in on a wing and a prayer.
Always returning to a core, while
at the same time trying to get the
most out of what’s beyond it.
FAIRFAX
Fairfax, one less paramedic tramp
threatens to compromise your
firefighters. Fight fire with fire –
crucify her online. It’s called slut
shaming – It takes on a life of its
own so no wonder now it’s taken
a life. She may or may not have
the dirty hands they imagine, so
you have to wonder why they’d
even bother paying attention.
Pornographic minds will conjure
X-rated situations, and jealousy
ferments venom in the envious.
We call fundamentalist Muslims
barbaric for stoning to death
adulterous women, but In the
USA we stone those we don’t
like with words. Why use sticks
and stones when words alone
can put a paramedic slut in her
place? If that place just happens
to be a grave, don’t blame us.
Moral superiority needs cruelty,
even barbarity, or else it’s only
theoretical, only as powerful
as a schoolyard bully secretly
scared of his own vulnerability.
(Note: The above was triggered by a story that made the
national news, but not in a very big way. If you're curious,
search on the words "fairfax slut shaming," and that should get you to the story.)
1) Friends call me Woot, B, or B.W.
but I call myself Susan when random strangers ask my name. Not because I like the name or anything, but that's how I roll when I lie to strangers.
2) It's 2:34 where I am now & I'm so tempted to chew gum. mainly because I've never done it at this time.
3) I've got 2 whole months left in NYC, because I gotta move for med school...which means I have to do my best to get all the subway shots that I wanted to take for the past years. Maybe go back to the bench photos?
4) Gotta flea market hop for cheap cameras. Can't wait for that this summer with friends.
5) The only thing in life that I attract are blood-sucking bugs and old women. It's a shame I'm not attracted to either of them. :/
6) I always found (& still find) Alice in Wonderland and Toy Story depressing.
7) I used to be a fan of killer whales...now I just think they're okay.
8) If you're reading this, I'm impressed that you've got the strength to be not completely bored and annoyed by everything above ^ (maybe?) you clearly deserve an award nonetheless.
9) Number 8 reminds me...I owe someone here a series & I've got ideas for that series! I'm low on ideas in general though, so if you're still reading this and you've got photo suggestions for me, let me know!
10) OMG I'm so hungry right now...but I'm too lazy to look for food at 2:43 AM.
(by the way, last year they specifically said in one of ther pubs "please take lots of pics"..now he just said for first time, "please no cams" (inside theatre) ...(surprise appearance by actor erik estrada in "Inspector Sanchez"4/2/11 NOTES FROM FINAL SESSION 2, 168 FILM FEST, ALEX THEATRE, GLENDALE, CA 120-3pm; .good 2nd session of films...here's some of the verbatim.. [this is unedited, incuding typos..last year I posted little clips of each vid, trying to promote the faith, & advance the kingdom..but I'm noticing more "copyright" claims at the end of these films...(I never understand "Christians" who claim copyrights on "Christian" material)...so I might not be posting vid clips..even tho I want to promote the faith..some of these "industry" people can be seriously uptight about this stuff (I remember a few messages from last year)...(which is a shame b/c the true Christians who want their stuff promoted for Kingdom purposes, may get left out..its too much of a danger for me..on YouTube..getting one more strike could lead to my entire 15,000 plus video website being shutdown) (the entire verbatim won't fit here so for all of it go to hwblog.posterous.com/4211-notes-from-2nd-session-final-da.... ;Here's my notes & some verbatim from the 2nd session: "Rapper..quick reminder..doesn't matter..u and your career..nobody buy a gospel ..contract..ur not coming back..stupid..id kill for your life..wrong house..dj trizz..xompilation..handed kets..blamin god..scr..y hgo yhis route..didn't want just what I wanted..now how I feel..let me spin a verse..this ain't just entertainment..this is ministry..gotta know god..take some time..looks like eminem..credit card declined..sleeping on couce.demise of o child..nack at nightclub..women..ochild..slot in beat feast ..be huge..o-child new rap..won't go back..like nothin I've ever done..freedom..
------------------
Digging w. Shovel..eery...pushups..lady..mommy..fish..cutting..sending messages..potato..eating raw..can't go back..fixing electronics....its not ok..news clips..pop control, apocalypse..pond..canteen..water from creek..snipers ..visual..dna confirmation..take her alive..chase...shot..inject self..kills self..been discovered..10 mins to repair machine ..may be last transmission..bible by transmittor....dr...know uve been receiving ..read your last article...final message his voice "if my people.." ..so scared..mot here to hurt u...
----------------
Paul ulring ...Eric waters..mill run sanctuary..sirvey of chr thought..average life cycle of ch is 50 years..brodie taphorn ..invited to youthgroup..ulring..godly grandmother ..atheist lawyer who chhallaenghed me..rob paul keith aaron....bufff delcamp..resident advisor...r.a. ..clipboard..nominal churchgoer..to be a better disciple..bill ..cool guy.woke..john stoltzenbach..was elem hi school teacher...brother at this church..came to shut him up..fund mssing piece..jesus..four years..fr heathen to seminary..explain the main thng..go make discples..mmain thing be & maje discple..wake them up..reach people..bring them to jc...no empty chairs..disciples disciples..rabbi..go do it ..sends 72 ..I'm a wounded healer..could have brken me....not so much learn in classroom..they atch master..info..skills..testimony story..brief answer ..who discpled u..all ought to say god loves u wondrfl plan..but fallen world...plenty heroes..executed..only one risen..lunch pin is ressurection..
------------------
Inspector sanchez,..take him out back..throw him it ..bike..2nd gen health inspctr..try hand at acting..pretending to cry..sppsd to be big day..like estrada..wanted to see me ..u tried..they're gangstas..sopranos..lucianos today..have to leave early today..don't let me down..I love u maria..must not wait..mouzs..scream ...jalapeno juice....stuck in car..skrry thought I coykd be an inspector..spec appearance by erik estrada..shut lucianos down..sergio marcos, alejando edda plays julio
------------------------
Mike shields, Robert adan , elly kaye, She's in warehouse..red eyes..batman figure..its me joni....fatal flaw..bubble..fool for love...stop u cold..roll..on a roll ..blue blue blue..took my arm...enouh sleigh of hand..fiery freeak..love grown cold..now a mere mortal..blaze pad ...woeking fine ..blue blazes ..it s finished..does he seem finished to u..blue blazes trouble..tblue blazes..is he ok..let the suit fit..I got into a scrap..not me..why say my full name...beautiful like I..out of anytime minutes..people defenseless..iu can do this meet your new boss..dontgo blue..
--------------
Guide me home,,,singing...where is the pain..wha happened to feeling..rain ..ceiling.. ..sunging..to forget ..will u guide me home....clouds..sun..beach..dir clay banks, ..susan silvestri, kendal brenneman..
------------------
Mark blitch..basex on verse re grace..so many directions..being abt 2 thieves..adam kitchen..character gets caught..convey sb who no way desrves grace..intrstng things..adam flew in from l.a. ..called me a few before set up..flight cancelled..I'm a time guy..worship leader..prayed..remember this guy I do..his face...wanted to glorify god..went into prod...same heart mind..he sought me out..plano..breaking bafs..fr night lights..do I want to work w him of course..adam kitchen..he flies infr l.a...best friend...amazing actors....challenge..moods..last year specific..this year..trusted me..joy to work w..trust u ..biggest blessing ..jenny lee, sam porch.. ..here to learn..so short handed..got her on the boom ..her brother on mcycle..god loking out for us ..heart for christm the arts.makes it easierr..doing it love it ..c..
-------------
Raj rapper..hip hop..u must go to college..subway...father I have sinned..no longer worthy..father said...not sure of point rajesh nahar .md rapper
---------
Anthony milligan is j.c., brandon chanfdler, producerxPotters hand..man..sun thru slats..mexican..outhouse..joles in jeans..sanda..city empty..dirt road..church, fine day..I'm JC, ..JACOB...lost your way..sparrow..male..empty village..jc broken teeth..come here sweetheart..let shw u good time..jc get..out of here before I beat..shut up tramp..u kiss your wife w/ that mouth..sb my papa too..potters hands...jc..empty vollage ...come n sit down..make me ask u again..said u quit drinkij ...where been..ain't same..remember..he doesn't talk..jc runs..he follows..plays banjo..into church..he enters..amazing grace..that's big jc..breaks his banjo..he cries..he meets himself as a child ..old ..wakes up..all a dream..
------------------
..this is jennifer...arguing in conference..take my 3 hole puncher..that's asault..darcy..why work there anymore..jenn..jenn..thought that was chris..keep dong that...cop & 2 eorkers..u absconded..cool it..back in office..he was nice..acronyms..he tried..boiling point..why so much fight..long before u..chips plane stuck in tree..rockhits car..who wants to die ..jenn looking at pics...been thinking abt u..heard chris is coming back..38 visits to his facebook page..ur a freak ..I'm well aware of that..u broke office policy..its u I like..play cards right .u will still have a job..[guy commenting in theatre]..two back together..oh that's funny..bye jennifer..have good night..can't buy us out chris..why apay tht. I bought him out to..I wrote the bylaws..jenn in bathroom..he said its over..I'm so sorry..he discon is phone..nobody likes me..company sold to former..chris..everybody gets 7percent raise..sit wyw..paid 10 times book value..its jennifer..margat shoop
The KOM League
Flash Report
For
Week July 23, 2017
This report is on Flickr at this site: www.flickr.com/photos/60428361@N07/35876146902/ There are two more photos of the guy in this photo in the report to which you can link.
More regarding Clifford Fowler
Last week the obituary for Clifford Fowler, of the 1946 Pittsburg Browns, was shared. Also, the team photo in which he appeared was the “Photo of the Week” on the Flickr site that also carried the Flash Report.
This past week I got to know the late Mr. Fowler a lot better. I delved into his life history, on Ancestry, and located some photos of him from the time he was around two years old until the latter years of his life. He served his country and was storming the beaches of Normandy during the invasion of Europe. Since I never located Fowler, in my attempt to track down every former KOM leaguer prior to their passing, I’m attaching two photos which can be viewed at the following sites: Take the time to look at them.
Fowler as catcher: www.flickr.com/photos/60428361@N07/36047175075/
Fowler with brother: www.flickr.com/photos/60428361@N07/35913032281/
You might wish to compare these photos with the one in last week’s report to see how he did or didn’t change, in appearance. www.flickr.com/photos/60428361@N07/35514299040/
Many former KOM leaguers weren’t in a team photo and there wasn’t any way I could ever locate others. Therefore, I have long wondered what some of the guys looked like. There is a way to find photos of some of the former players if you get shut inside due to the weather or health reasons. One way to find former players is to get into genealogy files where the person maintaining a family site includes photos. From there the method of capturing them isn’t too tough to discern. If you have a digital camera the battle is won.
________________________________________________________________________
Death of 1949 Pittsburg Brown
Obituary
Eugene W. "Gene" Puetz, 86, of Hoffman Estates (Ill.), formerly of Huntley passed away on Monday evening, June 13, 2016 at Brookdale in Hoffman Estates.
Arrangements are pending with the James A. O'Connor Funeral Home in Huntley
Published in the Northwest Herald on June 15, 2016.
Eugene was born on March 23, 1930 (in Chicago) and passed away on Monday, June 13, 2016.
Eugene was a resident of Huntley, Illinois at the time of passing. Eugene was formerly from Chicago, Illinois. Eugene was married to Ruth.
Funeral Service will be held on Monday June 20 2016 at 12 Noon at Trinity Lutheran Church 11008 N Church St Huntley with Rev. Robert Hoffman officiating. A Private Burial will be at Mt. Emblem Cemetery in Elmhurst. Visitation will be prior to services from 10 to 12 pm. at the church.
Memorials in his name may be directed to St. Jude Children's Hospital at http:www.stjudes.org.
Ed comment:
The deceased was one of the 48 roster members of the 1949 Pittsburg, Kansas Browns where he played third base.
Puetz’s son, Garry, played on the 1983 Super Bowl champion Washington Redskin team. www.google.com/search?q=garry+puetz+football+coach&oq... Eugene was very proud of his son and in the early days of writing about the KOM league he shared a lot of stories with me about him. Due to the lack of communication I didn’t learn of his passing until 13 months after the fact.
Puetz was one of many guys who weren’t connected to the Internet and after I quit sending out the printed newsletter our communication came to an end.
____________________________________________________________________
Gordyn Samuel “Buddy” Kirschner, 86, of Santa Fe, Texas, passed away Monday, May 15, 2017.
Obituary
www.crowderfuneralhome.com/obituaries/gordyn-samuel-buddy...
Buddy was born October 8, 1930, in Galveston, Texas. He graduated from Ball High School, Galveston, Texas in 1949, and pitched for two farm clubs associated with the Chicago Cubs, the Sioux Falls Canaries and the Carthage Cubs, before becoming a pipe fitter at Monsanto. He married his high school sweetheart, Pat Kirschner, in 1974, and remained devoted to her until her death in 2006.
In addition to working as a pipefitter, Buddy also enjoyed playing golf and officiating high school football games. He officiated many Ball High School games during the years he spent as an active participant of a well respected officiate team.
In his retirement, he became an expert at growing roses. People often stopped in front of his house to take pictures of his spectacular flowers and ask him for tips on how to produce such beautiful rose gardens.
He was also a devoted father and grandfather. He frequently opened his home to his various friends, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren as host to various birthday parties and fishing expeditions. His open-hearted hospitality and well-stocked pond provided many people with hours of entertainment.
He is preceded in death by his wife, Patricia G. Kirschner, son Gordyn Samuel “Bubba” Kirschner Jr., and James L. Gibbins, son-in-law.
Survivors include daughters Trish Gibbins and Valerie Simmons; sons Gary Wayne Kirschner and wife Sandy; Mike Martin and wife Gage; grandchildren: Stephanie Klein and family, Courtney Best, Gordyn Wayne Kirschner and family, Jennifer Kirschner, Zettie Kirschner, Zachary Kirschner, Blair Martin, Walton-Gray Martin, Daniel James Martin, Laura Simmons; great-grandchildren: Matthew Klein, Andrew Klein, Lindsey Cole, Macey Evans, Taylor McLin, Madison Mills, Brittany Kirschner, and Sebastian Kirschner; and great-great grandchild Hayes James Cole.
To all who knew him, Buddy represented a generosity of heart and spirit to which we all aspire and for which we are all forever grateful.
A Memorial Service will be held at 10:00 a.m. on Friday, May 19, 2017, at Crowder Funeral Home in Dickinson, Texas.
Ed comment:
In the December 4, 2016 of the Flash Report the finding of Robert Anson Grove was cited. He had been a member of the 1949 Ponca City Dodgers and he mentioned some of the fellows with whom he played baseball with, in 1948, at Galveston’s Ball High School. One of those named was Gordyn Kirschner. These are a few paragraphs from that report. Grove said that after the 1949 season he went back home and played some amateur baseball in his adopted hometown for a number of years. I had remembered, from earlier in the conversation of him mentioning playing on a “hot” Ball High School team in 1948. For the sake of conversation I asked if he remembered all of the fellows. The first he mentioned was Russell Rac. www.guidrynews.com/story.aspx?id=1000038254 That name jumped out at me for it seemed like he played big league ball for the Cardinals since I heard his name on Cardinal spring training broadcasts during a number of my formative years.
However, as the attached URL states Rac didn’t make it—but he should have. Here is another URL for Rac. bill37mccurdy.com/2011/11/15/ex-buff-russell-rac-dead-at-81/
Going on with his memories Grove recalled one of the pitchers he caught during his high school years was Gordyn Kirschner. If any of you don’t know who Kirschner is/was, you didn’t read or don’t recall last week’s Flash Report. He was the young man who is listed among the 36-man roster of the 1949 Carthage Cubs. At this juncture in the conversation I had now identified Grove, Rac and Kirschner as members of that 1948 high school team. At that point it was time to do some independent research and very quickly I found the name of James Harvey “Chick” Plowman who also played at Ball High School at that time. He signed with the St. Louis Browns and caught at Pittsburg, Kansas during the 1950 season. There is no way to check anything with Plowman for he died on February, 25, 2009 in Hitchcock, Texas. As with most conversations with former players their children are mentioned. Grove said that he and his daughter were very gifted at tennis and won many doubles tournaments. He said that lasted until someone came along and told her that she had a great voice. That she did. Never have I been able to share anything on the subject of opera but Grove’s daughter Jill, is one of the top performers in her craft.
jillgrovemezzo.com/reviews.html
________________________________________________________________________
Edwin Elwin Blow
May 25, 1950—Iola Register
Earl Sifers, president also announced newly added to the Indian roster is Edwin Blow, a 20 -year-old, 6-foot4-inch righthanded pitcher from Manchester, Conn. He was recommended by an Indian contact in the East
Blow pitched against Carthage May 28, 1950. First inning struck out one, gave up three bases on balls, hit Duane Zimmer with a pitch and gave up two hits and five runs. He faced two batters in the second inning before being taken from the game. That is the only appearance I found on him. On May 31, the roster was cut and he wasn’t even on with the team, at that point. I did locate him back in 2012 living in The Villages, Florida and learned he was born November 17, 1929 in Barre, Vermont. He beat me into this world by 10 years and 10 days. Gotta’ keep up with the guys that close to my age.
______________________________________________________________________
Son remembers his dad
John, on the anniversary of my father’s 94th birthday, I got to thinking. Here’s what came out. Do with it as you feel fit. Bruce May—Parma, Ohio
I grew up in the Cleveland suburb of Parma back in the 50’s and 60’s. It was a two bedroom bungalow that looked pretty much like every other house bought on a GI Loan. A quarter acre lot consisting of house, driveway, three feet of grass, repeat, repeat, repeat. Every house on the street looked like every other house on the street, indeed every other house in town.
But it was the strip of driveway and grass that advanced my baseball career. I would get a rubber ball and bounce it off the side of our house. Line drives hit the house a little lower, high pops hit near the top of the second floor. For hours I would play catch with the house.
Soon enough I imagined great victories for the Cleveland Indians as Al Kaline’s drives just made it to the warning track, while Leon “Daddy Wags” Wagner hit home run after home run. The problem arose from the neighbor’s house intercepting the ball before I did. Especially their two basement windows facing our house.
So of course, during one particularly difficult World Series 7th game, I missed the catch and broke the neighbor’s window. They, Russian immigrants, were way more benevolent than I would have imagined. Perhaps having stared down German machine gun fire puts a certain perspective on a broken window.
My father was less conciliatory when he arrived home from work, but in a less strident mood when he realized dinner could be had before setting out to fix the window. After dinner we walked to the local hardware store and bought a pane of glass. Thus began my first lesson in repairing a broken window.
Next season though, another broken window, another walk to the store, and one more lesson in window repair. After yet one more broken window, my father got wily and bought six panes of glass that he kept stored in the garage. The next broken window, a grand slam by Woody Held, I went and fixed the window myself. I’m not sure the neighbors even knew it had been broken. I know my father didn’t.
But over the years cars and girls, not necessarily in that order, started to slice into my driveway ball playing and I never broke another window again. Years later when my parents were getting ready to move into a senior apartment, I was helping clean out the garage, and there were four perfectly shaped pieces of glass just waiting for another ball to break the neighbor’s window. The Russian couple long gone and my old house soon to have new occupants, I wasn’t sure what to do with the panes. I took them to the new neighbors and hoped they would be as understanding with any new little boys moving in next door to them. I had long ago learned one lesson on repairing windows, but I had also learned a lesson about little boys and what’s really important. Bruce May, son of Wilbert May, 1946 KOM Veteran.:
Ed comment:
Wilbert Roy May was born May 11, 1922 in Cleveland, Ohio and joined the Carthage Cardinals at the close of WW II, for the 1946 season He was a good left handed pitcher who posted a 4-2 record before a sore arm ended his career. He passed away November 4, 2001 in Medina, Ohio. A few years ago his son, Bruce, was located and has been reading and sharing these Flash Reports with members of his family, scattered hither and yon. He claims they enjoy reading them.
Thanks go out to Bruce who has gotten into the spirit of helping this time-worn internet report by submitting a great memory about his youth.
**
Actually, I really liked the rundown of the 1946 Pittsburgh Browns. It was informative and entertaining to me. Jerry Hogan. Fayetteville, AR
Ed reply:
You liked it because of Jerry Baker. Baker had a brother at U of A at that time. The family moved from Cassville, MO to Fayetteville when the boys went to college. I didn’t mention it in last week’s report but Baker also attended college, for a short time, at Pittsburg, Kansas. That school had more former KOM league members attend it than any other institution of higher learning.
**
From the widow of the late Conrad Swensson
As I have likely told you before, those baseball memories stayed with Connie longer than almost everything else. Only a couple of months before he died, he was demonstrating to me how to hold the ball to throw a curve. Although he always recognized me and even called my name on his way into that hip replacement surgery, he should have known that I would not be a good pitching student. If you have trouble locating the article—and if you are interested in reading it—let me know so I can send you a copy. Jackie E. Swensson
Ed comment:
Conrad Swensson was one of the top pitchers in KOM history and set the record for the lowest earned run average, in 1949. Jackie had gotten in touch due to a story appearing in the Denver Post on July 16th. She volunteered to send the article if I couldn’t access it through the Internet. Thanks to the miracle of that media I was able to get hold of it. However, I appreciate being alerted to such things by the readership. If you want to view some of the images from that newspaper go to: www.denverpost.com/2017/07/14/trinidad-triggers-baseball-...
________________________________________________________________________
Help from a real writer
One of the best newspapers of the KOM era was the Iola Register. I still check that source in the old newspaper files that are contained on-line. Shortly, after the KOM league folded Bob Johnson left Pittsburg State University and headed north to begin his career in the newspaper business. Today, he is the Editor of the Iola Register and takes time out of his busy week to read the KOM Flash Reports.
It is my belief he has a sense of pity on those who have to endure the KOM reports and decided to help the old batboy come up with a better product. When it was stated in last week’s report that the story on the 1946 Pittsburg Browns was probably overkill he responded with “No overkill in my opinion. I enjoy all of what you write, but then I'm from that era and find myself often living there more than I do in the present.” So, here is his contribution to this week’s report.
My view: ‘For love of the game’—Bob Johnson-Iola Register
When I first became interested in baseball, along about the time the Philadelphia Athletics became the Kansas City A’s in 1955, if you were a serious fan you didn’t need a scorecard to know who played for whom.
Every kid who followed baseball could rattle for the lineups of most American League teams — man NL, too — and knew KC bench players and pitchers as well as they knew their own name.
Stalwarts of the game — Mantle, Williams, Aaron, Mays, et al — were untouchable in the trade market, and seldom did many other players change teams. They were bound, right or wrong, in a sort of involuntary servitude. The teams owned them, body and soul.
That changed in 1969 when the Cardinals’ Curt Flood challenged the reserve clause, which prevented players from switching teams at their behest. His claim, which won court support, was the reserve clause violated antitrust laws and the 13th Amendment, which did away with slavery.
That opened the gate to free agency and, with certain concessions to teams for having signed and developed players, soon had many moving to the highest bidder.
No one with a wit of fairness in their system would question an employee’s right to accept the highest bid for their services.
The second thing that has occurred over the years that wasn’t true when I spent night after night glued to a tiny transistor radio listening to the Athletics lose yet another game is the influx of Latin players.
That has been good for the game. No one would disagree Salvy Perez is at the top of the class in K.C. Not only is he a fan favorite, he also is talented almost beyond belief.
But, here’s the problem in modern-day baseball. No longer do I know from one season to season, often one month to next, who the Royals or another team will field for a given game. It drives me nuts trying to keep track who is playing where. This sure isn’t meant to be a racist comment, but Latin names also sometimes leave me bewildered. Perez and Martinez is easy, but how in the world do you pronounce Rougned Odor, of Ranger fame.
I suspect most fans don’t get as deep into the game as I do, and with the financial aspects, as well as drug-enhanced performances that hit the news a few years ago, I find it harder just to enjoy the great American game. Same is true, by the way, of Jayhawk basketball. I just get to know (by way of TV coverage) the players, when they jump ship for the NBA. I suppose, as James Carville would say, it’s about the money, stupid. For a kid of the ’50s that’s too bad.
Ed comment:
Readers can go to this site on Saturday morning July 22 and read this same article on-line. www.iolaregister.com/
After reading it you can send an e-mail to Mr. Johnson. Do it and let him know the breadth or lack of circulation of this Flash Report.
___________________________________________________________________
Universal issue
Long ago I learned not to accept obituaries as the “last word” regarding the life of the deceased. Many times I’ve read the chronicles of the life of a recently departed only to find some items were fiction and not much of a resemblance to any fact.
This past week my attention was directed toward an obituary of a person with whom I was acquainted as a youth. Another friend, still vertical, pointed out that the fellow had claimed to have played in a rather popular country/western band during his life. The instrument on which he allegedly played, for the famous band, was also the same one my vertical friend played all throughout his youth, and very well, I might add.
Some research was done to validate the claims of the dearly departed and there was no way in a million years did he play for that famous band that backed the late Buck Owens-- The Buckaroos. www.google.com/webhp?authuser=1#safe=active&authuser=...
In fact, the instrument that the deceased claimed to have played with the Buckaroos was played by a guy who used to attend KOM baseball games, at Carthage, with his father and three brothers. The musical family, to whom I refer is/was Albert E. Brumley and his sons; Bob, Al Jr. and Tom. www.google.com/webhp?authuser=1#safe=active&authuser=... Al and Bob are the survivors of that extremely talented family and they both have had access to the KOM publications/news for many years. Al Jr. even played some of his father’s songs at a KOM reunion in Bartlesville, OK, in 2002, and also did some pickin’ and singin’ at the event where Your’s truly was honored, in 1999, with a plaque on the entrance to the Carthage stadium.
Do people make claims to great feats of the past out of wishing they were so or do they tell the story so many times they tend to think it is true? It is also possible that when people get to be a certain age they assume they can say anything and get by with it for no one else is around to dispute what they have to say. Maybe that is the position this editor is in at his advanced stage of inhaling/exhaling. That is why each reader should look closely at each report and let me know when I mess up. Can anyone say “Gilbert Flauto?”
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That’s it for now. Let me know what you know so that more people will know what you know.
The two-part episode The Incident presents two stories in parallel: a science-fiction adventure involving time-travel, electro-magnetism, and a mad scientist hoping to change things with a hydrogen bomb; and a fantasy myth involving mortals enslaved by ancient demigods, trying to change things with a knife and sacrificial fire. (In keeping with the disclaimer introduced earlier, it must be noted that ‘science’ and ‘fantasy’ are terms loosely applied, and that perhaps even the Jacob story might craft a more plausible scientific explanation than the Incident itself.) This work of fiction exists somewhere at the intersection of drama, sci-fi, and fantasy, but wholly within the category of Mythology. The episode’s first images evoke the dawn of human culture, the harnessed power of fire, shelters made of rock, hand-spun clothing and sandals, and primitive tools to gather fish from the ocean. After mankind adapted the necessary technology to survive, his mind began to expand to other pursuits, darkening his bare walls to produce painted images, carving majestic statues into rock, weaving decorative tapestries dyed different colors, telling stories through language, and even building ships to explore the seas (and planes to conquer the skies). Although Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey still holds the record for the longest flash-forward in cinema history, the centuries-long transition after the opening scene achieves a similar narrative effect. Even though man has evolved from taming the Promethean fire to building Edison’s light bulb to unleashing the power of the atom, our civilization is still in its infancy. Human beings themselves have not matured at the same rate as our technological progress. “They come. They fight. They destroy. They corrupt. It always ends the same.” The same petty jealousies that motivated the biblical rivalry of Jacob and Esau, also inform our nuclear-age warfare. A doctor can now perform once-unthinkable paralysis-saving surgery on your spine, but can that same doctor ever fix his own backbone when dealing with his father? Even our artwork, after generations of progress from cave paintings to wireless transmission of digital media, have also taken us from Homer to New Kids on the Block.
LOCKE: Years later a visiting prince came into Michelangelo's studio and found the master staring at a single 18 foot block of marble. Then he knew that the rumors were true -- that Michelangelo had come in everyday for the last four months, stared at the marble, and gone home for his supper. So the prince asked the obvious -- what are you doing? And Michelangelo turned around and looked at him, and whispered, sto lavorando, I'm working. Three years later that block of marble was the statue of David.
Two special artifacts from this classic opening scene, which are revisited at the ending of the episode, deserve special attention. The first is Jacob’s tapestry. The meticulously hand-crafted decoration initially appears in incomplete form. He has emblazoned the top section of the tapestry with ancient Greek lettering, a phrase from Homer’s Odyssey: “May the Gods grant thee all that thy heart desires”. Under those letters, the Egyptian symbol of the Eye of Horus, a symbol of divine power, occupies the center, between two massive wings. When Ben arrives at the statue centuries later, Jacob’s masterpiece is complete. Arms stretch down from the eye, towards nine human figures, while two kings observe from both sides. The image offers a visual representation of Jacob’s long-term plan, to give each piece ‘a little push’ into place for his endgame. Presumably, those nine individuals correspond to Kate, Sawyer, Sayid, Ilana, Locke, Sun, Jin, Jack, and Hurley (although Ben might be the final person, as Ben received Jacob’s touch rather than Ilana). Much like the sequence of literal and figurative long cons that preceded this one, the tapestry doubles as a metaphor for the show’s writing process. The gods of this particular story, writers Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, strung the audience along for several years, slowly revealing pieces, painting each character with care, until it was time to unveil this man behind the curtain. Of course, they understood that the journey was more important than the final destination. As Jacob later confesses: “It takes a very long time when you're making the thread, but, uh... I suppose that's the point, isn't it?”.
Allusions to outside mythology, of course, occur quite frequently on Lost. For every direct reference that the show makes, there are a dozen other meaningful comparisons to be made, some intentional (such as Apollo the son of Zeus, or Everything That Rises Must Converge) but many others are merely fortuitous. Minds working independently across the globe tend to converge on the same core ideas or mythemes. Mythology scholars have produced a number of different theories to explain why authors from different cultures, without any direct contact, produce legends with such striking similarities. Each theory of mythology necessary rests on a simplification and generalization, more valid for some works than for others. In my assessment, the work of French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss offers the deepest insight into the objectives of Lost-style myth-making. Lévi-Strauss posited that human beings organize information primarily through binary oppositions (pairs like faith-empiricism, freedom-determinism). The underlying storytelling purpose of any myth is to unify those irreconcilable opposites, or at least create the illusion that the conflict has been resolved. Through the clash of thesis and antithesis, we can arrive at a synthesis. The commonly-cited analysis of the tragedy of Oedipus Rex offers a useful example: Sophocles revealed the consequences for a son showing not nearly enough affection for one parent, by killing his father; and far too much affection for the other parent, by marrying his mother. The great Lost myth revolves around the mirroring psyches of its pair of heroes, Jack Shephard and John Locke, one child who received far too much parenting (with Christian pushing his adult son around the clock) and another child who received far too little parenting (with Cooper pushing his adult son out of the eight-story window). The endless dichotomies of Lost are indeed false ones, and no one who chooses one extreme side, can ever be fully correct.
LOCKE: Backgammon is the oldest game in the world. Archeologists found sets when they excavated the ruins of ancient Mesopotamia. Five thousand years old. That's older than Jesus Christ.
WALT: Did they have dice and stuff?
LOCKE: [nods] But theirs weren't made of plastic. Their dice were made of bones.
WALT: Cool.
LOCKE: Two players. Two sides. One is light … one is dark.
The second key artifact is Jacob’s home, the Statue itself. As confirmed through outside sources (although hardly apparent from the actual episode), the Statue represents the hippopotamus-headed Egyptian fertility goddess Tawaret. (The interior chamber also includes a painting of the Egyptian deity Isis, another goddess similarly associated with protection, birth, and motherhood.) Before this revelation, many people, including myself, predicted incorrectly that the Statue would depict Anubis, the jackal-faced god of death, judgment, and the underworld. Images of Anubis last appeared during Season Five's Dead is Dead, on the tunnel walls where Linus confronted the black Smoke, also known by its Greek mythological moniker, Cerberus. The overall implication here is that the dividing lines have been drawn, with Jacob’s light side linked to Life, with the Man in Black associated with Death. In flashback, Jacob’s touch breathes life in Locke’s fallen body, while his nemesis apparently has been manipulating corpses for years to help him commit a murder.
Among the ancient secrets revealed in this episode, Ricardus answers Ilana’s ongoing riddle “What lies in the shadow of the Statue?” with the Latin phrase: ille qui nos omnes servabit. The standard translation apparently characterizes Jacob as a messiah figure: the one who will save us all. Despite all preliminary indications, it would be a premature mistake to equate the light-dark imagery with a good-evil metaphor. As Frank Lapidus wisely remarks: “In my experience, the people who go out of their way to tell you that the good guys are the bad guys.” The basic conclusions are undisputed: Jacob wants to keep bringing people to the Island to bring about an Ending, while the Man in Black wants to kill Jacob and keep the Island isolated. (The physical acting of the two rivals even conveys their dueling outlooks, with Mark Pellegrino relaxing as he scans the horizon, but with Titus Welliver squinting uncomfortably in the reflected sunlight.) Conceivably, Jacob’s Ending, his desire for change, could include the death of all mankind, to make way for the birth of a new progressive era. A phrase on the bottom of his tapestry offers a foreboding hint of Jacob’s final solution to end human corruption: “Only the dead have seen the end of war”. Keep in mind, the first on-screen action of Jacob, the great fisher of men, was to gather life from the ocean, rip its guts out, and then devour it.
(Here is another fun etymological fact for all of the Latin lovers out there. Early in the episode, Bram and Ilana share a cryptic exchange about whether Frank might be a Candidate for their side, a term that undoubtedly will reappear in Season Six scripts. The Latin adjective candidatus literally means “dressed in white,” and Mr. Lapidus clearly fits that bill. The word developed its English meaning from the white gowns worn by Romans seeking senatorial election. The word also shares a common origin with the adjective candidus which could be used for its literal meaning of “white,” or in a more figurative sense as “clear”, “candid”, or in other words “Frank.”)
MIKHAIL: Ha! Don’t waste your time. For ten years I have tried to defeat that game. But it was programmed by three grand masters. And it cheats.
LOCKE: Hmm. Well, I’ve played a lot of computers and I’m pretty sure they don’t know how to cheat. That’s what makes being human so distinctly wonderful.
For the first time, The Incident allows the viewer to rise up from a ground-level view of the game pieces on earth, to see the chess board from the player’s perspective in the sky. The story begins with the Man in White and the Man in Black trapped in an eternal stalemate. The fisherman Jacob gathers people from the seas, and then his enemy the hunter watches them destroy each other. Like the layman’s definition of insanity, Jacob repeats the same action over and over, while expecting a different result, faithful that one day the humans will change their nature, and the outcome. As Jacob points out, though, time is on his side: only one counterexample is necessary to disprove a negative. The rules of the game favor an endless cycle of perfectly symmetrical violence, until one of the players can find a way to change, break, or at least bend the rules. The Man in Black found the loophole in the rules that would allow him to kill Jacob. Evidently, he needed to impersonate Locke (and a number of other departed souls along the way) in order to persuade Ben, the leader of the Others, to choose to murder Jacob. At the same time, Jacob knew that his opponent would exploit the technicality eventually. In response, Jacob found his own way to cheat the rules: he brought a handful of special individuals to the Island, so that they could erase the events that lead to his death. To borrow a key phrase from Lost creator J.J. Abrams’ 2009 Star Trek opus: “Going back in time, changing history ... that's cheating.” Both master plans required a tremendous degree of faith in mankind: Jacob placed his confidence in the better angels of our nature, the ability of separate individuals to collaborate on one final goal; the Man in Black went all-in gambling on the inherent weakness of Locke, the corruption of Ben, and the mindlessness of his followers.
Their debate about whether mankind can change its nature arrives alongside the time-travel corollary question of whether human beings can alter their future. The “we’re the variables” framework presented in Season Five - note the emphasis on the plural - suggests that one person acting alone cannot alter history. Due to our natural tendency to oppose each other, the reactions of some other person will negate that action. Season Five's test case demonstrated the principle, as Kate's efforts to save little Benjamin negated Sayid's attempts to destroy him. The light will drive away the darkness, and vice-versa. However, if enough individuals combine in an effort to alter history, then the magnetism of their aggregate positive charge can overcome the negative pull. When the dark energy approaches the Swan (Jack, Sayid, Jin, and Hurley - all shown as adults in flashback), the forces of light gather to stop them (James, Juliet, and Kate – each one appearing as a child). The ensuing argument between echoes the central time-travel issue of Season Five: James asserts “What’s done is done,” and Jack responds “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” The resulting boxing match between the Black-Jack and Light-LaFleur depicts the larger war between the dueling demigods in microcosm: the two men are evenly matched when trading punches, so James exploits a few holes in Jack’s rulebook. In the end, though, one side prevails with nothing more than a little push to tip the scales. Juliet’s paradoxical, circular logic, a freely-willed decision grounded on her concept of predestination, resolves the conflict into its synthesis.
BERNARD: You realize we're the only two married guys on the island?
[He shows his ring]
BERNARD: Married?
JIN: Married.
BERNARD: Yeah, well, no, not to each other. No. (laughing) You got it. It's not easy, is it? Oh, I mean, it's--it's wonderful, but... let's face it, every decision that you make takes twice as long. 'Cause you always gotta talk them into it.
The episode’s black-and-white motif takes on a completely different meaning in the context of the Island’s two married couples. Part One includes the long-awaited return of Rose and Bernard, a couple whose bond transcends not only the color barrier between black and white, but also the perhaps deeper divide between a woman of faith and a man of science. The retired couple sets the example that the children refuse to follow, to lay down their differences and evolve into peaceful harmony. Subsequent flashbacks also reunite our other married couple, the wedding between Sun in her white dress and Jin in his black tuxedo. Western observers often mistakenly refer to the prominent Eastern symbols of yin and yang, as images of the struggle between good and evil. On the contrary, the black-and-white emblem common from Chinese philosophy (also incorporated into the flag of South Korea) represents duality rather than polarity. The dark and the light, the male and the female, instead of opposing each other become unified halves of a stronger whole. Jin provides another useful image: “We will never be apart, because being apart would be like the sky being apart from the earth.” Their wedding rings reinforce the idea of interconnectedness between the two halves of the same story, an unbreakable bond despite decades of separation. Sun’s later discovery of Charlie’s Driveshaft ring suggests a similar connection between the living and the dead, the past and the future. On a more depressing note, this episode also includes a third married couple, with the tragedy of Sayid and Nadia. While Sayid bleeds to death from his gunshot wound on the island, he suffers a deeper wound in flashback, his own sky being ripped away from his earth.
In what is either a sheer accident, or the product of intelligent design, the dark and light phenomenon even extends into the ongoing turmoil between the episode’s four romantic leads. On the physical level, James and Juliet share the same light-haired, lighter-eyed look of Jacob, while Jack and Kate share the same dark-haired, darker-eyed look of his nemesis. As Radzinsky might attest, basic electromagnetism holds that like charges repel and opposite charges attract. Even heading into the final season, the love quadrangle has never settled into a stable equilibrium, due to a peculiar mix of shared-physical-traits-with-opposite-personality-traits and vice versa. If you wanted a second opinion from Dr. Freud, then he could tell you a thing or too about Ms. Austen and Mrs. Shephard, Ms. Burke and Mrs. Ford. (Speaking of Freud, what can a psychoanalyst say about writers who changed temporarily the name of one of its leads from the revenge-driven Sawyer to flower-sniffing LaFleur. The Flower, as it translates from French to English, is traditionally associated with femininity, fertility, and even serves a common symbol for a certain part of the female anatomy. Fortunately, The Incident confirms that, “there ain’t no more LaFleur,” and with it the nominal castration of James Ford comes to an end.) The Incident focuses much of its creative energy on manufacturing motivations for each of the four lovers, to join forces to detonate Jughead, mostly at the expense of the supporting players. For each of these four characters, Lindelof and Cuse go too far in spelling out the answers to the audience in childish black-and-white terms, when shades of adult gray would have sufficed.
KATE: So, do you believe it?
JACK: Believe what?
KATE: That everything's going to be okay?
JACK: Yeah, I do.
KATE: Kind of unlike you -- the whole glass half-full thing.
JACK: There's a glass?
The childish immaturity of adults often comes across in a negative light, but child-like innocence can also be seen as a positive trait. Hurley, more than any other character, has been blessed (or, depending on your perspective, cursed) with the heart of a child. The adult Hugo not only enjoys a nice cherry Fruit Rollup on his ride home from jail, but he is thoughtful enough to offer to share it with a stranger. Just as any girl Juliet’s age will blame her own actions for her parents’ failed marriage, Hurley similarly internalizes the misfortunes of others as his own personal shortcoming. Hurley’s conversation with Jacob carries the same tune as any kid in need of parental guidance. Jacob’s words add another classic binary opposition to this tapestry of black and white: optimism and pessimism. There are always two ways to look at any situation. Even the darkest curse might be viewed as a brilliant blessing in disguise. As a point of caution, though, the converse of that principle also holds some merit. Throughout this story, Jack plays the unlikely role of a zealous optimist. Absolutely confident in the plan’s improbable success, he illuminates all of the wonderful merits of the revised timeline (Sayid’s life will be saved, Jin will get reunite with Sun, Claire will have the chance to keep Aaron, etc.). Foolish optimism can be a more dangerous force than cautious pessimism. His alternate future easily could result in an abyss of darkness, rather than a beacon of sunshine.
After so many rays of hope, the story of John Locke now ends in the gloomiest depths of tragedy. Frank quotes the same eternal question that links together Through the Looking Glass with There’s No Place Like Home: “What’s in the box?”. Three years later, the answer remains the same: Locke’s rotting corpse. John's life ended with him alone, miserable, and a failure. He was a puppet on strings, pulled by Cooper, by Ben, and by the Man in Black, and then discarded as a piece of trash, like on the day he was born. In a way, the entity now occupying Locke’s body has been fulfilling John Locke’s lifelong dreams. Locke always wanted to become a decisive leader, a man strong enough stand up to the Coopers and Linuses and Jacobs of the world. This master pulling the strings is unburdened by John’s emotional scars, his neediness, his self-doubt, even his morality. John’s ambitions of divinity could not be reconciled with his identity as a mortal, so one of those two needed to die. Even so, Locke’s tragic curse can be viewed as a blessing of martyrdom. Seemingly, Locke’s last chance for redemption hinges upon the success of Shephard’s mission to erase history. His phony resurrection in The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham could be explained only by a cheap deus ex machina. The alternative option, resuming his life in a wheelchair at LAX, would be the product of his own leadership, the effect of mentoring Jack into a true believer. Jack drops the warhead onto the Swan site, like a kid tossing a coin into a wishing well, with the hope that when the magic box opens again, whatever he imagines will come true.
LOCKE: You have to do it.
JACK: You do it yourself, John.
LOCKE: No, you saw the film, Jack. This is a two person job, at least. […] I can't do this alone, Jack. I don't want to. It's a leap of faith, Jack.
Jack’s mad quest to detonate the bomb and prevent the Incident should remind the audience of Locke’s equally mad quest to end the 108-minute cycle of button-pushing once and for all. The content of Season Two’s Live Together, Die Alone resembles The Incident in other ways as well, a two-hour flashback episode to introduce a new character, with a timer ticking down to a scheduled event, which ends with one last heroic gesture to "make it all go away" in a flash of light. (Also, it never hurts to add liberal doses of the Great Radzinsky into your script.) These two episodes pull their characters violently towards the same magnetic focal point, with metal projectiles flying through the air. In each case, the man of faith puts his blind beliefs to an empirical test, to find a yes-or-no, black-and-white scientific question. Locke told us: “I’m more sure about this than anything in my entire life,” and he was wrong. For Jack, the words are: “Nothing... nothing in my life has ever felt so right.” (These statements also reveal a great deal about the degree of confidence the two men felt in themselves over the years.) The destinies of these two great men have been intertwined quite beautifully. Indeed, the outcome of one question hinges upon the answer to the other. If Jack had succeeded in destroying the energy, then Locke would have been correct as the timer ticked down to zero. On the other hand, if the Button truly served no purpose, then Oceanic 815 would have crashed regardless of any Incident, and Jack’s plan would have no effect on the timeline. I cannot help but admire their pure strength of will required to risk everything, seemingly beyond good and evil, beyond fate and free will.
Lost’s famous Live Together, Die Alone dichotomy reappears in another form, in the story of Juliet. When Jack first spoke those words in Season One’s White Rabbit, he phrased it as an either-or choice: “if we can’t live together, then we’re going to die alone.” When Juliet references the mantra in The Incident, she makes a crucial misstatement, “Live together and die alone” (at least, according to the closed-captions on my DVD.) A few minutes later, Juliet indeed does die alone, in the hope that everyone else might live again, together at LAX. The method of her death, proved to be an inspired creative choice. James, who tried desperately to lift John from the well in This Place is Death, once again found himself on the losing end of a tug-of-war with the grim reaper. Despite moving on from the death of his parents to build a new life, he finds himself in the same place as his childhood self in Tennessee, losing the woman he loves most in the world. The magnetically-charged chains, pulling her down into the gaping hole, offers a more scientific counterpart to the fantasy-inspired image of the Smoke Monster’s black hand of Death. Chains commonly serve as a symbol of restraint, imprisonment, inevitability, the antithesis of human liberty. In the famous words of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains." Pulled underground against her will, Juliet makes one last free choice, to erase countless freely-willed decisions of others. She achieves her destiny by destroying the chain of events that caused her to fulfill that destiny.
When the final white screen with black letters appears for the first time, after five years of white-on-black writing, the implication is clear: the Lost universe as we know it has inverted itself. The central binary dilemma of Season Five hangs in the balance with the flash of light. Two players, two sides. Did the events of the Season-Five-ending Incident prevent the Season One-opening Pilot’s crash of Oceanic 815? Or did the characters cause the very future they were trying to prevent? Both options offer a mix of positives and negatives. A brand new timeline would offer fresh storytelling opportunities, and a chance to revisit old friends long gone. On the other hand, the explosion would also incinerate the entire five-season hand-crafted tapestry of the Island story. The entire post-1977 universe, including the 2007 storyline of the Incident, would amount to nothing more than a dream. Preserving the old timeline would re-affirm the show’s fundamental rules for meaningful storytelling stakes: dead is dead; whatever happened, happened. With that solution, the entire time-travel story arc that lead to this finale event, and all those post-cliffhanger months of anticipation, would become meaningless. (Logistically, I don’t think either solution even makes much logical sense.) Perhaps the fatal flaw of this debate is that we view it as a debate. As Juliet did, maybe we should simple replace the word ‘OR’ with the word ‘AND’. There can be two universes, one in which Jacob succeeds, and one in which the Man in Black succeeds. Instead of conflict, we can find harmony. As the men who first painted on cave walls understood, one color is not enough. A world of pure white and a world of pure black would be indistinguishable from chaos. But, when you combine the dark and the light in some kind of balance, then any work of art becomes possible.
Rai Pawpad: "Wow! This is cool! It doesn't even smell bad!'
Jaina Lefevre grins at Rai. "Yeah..it's really cool. And these boxes are good to sleep on 'cause then the rats don't walk on you."
River Grau scrambles inside after the other children..Since he had seen it before, it wasn't much of a big deal to him.
Rai Pawpad nods and bounces. "Yeah, I wish we had these under the park. Can I take some down there?"
Jaina Lefevre blinks at him. "Under the park? S'prolly better if you sleeps here. It's safer. No wolves to eat you."
Rai Pawpad circles the room. "Yeah, well I will now! " He casts a superior look over his shoulder at her. "Wolves are nothin. You can smell em coming a mile away."
River Grau frowned and nodded at Jaina's words. "There are wolves in the park an' they dun like peoples much. Gotta stay away at night, an' I heard 'em howlin' and stuff last night. Reaally scary wolves. I call the brown one Brown wolf, and a black one I saw is called Blackie Scary Wolf."
Rai Pawpad roots under the desk. "Yeah, I know the one you mean. The black one. I seen him a couple times. Smells like wet dog."
Jaina Lefevre shivers. "I seen one once. It kept licking it's mouth like it was hungry and I looked yummy." She watches Rai. "Hey...if you gets really hungries, you knowed where I live. But I'm gonna see about gettin' Nanny to carry a big box of stuff here. Okay?"
River Grau didn't have that problem with the wolves. They seemed nice enough, "Well, when I saw 'em they ain't seem very hungry."
Rai Pawpad sticks his head out from underneath the desk. "Thanks. That'd be good. But I get food okay, don't worry. If I get really hungry I can always let that redhaired lady try to kidnap me again. She comes on with the good stuff. "
Jaina Lefevre watches Rai and then frowns. "What redhaired lady? Tauntie Lilli?"
Rai Pawpad stands and makes a curvy gestrure with his hands. "Nah...the newpaper lady. "
Jaina Lefevre nosewrinkles. "She's older'n Auntie Farts. I don't like her 'cause she's mean."
River Grau wonders if he is the only child in Midian whom doesn't get kidnapped. "Uhmm.. Maybe you should stay 'way from kidnappin' ladies. Or find someone to act like a big brother, so if you do you have protection.." Blinkblink. "HER? Why does she wanna kidnap you?"
River Grau: She hates kids.
Rai Pawpad bounces back to the top of the table. "She thinks I'm her brother or somethin."
Rai Pawpad looks at Jaina. "And she's mean as HELL! Did you know she has a kid up there, in a room above teh Snake Pit, and she keeps him tied up all the time, and feeds him nothing but bananas?"
Jaina Lefevre eyerolls. "I knowed I don't got no brothers or sisters. They all died." She blinks at him. "She does? Is he all yellow?"
Rai Pawpad nods. "Almost. He looks pretty bad. She keeps him tied in a box."
River Grau blinks, head tilting. "Bastian is sick an' I dun think Mister David would let her do that. Since it's Mister David's kid an' all. He gots luke-and-'em. So he's sick and just bananas would make him sicker.
Jaina Lefevre oohs. "He's a weird kid. Wants to be the boss of the world. I think he needs t'be unpluggeded."
Rai Pawpad exhales. "See, that's where you're wrong again, River. She's obviously a wicked stepmother. And I've been up to see Bastian. Was locked in with him for a whole day and a night. Were you?"
Jaina Lefevre sighs. 'No fightings. Tengu."
Rai Pawpad: "I'm not fighting! I'm just saying what I know. He's saying what grown-ups told him."
River Grau rolls his eyes and Rai and looks to Jaina.
River Grau sighs. He then gets an idea, trying to change the subject. "Why don't we ask that Niyol kid if he wants to join us? Maybe he can teach us stuff on how to form the group since he seems like he knows lots. An' we can make a rule, older kids can't lead us just 'cause they are older."
Rai Pawpad shrugs. "Ask your mom, princess. Ask Deets if she wasn't mad that Leor was keepin some hybrid kid locked up in the bar." He turns and hisses. "No! Not that kid!"
Jaina Lefevre tips her head and looks at River. "Sister D said I hadta meet him 'cause I was smart like him and he don't have ears'n tail nee....ither." she fumbles a bit on the last word and shrugs. "Well...you does."
Rai Pawpad shakes his head. "What, River, you just NEED someone to push you around? Is that it?"
River Grau turns, completely ignoring Rai's outburst. "Uhm, so whatcha think Jaina?"
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "He ain't gonna if we don't let him. And big kids can get stuff little kids can't, so he's got useful bits." She says this to Rai.
Jaina Lefevre is probably the first almost-six-year old to say he's got 'useful bits'...
Pawpad huffs. "You didn't see how he...He was pushin me around....pushin all of us around. Like he was... some kind of UAC or somethin!"
River Grau gives Jaina a look as if wondering if he seriously has to deal with this. Sighing, he just shakes his head. He was going to be a good little boy, foronce.
Jaina Lefevre just looks at Rai. "Do you really REALLY think he's gonna push /me/ around? I don't think so."
Jaina Lefevre: ...and you wonder why Nanny is never around...
Rai Pawpad growls. "He better not. Nobody better push you around."
Jaina Lefevre looks at River. "You knowed where he is? We can see how it works with a big kid comin' to our place..."
Jaina Lefevre looks up at Rai. 'Our place. Our rules. He can always go 'way."
River Grau nodded, "So is he in? Can we ask him? I dun' really know much about him, but he seems cool. He hangs out at the church somtimes."
Rai Pawpad looks at Jaina and nods once, his lips tight.
Jaina Lefevre looks at River. "Go see if he's around?"
River Grau nods to Jaina and moved out the door. "Alrigh."t. If I find him I'm gonna bring him 'round
Jaina Lefevre grins at River and then looks over at Rai. "It's a good way t'see how this works. This Tengu." She smooths her skirt.
Rai Pawpad watches her, uneasy now that she can see him staring, but unable to stop. "Yeah. I guess. It's not exactly what I had planned, you know. I got a war to run. "
Jaina Lefevre does that one brow thing. "A war? With who?"
Rai Pawpad: "To overthrow the governmint, of course. A gorilla war."
Jaina Lefevre blinks at him. "Like...the may-ore? Or the World Union gubmint?"
Rai Pawpad leans back and considers. "Well, I'll start with the mayor. Then I'm gonna have to take on the mainland."
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head. "Gotta start small, Rai. Like..easy stuff first. Like...get Tengu strong. Then...then we get weapons..."
Rai Pawpad pulls his knees up. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. I been making weapons, but I think we're gonna need more."
Jaina Lefevre: "You knowed who my Mommies are?"
Rai Pawpad pulls out a notebook from his backpack and reads, "Deets Carroll, owner of the Snake Pit, Debra Somethin..head of Blackstar. " He looks up. "Right?"
Jaina Lefevre frowns. "Shar-ron. And yeah. So, weapons is easy to get, when we're ready."
Rai Pawpad jumps as he feels a buzz in his shirt. "Hang on..." He pulls out a phone and holds it awkwardly to his ear. "Yeah?"
Jaina Lefevre watches him for a moment, then toys with her skirt.
Rai Pawpad jumps down. "It's my friend. Bas. I got to go find him."
Bastian Magic laughs hard as he yanks the door open
Jaina Lefevre twitches. "The creepy kid in the wheelchair?" She glares as he pulls the door open. "You weren't invited. This is our clubhouse."
Rai Pawpad: "What're you doing out of your box?"
Bastian Magic glares at the girl. "Shut up you stupid ugly girl... your mother put me in that wheel chair... she's a kid poisoner!"
Bastian Magic grins at Rai... "I'm feeling loads better..."
Jaina Lefevre smiles at him. "You can't tell me to shut up. You ain't invited. Get. Out."
Bastian Magic looks at Rai... "You gonna tell her?"
Rai Pawpad arches an eyebrow at Jaina. "Evil stepmother. I told you."
Jaina Lefevre: "My Mama isn't evil. She loves me. And I don't like him."
Bastian Magic turns around "I don't like you either... you're ugly and stupid and your mother is so evil and stupid and ugly too and don't think cause you're a girl I won't fight you and kick your ass!"
Jaina Lefevre smiles. "Lay a hand on me and I'll bite your face off." She points at the door. "Go. Away."
Bastian Magic stands with his hands on his hips... "You make me little miss priss... I dare you, chowder head."
Rai Pawpad looks Bas over. "You look better. How'd you find me?"
Jaina Lefevre looks at Rai. "Tengu."
River Grau rolls his eyes as he hears the noises outside the door. Opening it, he frowns at the people in here. "Just shut up! This is why we need Niyol! He gets you guys to stop this."
Bastian Magic glares at Jaina... "I can find anyone in Midian.. this is my city! Before it was yours ugly girl."
Niyol Clawtooth: He follows hair puller to the factory. Lifting up a hand to scratch at his head as the kid opens up the door and he hears all the bickering inside. "What have I gotten myself into." He mutters to himself under his breath, staring at the kids on theotherside of the door.
Jaina Lefevre looks up at Niyol and then back at Bastian. "He's not in our group." She looks at River and then back to Niyol. "Hi. I'm Jaina. You is a guest in our clubhouse. He's an intruder." she points to Bastian.
Rai Pawpad looks up at Jaina, and puts a hand on Bas's arm, ready to pull him outside, when the big menace comes through the door. He freezes.
Bastian Magic growls at the girl... "This isn't yours... your just a no good squatter."
River Grau waves the Bastian, as if nothing argumentive was going on. "Hey Bastian. Glad to see you are better. I tried to poison the Deets lady for hurtin' you but it didn't work. That's okay though, 'cause she's nice to me now."
Bastian Magic points at the girl... "She's fakin it... because she has a traitor kid now... that girl."
Rai Pawpad stiffens. "Shut up, Bas! Don't be talking about the Princess like that!"
Jaina Lefevre sighs. It was so nice before Bastian magically appeared at the door of the secret clubhouse that no one knew about until about an hour ago.
River Grau blinks a little, "But that's the only reason why she's bein' nice to me, 'cause Jaina's my frient." A snort was given towards Rai at the mention of princess. "This group sucks. None of yah are doin' anythin' right."
Bastian Magic makes a face... "Ewww, you're HER friend? Well... no accountin for taste... and you guys are squatin in my house... I live here... gonna have Caty come and live with me."
Niyol Clawtooth: He would give a small nod to the girl on the box.... before he would remain standing at the door a moment in silence, simply watching the children before his hand would come up to rub at his forehead. His head would slowly shake.... peering through fingers at each of them. His gaze locks onto anklebitter manhandling another kid. His eyebrow would slowly raise at that as his hand lowers. "Hello Anklebiter." He'd then glance to the kid in red and then the rest, keeping silent.
Jaina Lefevre gets to her feet and shakes dress out before approaching Niyol. "Sister D said I should meet you 'cause you're smart too and you ain't got ears and tails."
Rai Pawpad looks at River and lifts his lips in a snarl. "You're welcome to leave anytime. Don't let the door hit your tail on the way out." He looks up at the greeting from the big menace, and sinks back. "Hi."
River Grau mutters something about if Jaina just wanted him to bring the older boy here because of that, she should have found him herself. Ears pressed flat against his head at Bastian's comment. "Shut it, dwarf."
River Grau crosses his arms over his chest, "Rai, if yah dun' treat me with some respect I am givin' yah another black eye and leaving this group. I've been tryin' to be good all day, but I am tired of you bein' such a snot face."
Niyol Clawtooth: He grins at the girl a moment. "That's what people say.... that I'm smart, but don't hold it against me. " His eyes narrow at all the bickering. "Wholy fuck, you all bend over and let bugs crawl up your asses? shit calm down yeesh." He rolls his eyes a moment before lookin' back to the girl. "I take it you're Jaina."
Bastian Magic: "Holy shit that man just fucking cursed at you..." Bas says to River... then giggles... "I ain't a dwarf... just need to eat more...."
Jaina Lefevre nods. "Yep. And that's Rai, and you knowed River, and that's someone that doan belong here." she points to Bastian at the end. Turning back to him she offers her hand. "Welcome to the Tengu clubshouse. We don't fight in here, cause kids have to stick together." She glances at Bastian. "Well, /some/ kids..."
Bastian Magic looks at Rai... "If she's your fucking keeper Rai, it was nice knowin' ya... girls ain't no fun to play with. You can have my old house... I got a real home now with my dad."
Rai Pawpad snarls. "Shut up, Bas, you're being kept in frishin box by some lady. Don't even start. And she's the Princess Empress, is all. Not my keeper. Just my secred duty to bring her to the throne."
Bastian Magic rolls his eyes at Rai... "Well, if Princess stupid head would move, I'll leave you to your stupid game of house... I got a space ship back at my house... that's no box...."
Niyol Clawtooth: He shakes his head slowly once more, he jerks a thumb towards the door. "I'm going to go and come back another time when ya'll ain't bein' dipshits. You want a group for kids to look after kids and shit, you fuckin' try and look out for every fuckin' body... even if it ain't freakin' possible." He glances to the girl and then to the boys. "Ain't gonna fight in here eh?... I dun even come close to the fuckin' door and already I hear ya'll bitchin' about who's got the biggest wad in their diapers." He shakes his head slowly. "The moment ya start stuffin' someone up on pedastool and excludin' people, things go to shit. All us kids got are eachother. Fuck... " He begins to turn for the door.
Rai Pawpad steps forward to grab Bastian. "Don't let him go.... he's crazy or something. They realy do keep him in a box!"
River Grau frowns, stepping after Niyol. Hands were waving in the air as he tried to stop the older boy. "Hey, that's why I asked yah to come. Everyone is all screwed up here! Make 'em stop fighting." Eyes then shooting to Rai as he grabs for the boy. "Don't do nothin' to him. And yeah, the lady does lock him up. But he's real sick an' needs nurses."
Bastian Magic yanks his arm from Rai... "God, playing with that girl's made you as stupid as she is... that's my house... the one I had... Leor got it from the back and brought it up for me... she saved Baa Baa too... she's not great, but at least she doesn't throw other people's kids down into the sewer after feeding them poison cherries... " he looks at Niyol with something like respect... "you;re wicked cool...."
Jaina Lefevre watches Niyol and then turns to look at the others. "Y'know, we need to have big kids to talk to so they can help things make sense sometimes. But if ya don't want to help kids 'cause it's not easy, then see ya." She smiles at Niyol then.
Bastian Magic yanks the door open... "Stinky girl..." he says and skedadddles.
Rai Pawpad bounces back up to the top of the desk. "I was tryin to help him. But he's crazy."
Niyol Clawtooth: He looks down at river at the attempt to barricade him/ distract him from leaving. And the girl from behind him, trying to gloat him. "I help you lot a lot more than ya know. Talkin' ta the adults ta get ya the shit out of fuckin' trouble... tryin' ta get ya guys food, shelter and shit though gettin' us all to look out for eachother." He would turn slowly to face the girl, his shoulders squared. "But this" He splays his hand to the rabble before him, and the boy that ran off. He shakes his head slowly. "You're acting just like the fuckin' adults. Excludin' and not gettin' what I'm tryin' ta drive into ya bleedin' little skull... " He shakes his head slowly
River Grau looks vrom Niyol to the other children. "That's what I wanna do. I like the idea of gettin' food an' stuff to the other orphans. An' find some way so that we can protect kids gettin' beat up by adults. How many of you had gotten beat up by adults before? Arguein' an' stuff ain't helpin. And I'm tryin' to be real nice today so I don't pop Rai one. But he's not helpin' stuff either, fightin' like that."
Rai Pawpad swishes his tail. "What? Only fight I got in today was with tha psycho with the knife. And you had nothin to do with it. I'm being patient."
Jaina Lefevre watches him, eyes shifting from face to face, then back to Niyol. "Some kids are dang'rous. And I can get food from my Mommy to bring here and stuff. So, we all wanna do the good stuff, and be safe."
River Grau nods at Jaina's words, "An' I was gonna get Aunt Saki to bring stuff from the kitchen."
Niyol Clawtooth: He grunts lowly at the girl. "Everyone is dangerous in their own ways, you just learn where to direct that.... " His hand moves to Anklebiter. "Take Anklebiter over here... he's a scrapper, prone to gettin' into fights... put him to use as a guard encase any adults decide to harrass a kid, but he ain't a commander.... he's a scrapper. The tough guy ya go to when ya need shit done hard and without much backtalk so long as somethin' gets pummeled.. " He glances then to Rai. "Am I right anklebiter?" He gives the kid a reverse nod.
Rai Pawpad returns his gaze. "I do what I have to do. But I'm the Prince. I'm gonna be running Midian someday." He laughs a little. " I guess I better learn to be a commander."
River Grau rolled his eyes at Rai yet said nothing. He listened to Niyol intently, gaze shifting between the older boy and Jaina. Rai was mostly ignored.
Jaina Lefevre grins at Rai. "I'll teaches you. I learn lots from Mommy's books." She looks over to River and then to Niyol. "What's River and me?"
Niyol Clawtooth: "Gotta curb that temper first otherwise ya just another brute with a stick. You've got to use this" He taps his head, before his hand lowers and moves between Jaina and River, pausing first on Jaina... "Ya definitely a brains girl... already able to wrap people up around ya finger. Get people to do what ya want... but ya lack grounding something or someone keepin' ya on from not thinkin' ya own the bloody world and getttin' yaself killed tryin' ta acomplish it. " He jerks a thumb to hair puller, river. "Hair puller here.... sorry.. River here. is well grounded and from what I can tell of his fightin' ... he knows or rather is learning fast when to fight and when to talk but... he's got a mouth on him, needs" he points to Jaina." brains to remember what To say that won't get shit in worse shit." He points to Anklebiter. "And brawn that he can trust to have his back in a brawl. " He pauses... seeing if any of that sunk in.
Rai Pawpad would snort at the idea of him getting River's back, if the nose River bashed the night before last was up to snorting.
Jaina Lefevre nods to Niyol, then looks from River to Rai. 'He's smart. And he sees stuff." She grins and looks up at Niyol again, a glint of intelligence a child her age should not have in those eyes. "I don't think I can do it all. S'why not everyone is Tengu. But we can do some, and tha's better than nothingm, right?"
River Grau grinned slightly, nodding to Jaina at what Niyol said. "Yah do act like you can tell just anyone what to do.. But you're real good at gettin' people to listen to you." An ear flicked at the snort, "You wanna join a group Rai? You gotta listen to the other people. I think Niyol is good at helpin' us 'cause we are kids. He's bigger so the kids will listen to him, but he ain't gonna boss us 'round because he's bigger."
Rai Pawpad looks at River then Niyol. "Yeah? He was pretty bossy the other night." He holds up a hand. "But I can listen. He's makin sense." He hops down. "I did okay on my own, you know? I don't HAVE to do this." He looks at Jaina. "But it seems like a good idea. Smart."
Niyol Clawtooth: He remains silent, looking at the trio remaining silent. He still had not made up his mind whether or not to join this little club when he had one of his own he and a few others ran behind the scenes without pins stating they were a club, to help look out for the little guys. He simply watches the trio... brains, brawn, solid. If they formed a council for themselves and he meerly advized... broke up fights and shit... he mused, they might make it. his brown eyes moved from one to the other.
Jaina Lefevre looks over at Rai, then at River. "We need to ask Kimi before it's final, right?" She grins at Niyol. "We got four Ravens. We swore an oaf. But we could make you a pigeon until we talk to Kimi and get the vote. If ya want. " she pauses "You..want?"
Rai Pawpad looks at Jaina. "I vote aye. Only if he stops callin me anklebiter."
River Grau looked 'round the room, thinking. "Maybe Niyol can be somethin' else. A pigeon ain't right for him, cause he's bigger an' just watchin' out for us. Like a Mother Goose or Mama Hen. Plus, we're all little kids so maybe he ain't wanna be in the group, which is also alright. I just thought he cuold help us stop fightin'." He nods, "But if he wants to be in the group, I vote aye too."
Rai Pawpad rolls his eyes. "River, you may be a little kid. I'm not."
Jaina Lefevre: "Pigeon is the start. He can be a hawk or somethin' after Kimi votes. We made an oaf."
River Grau covers his right hand from Niyol's view with his left and flicks off Rai for just a second. He acts like everything is normal, and doesn't respond to Rai's comment.
Niyol Clawtooth: "age... everything comes back to age." He rolls his eyes. "Age is nothing, experience is everything. " He glances from each of them... Four.... hmm... an even number... an unfortunate if they are tied....
Rai Pawpad feels a buzz at his back, and pulls out his phone. He looks at it for a minute and up catching River's gesture. He just smiles. "I've got somethin to attend to. Scuze me Niyol." He turns and does a quick little bow. "Princess."
Jaina Lefevre looks at Niyol. 'You want to be a pigeon until we talk to Kimi and then you can be a Hawk or somethin?" She waves. "Bye Rai."
Niyol Clawtooth: "I'll think about it. Talk to this Kimi first, get their take on the deal and... we'll see." He steps out of the way of anklebiter before looking back to Jaina and River.
River Grau frowns, head tilting. "If Rai's gonna be a gaurd, we need another name for the fighters. One of 'ems gotta not be a Falcon." He nodded to Niyol, "You make a beter Father Hen than a Hawk, 'cause htose are the spies."
Niyol Clawtooth: He laughs!.... "A father hen is a .... " He doubles over a moment. "So... if I get called a father hen ... Then i'm a " He laughs his mind completing the sentence-a prick!, how apt!-
River Grau doesn't get it and stares at Niyol for a moment in puzzle. He then then points a hand at him, "See, he likes Father Hen."
Jaina Lefevre giggles a little and shakes her head. "That's not good 'cause we can't say that around Mama. She'd be mad." She thinks a moment "How about a Crane?"
Niyol Clawtooth: "Or Talon. Not a bird itself, but well. I'll be tryin' ta help ya'll like ya were mah little bro's and sisters so... " He shrugs slowly....
River Grau nods, liking that. "Yeah, 'cause you're watchin' out for us. Now we gotta pick another bird to be a fighter if a Falcon is now a gaurd. Although I think Rai would be a better Vulture than a Falcon."
Jaina Lefevre looks over at River, then back to Niyol. "Talon for the watcher helpers." she nods.
Niyol Clawtooth: He shrugs, not minding the name or role... He lifts a finger to rub his nose a moment. "or call 'em or me eagles " He chuckles. His own motivations behind that.
River Grau frowned at Jaina, "An' what 'bout the other stuff I said 'bout the gaurds an' fighters?" He didn't like being blatently ignored.
Jaina Lefevre looks over at River. "We gotta talk to th'others about it and I gotta go. Mommy's supposed to be home t'night."
River Grau nods, happy now that something was said about it. "Okay.. I wish my Momma stopped bein' busy 'cause lots of times when I go home nobody is there."
Jaina Lefevre grins at River. "Mine work too much." She looks up at Niyol. "Thanks Niyol. We'll talk t'Kimi and let ya know."
River Grau nods to Jaina, "Yeah, I'll probbly just sleep in the kitchen tonight. Tired of goin' to Levi an nobody bein' there." He gives a wave, "Night Jaina."
Niyol Clawtooth: "Alright. Laters all" He would turn to move to leave. He'd glance to River. "My number is on the back wall of the Kitchen. Technically squirt " he laughs. "I'm one of ya bosses." He then moves to todder off. "laters all"
Paul Weisel
10h ·
In May of 2018 I was headed west for my annual visit with Don Edmunds, but took a few side trips before showing up in Oregon. After stopping at the National Sprint Car Hall of Fame in Knoxville, IA to deliver a supply of Don Edmunds' books, I veered north to I-90 and my first visit to Mount Rushmore. An early Friday morning arrival made a stop at the speedway in Sheridan, WY an easy addition to my route. On Saturday I said a final goodbye to Rocky Mountain Raceway in Salt Lake City and chalked up both their figure 8 course and the infield course used by their 4-cylinder division. As I cruised across Nevada, a Sunday afternoon event at the Winnemucca Regional Raceway was the cherry on top of four new tracks in the western states.
Monday was spent chasing vintage sprint car tires for our low-bar Edmunds sprinter project around the Ukiah, CA area and the slow day allowed me catch my breath for a first ever visit to San Francisco. On Tuesday morning I headed south on CA-101 to cross the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. 'Why in the world would you want to drive into San Francisco?' you ask. There's only one reason – Norm Rapp. Norm was 91 years young, a midget racer of note, a multi-time winner indoors at the Oakland Coliseum, a purveyor of race car parts for at least the past 60 plus years, and a recent inductee into the National Midget Hall of Fame. Norm has been instrumental in finding parts for several of our midget restorations, I've spoken to him numerous times on the phone, but we'd never met! Upon my arrival at 5 Cordova Street, Norm Rapp Racing's World Headquarters, Norm jumped into my van and we went for breakfast at the Bayside Cafe, where it appeared Norm was revered as their favorite patron. Great view of the bay and I was able to cruise past the Cow Palace on the way back to Norm Rapp Racing. After an afternoon of spending money with Norm (he even had a used Goodyear pavement sprint car right rear tire), I headed north, hoping to escape the San Francisco traffic mess before things really got sporty at rush hour.
Unfortunately, Norm left us on December 28, 2019 at age 92 and I will be eternally grateful I took the time to visit with him at his place of business and spend some quality time with a true icon of the sport of midget racing. When the phone rang at Norm's business, a former grocery store on Cordova Street where Norm ran his business since 1961, you never had to wonder if Norm was 'in'. If the guy on the other end of the phone answered with, 'Zoom, zoom!', you were talking to Norm.
We both sold Firestone tires, so we always had something in common and we'd talk once, maybe twice, a year – always phone time well spent. When I needed a Casale rear end for the restoration of Don Edmunds' personal Kurtis-Kraft, I called Norm. Shockingly, he said he had two! He asked if I was familiar with the term 'butted' (indoor racers in particular often shortened the rear axles of their cars – narrow holes, narrow cars) and I replied, 'Yes, it means I want to hear about rear end #2.' The second rear was built in October, 1947 and was perfect for a midget built by Kurtis in 1948. Always the kidder, Norm added, 'I hear you drove race cars back east, so I'd better shim the ring and pinion and put it together for you before we ship it. Edmunds always said, 'Race drivers have to be smart enough to operate a race car ---- and just dumb enough to climb in it.' So, I took Norm up on his gracious offer and the rear arrived in two pieces. All I had to do was to was put the axle and ring gear into the rear and tighten the side plates. Everything was shimmed to perfection. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to impress my good pal, Ronnie Dunstan, I told him I had just assembled this Casale rear (and I had) and asked if he'd stop by to check the lash and see if everything was OK. Dunstan was impressed when he worked the axle back and forth – the rear was right and tight! If he's been walking around the last few years thinking I might have some mechanical ability – good! Norm even had a laugh when I told him about it.
A few days ago I read an interview with Norm by Saroyan Humphrey for Rust Magazine and Rust Media and thought it was the perfect insight to Norm Rapp. Photos included from the article are identified and I'd like to find a few more articles and interviews from these folks.
Rust Magazine, Q&A w. Norm 'Zoom Zoom' Rapp, 91 year-old racer and businessman remembers driving, wrenching with George Bignotti, and growing up in San Francisco.
TEXT – PHOTOS SAROYAN HUMPHREY
Feature: Norm Rapp has been inactive as a midget driver since 1967, but has owned and managed his racing supply business since he started it from the basement of his house in 1953. Until recently he was still selling vintage midget and sprint car parts, including tires and wheels. Along with parts, Rapp also supplied Northern California speedways with racing fuel for decades.
Norm was born in 1927 in San Francisco and was raised across the street from what would become his current race shop. Rapp's father, Gene, was also involved in automobiles, mechanics and racing. Several years before Norm was born, Gene raced a big car – a flathead 'T' – at San Jose and San Luis Obispo. He found success, winning a main event that summer at the .625-mile San Jose Fairgrounds track, but a crash, where he was knocked unconscious for over a week, ended his career in 1923. Still, it didn't end his enthusiasm for racing and the automobile, as he continued to attend races in the Bay Area with his infant son, Norm, in tow. In 1936 the elder Rapp also opened a Nash dealership in San Francisco's Mission District, a place Norm would work as a mechanic a few years later.
After World War II, as midget racing continued to grow in popularity across the United States, Norm began driving a Drake (Harley Davidson-powered) midget in training races in 1948 at the long-gone Bayshore Stadium in South San Francisco. In ’49, Rapp competed in his first full season of professional competition, and by ’51, the driver won his first main event at a quarter-mile dirt track in Marysville, Calif. Norm continued to hone his driving skills and would eventually win 40 main events—on both dirt and pavement—during his driving career. Competing with the BCRA (Bay Cities Racing Association) mostly, Norm also raced at special events across the West Coast and Midwest, often traveling with his father.
In commemoration of his lasting racing career, Norm has been inducted into six halls of fame. From the National Midget Hall of Fame, to Balboa High School in San Francisco, where he shares the honor with George Bignotti, another San Franciscan who graduated from the same school a few years earlier. Besides being neighbors, Bignotti and Rapp became racing comrades, competing in BCRA events early in their careers. Rapp was also part of Bignotti's Indy team in 1956 and helped build the '57 Bowes Seal Fast Specials that went on to finish sixth and 22nd with drivers Johnny Boyd and Fred Agabashian.
Laid-back and still a big kid at heart, Rapp spent a few hours talking about his career and his life as a racer/businessman.
You're one of the few lifetime honorary members of the BCRA. Rapp: Yeah, there's only about six of us. It's quite an honor. There's Johnny Boyd, Fred Agabashian, Boots Archer, Johnny Soares, Sr., and also Floyd Busby. He's the present scorer. Years ago, his father was the scorer when I first started in 1947.
And you were inducted to the National Midget Hall of Fame. Rapp: Yeah, three years ago. They inducted eight of us altogether that day. It was an enjoyable situation. Bobby Unser was there. It was a great day. It was something that I'll always remember. That's my biggest highlight. I'm in there with names like A.J. Foyt, Tony Stewart and all the rest of 'em.
Is being inducted to the halls of fame the best part of getting older? Rapp: Well, yeah; I gotta say, aging is not for sissies.
You were born and grew up here in San Francisco. Rapp: Yeah, in Crocker-Amazon, right next to the Excelsior District, off of Geneva Avenue.
And your dad was a racer? Rapp: Yeah, I'd been going to the races since I was two years old. Before I was born, he was racing. In those days they called them big cars, where now you call 'em sprint cars. He just raced for a couple of years and then he got hurt really bad at San Jose Fairgrounds in 1923. So, when he recuperated from the skull fracture, my mother, who then was his girlfriend, sail, “Well, Gene, you have to make the decision, racing, or me....” So he raced once more after that and then retired from racing, but we went to the races to watch and I always begged him to go in the pits and look at the race cars after the race.
In those days racing was so much more dangerous. Rapp: In 1923 they killed six guys at the track (San Jose) in one season. There's a story about how my dad was in the hospital and there was a memorial race for a close friend of his and he came out to the track with a bandaged head and was part of the ceremony.
What other local tracks do you remember going to? Rapp: We used to go to San Francisco Motordrome, which was down on Army Street. I was a young kid, before World War II, I went to Alameda (Neptune Speedway). He took me over there a few times. In those days, you had to take a ferry boat to go across the bay. There was no Bay Bridge (laughing). And there was a mile track over there on Hesperian Boulevard (Oakland Speedway) in Hayward. It was well-known in those days, before World War II. And then during the war, somebody lit the grandstand on fire, or something, and the property became valuable.
You raced a soap-box derby car when you were a kid. What do you remember about that? Rapp: When I was 11 and 12 years old. That's what I called the start of my career. In my day we didn't have any go-karts, quarter midgets, and things like that. There just the full midget. I raced at Treasure Island (during the World Exposition) in 1940. Chevrolet built this ramp about 75 feet high and you'd tow the car up the ramp. I was fine going down the hill, but when I hit the flat, I didn't have the weight to carry me and so, I lost the heat race by a couple of inches.
Your dad also had a Nash dealership, right? Rapp: Right, from 1936 to 1946. It was between 18th and 19th on Valencia (Street), 740 Valencia. He had a shop as well as sales for the cars. In 1937, he sold 97 Nashes. That was a real good year for Nash. I had a '37 Nash. That was my first car!
Did you work in the shop? Rapp: When I was 14 or 15 years old, after the soap-box derbies. I was working for him, yeah. It was a small business and I was doing the parts work, as well as the lubrication. We had a rack there that we'd put car up on.
You joined the Army Air Corps after high school, right? Rapp: Yeah, when I graduated (in 1944) everybody was patriotic, much more than anytime in my life. So everybody enlisted in one form of service or another. I chose the Army Air Corps because I wanted to fly and the Army was a little easier to get into that the Navy. So, I went down to Market Street and signed up. It took 110 points to go to officer training and I got 125. Since I was still 17 years old, they didn't want to send me to an army specialized training program, so they sent me to Stanford (University) for two terms. After that I went to Biloxi, Miss. To Kessler Field and then to Lowry Field and Buckley Field in Denver, That's how I spent my 28 months total.
What do you remember about living in San Francisco during that time, after Pearl Harbor? Rapp: Neighborhoods were blacked out and the San Francisco Seals used to play baseball only in day games. Everybody had black curtains on their windows; everything was blacked out. We had wardens also, and every block was checked to make sure the windows were sealed. There are still bulkheads out here close to the hospital (points west toward the Pacific Ocean).
How did you get your start driving midgets? Rapp: After I got out of the Army Air Corps, a friend of my dad's got me a job at Pan American Airways (as a mechanic) and one of the mechanics there owned a Drake midget. His name was Larry Christensen and he had Lyle Johnson and some other prominent guys driving for him. He won a feature in '46 or '47. He lived nearby. We got to be good friends and I went to his shop every night, almost, and helped him work on the Drake and in the pits. (George) Bignotti's shop was about a half mile away, too.
I bought a Drake midget in '48 and I had Earl Motter, Dick Strickland, all prominent veteran drivers, drive the car. The way I did it was I let those prominent guys run the car in the program and usually they would have warm-ups and I'd go out and run the first warm-up and they'd run the second warm-up and qualify and race the car. In the middle of the program, they'd have training races and I ran those. I ran 20 training races. In '49, when I first started driving, I turned 10th fastest at Bayshore Stadium and made the main event. After that, I progressed over the years.
I was really hot for the Drake engine and it was the main event winner at different times with Jerry Piper and Bob Barkhimer. It was a Drake engine like Billy Vukovich, Sr. always ran. It accelerated really good. It could beat the Ford V8-60s and it was a cheaper car.
Where was the Bayshore Stadium? Rapp: There used to be a track right next to the Cow Palace that was built in 1934 by some gamblers from Chicago. People don't know about it anymore. The story there is that these gamblers came out here and were going to run greyhound races. So they established this track next to the Cow Palace as well as the one down in Belmont and another across the bay. They had four of them and then (the State of) California says, “We don't want dog racing” for humane reasons. So there was a quarter mile dirt track and along comes December 7th (1941), and the government took over the Cow Palace and all the surrounding area, including the race track, and put all their tanks and trucks and everything else in there. Then after the war, all the vehicles disappeared and left the track. So, in 1946 BCRA came in and ran programs there until 1950, every Friday night. It was called Bayshore Stadium and it had a covered grandstand.
And you expanded your mechanical knowledge at Pan American? Rapp: I worked at Pan American for 10 years altogether, in different shops. I first started out in the wheel and tire shop. Then I was in engine buildup for three years. We'd put the engine on a test stand before they put it in the aircraft. And then I had a chance to go to the parts department, which I enjoyed quite a bit. I spent six years there.
How did you meet George Bignotti? Rapp: George was running the BCRA circuit in 1947, and when I started going to the races with Larry Christensen, I met George. He had a shop at Geneva and Mission and he ran two midgets with Fred Agabashian and Ed Normi driving, running seven days a week (laughs). BCRA was running eight days a week back then (big grin).
Do you remember your first man event victory? Rapp: Yeah, it was at Marysville in 1950. It was a different track than the one that we see now. It was a quarter mile. I started outside front row and Jerry Hill was on the pole. It was a hard, dry track, and there were a lot of prominent drivers there like (Johnny) Boyd, (Johnny) Baldwin and Edgar Elder. Edgar had fast time in a Drake. So, I got a jump on Jerry on the start and I held the lead for 25 laps and won it. Elder had fast time and he was tangling with Boyd and Baldwin and it hit one of 'em and ended up going out through the open pit gate and he just drove right up onto his trailer. He was a great guy.
Was your dad a part of your racing? Rapp: He followed me, but didn't help me. Then after about a year, he said, “I see you're serious, and I'm going to see about buying this Kurtis Ford.” Johnny Smith had driven it to sixth place in (BCRA) point stands the year before in 1947. It was a one year-old car, a Kurtis V8-60, with a spare engine and everything else for $2,000. So he bought it and I sold the Drake. I ran the Ford for three years and I kept paying him off and I owned the car when we got done. That was #16. It was really a good way for me to get started.
You traveled to the Midwest to race in '52. You must've been feeling confident with your driving and equipment. Rapp: I hadn't been driving for very long. The story there is, I was kinda depressed because my grandmother, who used to live with us, died. She had taken care of my brother and me when we were young kids, when my mother and father were running the auto shop. It was tough times. And my girlfriend, who later became my wife (Dorothea), decided she didn't want to see me anymore. So I was kinda depressed. I thought, “Heck with it. I'd just like to go the the Midwest and race.” I went by myself, Bignotti tuned my V8-60 and it was outstanding. I didn't have a spare engine, just some extra tires and wheels. But the good thing about the Midwest was that it taught me a lot. I really had to get down to the nitty fritty and learn how to race against those guys and I was running different tracks all the time. Day race, night race......
Midget racing was a big deal at that time. Rapp: It was pretty big, but in '52 back out here, it tapered off a lot. NASCAR came in and Barkhimer was running a lot of (stock car) races at San Jose Speedway and he had a whole bunch of tracks that he was supervising...
Did you like the pavement, or dirt? Rapp: When I first started out, I liked the dirt. You got it sideways, but sometimes I got in trouble, too. But after about 1953, I started learning how to drive better on pavement and be smooth. I got to be quite accomplished. I got second to Parnell Jones at San Jose Speedway in '64, and I'd win a feature here and there. Then I had a good Offy and we really made it perform. For six nights in a row, I had fast time at three different tracks. Two at San Jose, two at Kearney Bowl in Fresno, and two at Stockton. I think I won one, got four seconds and a third. In those days we'd start 18 (in the main event), so, I was coming from last.
The car was #10 and that's why #10 is my favorite number now. It set a mark for me. I put #10 on my recently restored Offy. It was red and yellow. The current car is the same paint job, more or less. It's in my store, ready to run. It's worth 35 grand. It's a Jimmy Davies car. He only built six cars; mine and one in Chicago are the only ones that I know of. It's a historic car. It was just a bunch of parts when I got it, and I put it together gradually over five years. I put a lot of new parts into it, torsion bars and everything else.
You must've had some close calls in your driving days. Rapp: I only spent one night in the hospital. I flipped three and a half times at Sacramento (West Capital Raceway) on the half mile in 1955. I hit a rut. I woke up in the ambulance with my dad. I felt that flip for six months, in different ways. In those days, we didn't have a shoulder harness, we just ran the lap belt and it held me in. In fact, the car was upside down and Walt Faulkner was running fast time in an Offy and he had the high groove and he hit my tail right next to my head in the turn and moved the car a couple feet. It just wasn't my time to go (laughs).....a lot of guys got killed at Capital Speedway.
You weren't spooked? Rapp: No, I was ready to go again. But I remember one guy who crashed at Bayshore Stadium, he hit the light pole outside the track and he never showed up again. In that era, right after World War II, Bay Cities used to lose about two guys a season, plus injuries....Yeah, it was tough, really tough. You had to watch what you were doing.
Tell me about the leather face masks that you developed as a safety device in the 1950s. Rapp: Speedway Motors used to buy 100 at a time. I must've sold four or five hundred. When I first started out, guys used to put a bandana around their neck, but that wouldn't help with the dirt and the rocks. You'd get hit. At first I made my own and developed it from there. There was a lady who was a seamstress at Pan American Airways and she helped.
I made a lot of different models before I produced the one that you see now. For different reasons it had to be improved. I had a company on 9th Street in San Francisco that was a leather company and I had them make 'em for me. They made some dies and they'd punch out the product with the die and sew 'em together per my instructions. It was a beautiful piece. I've seen used ones sell for $150 today (laughs).
You worked for Bignotti in '56 and '57. What do you remember from that time? Rapp: Oh, it was a real exciting experience. I had been to the (Indianapolis Motor) Speedway before it 1949 as a spectator. (In 1957) I was working for the Bowes Seal Fast Specials that Bignotti and Bob Bowes were partners in. I was a mechanic, doing everything. In the first day (of qualifying) Fred (Agabashian) was fourth fastest; (Johnny) Boyd was fifth fastest. They started side by side in the second row. Agabashian might have won the '500', but the fuel tank split. In those days we didn't have bladders and the tank wore and cracked. Agabashian was a really shrewd, great driver. He never acquired the achievements that he could've.
Bignotti was a good friend. I was helping him put the cars together in San Francisco. I was getting parts from Pan American. Pan American was a sponsor, but they didn't know it (laughs). Bolts and nuts, whatever we needed for the Indy cars. Bowes got the cars from Kurtis (-Kraft) and we modified them. That was a good deal. They were beautiful cars for those days. Frank Kurtis was a great craftsman. Bignotti just worked out of his basement, just about a half mile from me.
George was the greatest wrench out of a toolbox. That's the way I put it. Nowadays they have all this tech stuff. It's altogether different. He was the chief mechanic on seven Indy winners with different drivers. Can you imagine? (A.J.) Foyt, (Al) Unser, (Tom) Sneva, (ed. note: also Graham Hill and Gordon Johncock). He made 'em all perform. Nowadays it's so costly.
After Indy, I had to make a big decision in my life: whether I should stay back there (Midwest) and race. My wife said, “We can stay back here, I can get a job anyplace. Don't worry about me.” Bignotti was going to run one of the Seal Fast cars over there at Monza in Italy on the high banks, and I could've gone over there with him. Or I could come home and continue with my part-time business. I had been making a couple hundred a week, or something like that. Not big monoey, but I decided to come home and I made the right decision. In those days there weren't many dealers like there are now.
For seven years I worked out of my basement, and about five or seven others in the neighborhood. I was walking back and forth between all the places all day long. So I decided in 1961 that I should get everything in one place. That's when I acquired the building that I'm in now at 5 Cordova. I leased it for 16 years and bought it for $40,000 (in 1977). It's 3,300 square feet.
It was orifinally a grocery store, right? Rapp: It used to be the independent grocer. The Safeway moved down to Mission Street where they are now with a big parking lot, and the independent moved from my building to the corner. And that's where they still are today with different owners. It's Cordova Market.
It was set up so I could back my truck and trailer in there after a race, with a big, wide doorway and everything else. And that's the way it is today....been there all these years. The house where I was born and raised is right across the street from my store, 329 Rolph. I live up the hill, a half mile, in Southern Hills. My wife and I bought the house there brand new. She died 32 years ago, from cancer. She was a great part of my life, as far as career goes.
Did she go to the races: Rapp: Before we had kids, she went to the races all the time. But I'll tell you, it was 1966 or 1967; I was driving for Emery Graham with a Chevy II. The kids were young and sometimes she'd stay home. So, I came home and the next morning she asks, “How'd you do last night?” And I said, “I did good in the heat race; I got up to second and in the main I got on my head. (She said) “You got on your head?” I hadn't been on my head in like 10 years. So she asked, “What happened?” I said, “Well, a guy screwed up ahead of me and I got over him and hit the fence and bent the car up.”
She wanted to know what I was going to do now and I said, “Well, a bunch of guys are working on the car right now to straighten it out so we can run tonight in Sacramento on the half mile, a 100-lapper.” So, we got a fifth in the 100-lapper (laughs). It thrilled me.
It must've been difficult to run a business and drive at the same time. Rapp: Yeah, I used to look at J.C. Agajanian. He was an owner and a promoter. It was pretty tough. My dad was helping in the shop, at the house, going to all the races and pumping fuel. My wife was doing the books. She was a really sharp bookkeeper. She could take care of anything.
It seems like the 1960s was your peak as a driver. Rapp: I kept winning races into the '60s. I retired in '67. The last main event I won was indoors in '66 in Oakland. I won about 40 main events altogether. Gary Koster and I won the most indoor (BCRA) races. We each won 12.
Did you miss driving when you retired? Rapp: Not too much, because I was still going to the track with my fuel and tire truck. I was busy. I kept going to the track until the last couple of years. I just retired a couple of years ago.
You were dedicated to your job as a supplier. Rapp: At Calistoga I got a hall of fame and it wasn't because I had great achievements there. I got third in the main there one night. I got some other fifth, sixth places, stuff like that. The big thing was I had been hauling fuel and tires there for about 45 years (laughs). We'd bring 15 barrels of fuel for a weekend. Louis (Vermeil) said to me way back in '53, “I'd like you to bring a barrel of fuel with you,” and that's how it got started. I gradually built it up. I had a 1,000 gallon tank and then a 6,000 gallon tank in South San Francisco. A friend of my dad's had an oil company there and they had all these tanks, so I bought a tank. You got a better price when you took big quantities. One year I sold nearly 22,000 gallons of fuel.
To what do you attribute your longevity? Rapp: Take care of the body by eating the right kinds of food and don't eat any junk foods. Stay healthy. When I was running a 50- or 100-lapper, I would exercise every other night before I went to bed. That gave me stamiina.
Racing has been my life. And as the saying goes, “Would you like to live your life over again?” I would. Some people wouldn''t, but I would.
Paul Weisel
10h ·
In May of 2018 I was headed west for my annual visit with Don Edmunds, but took a few side trips before showing up in Oregon. After stopping at the National Sprint Car Hall of Fame in Knoxville, IA to deliver a supply of Don Edmunds' books, I veered north to I-90 and my first visit to Mount Rushmore. An early Friday morning arrival made a stop at the speedway in Sheridan, WY an easy addition to my route. On Saturday I said a final goodbye to Rocky Mountain Raceway in Salt Lake City and chalked up both their figure 8 course and the infield course used by their 4-cylinder division. As I cruised across Nevada, a Sunday afternoon event at the Winnemucca Regional Raceway was the cherry on top of four new tracks in the western states.
Monday was spent chasing vintage sprint car tires for our low-bar Edmunds sprinter project around the Ukiah, CA area and the slow day allowed me catch my breath for a first ever visit to San Francisco. On Tuesday morning I headed south on CA-101 to cross the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. 'Why in the world would you want to drive into San Francisco?' you ask. There's only one reason – Norm Rapp. Norm was 91 years young, a midget racer of note, a multi-time winner indoors at the Oakland Coliseum, a purveyor of race car parts for at least the past 60 plus years, and a recent inductee into the National Midget Hall of Fame. Norm has been instrumental in finding parts for several of our midget restorations, I've spoken to him numerous times on the phone, but we'd never met! Upon my arrival at 5 Cordova Street, Norm Rapp Racing's World Headquarters, Norm jumped into my van and we went for breakfast at the Bayside Cafe, where it appeared Norm was revered as their favorite patron. Great view of the bay and I was able to cruise past the Cow Palace on the way back to Norm Rapp Racing. After an afternoon of spending money with Norm (he even had a used Goodyear pavement sprint car right rear tire), I headed north, hoping to escape the San Francisco traffic mess before things really got sporty at rush hour.
Unfortunately, Norm left us on December 28, 2019 at age 92 and I will be eternally grateful I took the time to visit with him at his place of business and spend some quality time with a true icon of the sport of midget racing. When the phone rang at Norm's business, a former grocery store on Cordova Street where Norm ran his business since 1961, you never had to wonder if Norm was 'in'. If the guy on the other end of the phone answered with, 'Zoom, zoom!', you were talking to Norm.
We both sold Firestone tires, so we always had something in common and we'd talk once, maybe twice, a year – always phone time well spent. When I needed a Casale rear end for the restoration of Don Edmunds' personal Kurtis-Kraft, I called Norm. Shockingly, he said he had two! He asked if I was familiar with the term 'butted' (indoor racers in particular often shortened the rear axles of their cars – narrow holes, narrow cars) and I replied, 'Yes, it means I want to hear about rear end #2.' The second rear was built in October, 1947 and was perfect for a midget built by Kurtis in 1948. Always the kidder, Norm added, 'I hear you drove race cars back east, so I'd better shim the ring and pinion and put it together for you before we ship it. Edmunds always said, 'Race drivers have to be smart enough to operate a race car ---- and just dumb enough to climb in it.' So, I took Norm up on his gracious offer and the rear arrived in two pieces. All I had to do was to was put the axle and ring gear into the rear and tighten the side plates. Everything was shimmed to perfection. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to impress my good pal, Ronnie Dunstan, I told him I had just assembled this Casale rear (and I had) and asked if he'd stop by to check the lash and see if everything was OK. Dunstan was impressed when he worked the axle back and forth – the rear was right and tight! If he's been walking around the last few years thinking I might have some mechanical ability – good! Norm even had a laugh when I told him about it.
A few days ago I read an interview with Norm by Saroyan Humphrey for Rust Magazine and Rust Media and thought it was the perfect insight to Norm Rapp. Photos included from the article are identified and I'd like to find a few more articles and interviews from these folks.
Rust Magazine, Q&A w. Norm 'Zoom Zoom' Rapp, 91 year-old racer and businessman remembers driving, wrenching with George Bignotti, and growing up in San Francisco.
TEXT – PHOTOS SAROYAN HUMPHREY
Feature: Norm Rapp has been inactive as a midget driver since 1967, but has owned and managed his racing supply business since he started it from the basement of his house in 1953. Until recently he was still selling vintage midget and sprint car parts, including tires and wheels. Along with parts, Rapp also supplied Northern California speedways with racing fuel for decades.
Norm was born in 1927 in San Francisco and was raised across the street from what would become his current race shop. Rapp's father, Gene, was also involved in automobiles, mechanics and racing. Several years before Norm was born, Gene raced a big car – a flathead 'T' – at San Jose and San Luis Obispo. He found success, winning a main event that summer at the .625-mile San Jose Fairgrounds track, but a crash, where he was knocked unconscious for over a week, ended his career in 1923. Still, it didn't end his enthusiasm for racing and the automobile, as he continued to attend races in the Bay Area with his infant son, Norm, in tow. In 1936 the elder Rapp also opened a Nash dealership in San Francisco's Mission District, a place Norm would work as a mechanic a few years later.
After World War II, as midget racing continued to grow in popularity across the United States, Norm began driving a Drake (Harley Davidson-powered) midget in training races in 1948 at the long-gone Bayshore Stadium in South San Francisco. In ’49, Rapp competed in his first full season of professional competition, and by ’51, the driver won his first main event at a quarter-mile dirt track in Marysville, Calif. Norm continued to hone his driving skills and would eventually win 40 main events—on both dirt and pavement—during his driving career. Competing with the BCRA (Bay Cities Racing Association) mostly, Norm also raced at special events across the West Coast and Midwest, often traveling with his father.
In commemoration of his lasting racing career, Norm has been inducted into six halls of fame. From the National Midget Hall of Fame, to Balboa High School in San Francisco, where he shares the honor with George Bignotti, another San Franciscan who graduated from the same school a few years earlier. Besides being neighbors, Bignotti and Rapp became racing comrades, competing in BCRA events early in their careers. Rapp was also part of Bignotti's Indy team in 1956 and helped build the '57 Bowes Seal Fast Specials that went on to finish sixth and 22nd with drivers Johnny Boyd and Fred Agabashian.
Laid-back and still a big kid at heart, Rapp spent a few hours talking about his career and his life as a racer/businessman.
You're one of the few lifetime honorary members of the BCRA. Rapp: Yeah, there's only about six of us. It's quite an honor. There's Johnny Boyd, Fred Agabashian, Boots Archer, Johnny Soares, Sr., and also Floyd Busby. He's the present scorer. Years ago, his father was the scorer when I first started in 1947.
And you were inducted to the National Midget Hall of Fame. Rapp: Yeah, three years ago. They inducted eight of us altogether that day. It was an enjoyable situation. Bobby Unser was there. It was a great day. It was something that I'll always remember. That's my biggest highlight. I'm in there with names like A.J. Foyt, Tony Stewart and all the rest of 'em.
Is being inducted to the halls of fame the best part of getting older? Rapp: Well, yeah; I gotta say, aging is not for sissies.
You were born and grew up here in San Francisco. Rapp: Yeah, in Crocker-Amazon, right next to the Excelsior District, off of Geneva Avenue.
And your dad was a racer? Rapp: Yeah, I'd been going to the races since I was two years old. Before I was born, he was racing. In those days they called them big cars, where now you call 'em sprint cars. He just raced for a couple of years and then he got hurt really bad at San Jose Fairgrounds in 1923. So, when he recuperated from the skull fracture, my mother, who then was his girlfriend, sail, “Well, Gene, you have to make the decision, racing, or me....” So he raced once more after that and then retired from racing, but we went to the races to watch and I always begged him to go in the pits and look at the race cars after the race.
In those days racing was so much more dangerous. Rapp: In 1923 they killed six guys at the track (San Jose) in one season. There's a story about how my dad was in the hospital and there was a memorial race for a close friend of his and he came out to the track with a bandaged head and was part of the ceremony.
What other local tracks do you remember going to? Rapp: We used to go to San Francisco Motordrome, which was down on Army Street. I was a young kid, before World War II, I went to Alameda (Neptune Speedway). He took me over there a few times. In those days, you had to take a ferry boat to go across the bay. There was no Bay Bridge (laughing). And there was a mile track over there on Hesperian Boulevard (Oakland Speedway) in Hayward. It was well-known in those days, before World War II. And then during the war, somebody lit the grandstand on fire, or something, and the property became valuable.
You raced a soap-box derby car when you were a kid. What do you remember about that? Rapp: When I was 11 and 12 years old. That's what I called the start of my career. In my day we didn't have any go-karts, quarter midgets, and things like that. There just the full midget. I raced at Treasure Island (during the World Exposition) in 1940. Chevrolet built this ramp about 75 feet high and you'd tow the car up the ramp. I was fine going down the hill, but when I hit the flat, I didn't have the weight to carry me and so, I lost the heat race by a couple of inches.
Your dad also had a Nash dealership, right? Rapp: Right, from 1936 to 1946. It was between 18th and 19th on Valencia (Street), 740 Valencia. He had a shop as well as sales for the cars. In 1937, he sold 97 Nashes. That was a real good year for Nash. I had a '37 Nash. That was my first car!
Did you work in the shop? Rapp: When I was 14 or 15 years old, after the soap-box derbies. I was working for him, yeah. It was a small business and I was doing the parts work, as well as the lubrication. We had a rack there that we'd put car up on.
You joined the Army Air Corps after high school, right? Rapp: Yeah, when I graduated (in 1944) everybody was patriotic, much more than anytime in my life. So everybody enlisted in one form of service or another. I chose the Army Air Corps because I wanted to fly and the Army was a little easier to get into that the Navy. So, I went down to Market Street and signed up. It took 110 points to go to officer training and I got 125. Since I was still 17 years old, they didn't want to send me to an army specialized training program, so they sent me to Stanford (University) for two terms. After that I went to Biloxi, Miss. To Kessler Field and then to Lowry Field and Buckley Field in Denver, That's how I spent my 28 months total.
What do you remember about living in San Francisco during that time, after Pearl Harbor? Rapp: Neighborhoods were blacked out and the San Francisco Seals used to play baseball only in day games. Everybody had black curtains on their windows; everything was blacked out. We had wardens also, and every block was checked to make sure the windows were sealed. There are still bulkheads out here close to the hospital (points west toward the Pacific Ocean).
How did you get your start driving midgets? Rapp: After I got out of the Army Air Corps, a friend of my dad's got me a job at Pan American Airways (as a mechanic) and one of the mechanics there owned a Drake midget. His name was Larry Christensen and he had Lyle Johnson and some other prominent guys driving for him. He won a feature in '46 or '47. He lived nearby. We got to be good friends and I went to his shop every night, almost, and helped him work on the Drake and in the pits. (George) Bignotti's shop was about a half mile away, too.
I bought a Drake midget in '48 and I had Earl Motter, Dick Strickland, all prominent veteran drivers, drive the car. The way I did it was I let those prominent guys run the car in the program and usually they would have warm-ups and I'd go out and run the first warm-up and they'd run the second warm-up and qualify and race the car. In the middle of the program, they'd have training races and I ran those. I ran 20 training races. In '49, when I first started driving, I turned 10th fastest at Bayshore Stadium and made the main event. After that, I progressed over the years.
I was really hot for the Drake engine and it was the main event winner at different times with Jerry Piper and Bob Barkhimer. It was a Drake engine like Billy Vukovich, Sr. always ran. It accelerated really good. It could beat the Ford V8-60s and it was a cheaper car.
Where was the Bayshore Stadium? Rapp: There used to be a track right next to the Cow Palace that was built in 1934 by some gamblers from Chicago. People don't know about it anymore. The story there is that these gamblers came out here and were going to run greyhound races. So they established this track next to the Cow Palace as well as the one down in Belmont and another across the bay. They had four of them and then (the State of) California says, “We don't want dog racing” for humane reasons. So there was a quarter mile dirt track and along comes December 7th (1941), and the government took over the Cow Palace and all the surrounding area, including the race track, and put all their tanks and trucks and everything else in there. Then after the war, all the vehicles disappeared and left the track. So, in 1946 BCRA came in and ran programs there until 1950, every Friday night. It was called Bayshore Stadium and it had a covered grandstand.
And you expanded your mechanical knowledge at Pan American? Rapp: I worked at Pan American for 10 years altogether, in different shops. I first started out in the wheel and tire shop. Then I was in engine buildup for three years. We'd put the engine on a test stand before they put it in the aircraft. And then I had a chance to go to the parts department, which I enjoyed quite a bit. I spent six years there.
How did you meet George Bignotti? Rapp: George was running the BCRA circuit in 1947, and when I started going to the races with Larry Christensen, I met George. He had a shop at Geneva and Mission and he ran two midgets with Fred Agabashian and Ed Normi driving, running seven days a week (laughs). BCRA was running eight days a week back then (big grin).
Do you remember your first man event victory? Rapp: Yeah, it was at Marysville in 1950. It was a different track than the one that we see now. It was a quarter mile. I started outside front row and Jerry Hill was on the pole. It was a hard, dry track, and there were a lot of prominent drivers there like (Johnny) Boyd, (Johnny) Baldwin and Edgar Elder. Edgar had fast time in a Drake. So, I got a jump on Jerry on the start and I held the lead for 25 laps and won it. Elder had fast time and he was tangling with Boyd and Baldwin and it hit one of 'em and ended up going out through the open pit gate and he just drove right up onto his trailer. He was a great guy.
Was your dad a part of your racing? Rapp: He followed me, but didn't help me. Then after about a year, he said, “I see you're serious, and I'm going to see about buying this Kurtis Ford.” Johnny Smith had driven it to sixth place in (BCRA) point stands the year before in 1947. It was a one year-old car, a Kurtis V8-60, with a spare engine and everything else for $2,000. So he bought it and I sold the Drake. I ran the Ford for three years and I kept paying him off and I owned the car when we got done. That was #16. It was really a good way for me to get started.
You traveled to the Midwest to race in '52. You must've been feeling confident with your driving and equipment. Rapp: I hadn't been driving for very long. The story there is, I was kinda depressed because my grandmother, who used to live with us, died. She had taken care of my brother and me when we were young kids, when my mother and father were running the auto shop. It was tough times. And my girlfriend, who later became my wife (Dorothea), decided she didn't want to see me anymore. So I was kinda depressed. I thought, “Heck with it. I'd just like to go the the Midwest and race.” I went by myself, Bignotti tuned my V8-60 and it was outstanding. I didn't have a spare engine, just some extra tires and wheels. But the good thing about the Midwest was that it taught me a lot. I really had to get down to the nitty fritty and learn how to race against those guys and I was running different tracks all the time. Day race, night race......
Midget racing was a big deal at that time. Rapp: It was pretty big, but in '52 back out here, it tapered off a lot. NASCAR came in and Barkhimer was running a lot of (stock car) races at San Jose Speedway and he had a whole bunch of tracks that he was supervising...
Did you like the pavement, or dirt? Rapp: When I first started out, I liked the dirt. You got it sideways, but sometimes I got in trouble, too. But after about 1953, I started learning how to drive better on pavement and be smooth. I got to be quite accomplished. I got second to Parnell Jones at San Jose Speedway in '64, and I'd win a feature here and there. Then I had a good Offy and we really made it perform. For six nights in a row, I had fast time at three different tracks. Two at San Jose, two at Kearney Bowl in Fresno, and two at Stockton. I think I won one, got four seconds and a third. In those days we'd start 18 (in the main event), so, I was coming from last.
The car was #10 and that's why #10 is my favorite number now. It set a mark for me. I put #10 on my recently restored Offy. It was red and yellow. The current car is the same paint job, more or less. It's in my store, ready to run. It's worth 35 grand. It's a Jimmy Davies car. He only built six cars; mine and one in Chicago are the only ones that I know of. It's a historic car. It was just a bunch of parts when I got it, and I put it together gradually over five years. I put a lot of new parts into it, torsion bars and everything else.
You must've had some close calls in your driving days. Rapp: I only spent one night in the hospital. I flipped three and a half times at Sacramento (West Capital Raceway) on the half mile in 1955. I hit a rut. I woke up in the ambulance with my dad. I felt that flip for six months, in different ways. In those days, we didn't have a shoulder harness, we just ran the lap belt and it held me in. In fact, the car was upside down and Walt Faulkner was running fast time in an Offy and he had the high groove and he hit my tail right next to my head in the turn and moved the car a couple feet. It just wasn't my time to go (laughs).....a lot of guys got killed at Capital Speedway.
You weren't spooked? Rapp: No, I was ready to go again. But I remember one guy who crashed at Bayshore Stadium, he hit the light pole outside the track and he never showed up again. In that era, right after World War II, Bay Cities used to lose about two guys a season, plus injuries....Yeah, it was tough, really tough. You had to watch what you were doing.
Tell me about the leather face masks that you developed as a safety device in the 1950s. Rapp: Speedway Motors used to buy 100 at a time. I must've sold four or five hundred. When I first started out, guys used to put a bandana around their neck, but that wouldn't help with the dirt and the rocks. You'd get hit. At first I made my own and developed it from there. There was a lady who was a seamstress at Pan American Airways and she helped.
I made a lot of different models before I produced the one that you see now. For different reasons it had to be improved. I had a company on 9th Street in San Francisco that was a leather company and I had them make 'em for me. They made some dies and they'd punch out the product with the die and sew 'em together per my instructions. It was a beautiful piece. I've seen used ones sell for $150 today (laughs).
You worked for Bignotti in '56 and '57. What do you remember from that time? Rapp: Oh, it was a real exciting experience. I had been to the (Indianapolis Motor) Speedway before it 1949 as a spectator. (In 1957) I was working for the Bowes Seal Fast Specials that Bignotti and Bob Bowes were partners in. I was a mechanic, doing everything. In the first day (of qualifying) Fred (Agabashian) was fourth fastest; (Johnny) Boyd was fifth fastest. They started side by side in the second row. Agabashian might have won the '500', but the fuel tank split. In those days we didn't have bladders and the tank wore and cracked. Agabashian was a really shrewd, great driver. He never acquired the achievements that he could've.
Bignotti was a good friend. I was helping him put the cars together in San Francisco. I was getting parts from Pan American. Pan American was a sponsor, but they didn't know it (laughs). Bolts and nuts, whatever we needed for the Indy cars. Bowes got the cars from Kurtis (-Kraft) and we modified them. That was a good deal. They were beautiful cars for those days. Frank Kurtis was a great craftsman. Bignotti just worked out of his basement, just about a half mile from me.
George was the greatest wrench out of a toolbox. That's the way I put it. Nowadays they have all this tech stuff. It's altogether different. He was the chief mechanic on seven Indy winners with different drivers. Can you imagine? (A.J.) Foyt, (Al) Unser, (Tom) Sneva, (ed. note: also Graham Hill and Gordon Johncock). He made 'em all perform. Nowadays it's so costly.
After Indy, I had to make a big decision in my life: whether I should stay back there (Midwest) and race. My wife said, “We can stay back here, I can get a job anyplace. Don't worry about me.” Bignotti was going to run one of the Seal Fast cars over there at Monza in Italy on the high banks, and I could've gone over there with him. Or I could come home and continue with my part-time business. I had been making a couple hundred a week, or something like that. Not big monoey, but I decided to come home and I made the right decision. In those days there weren't many dealers like there are now.
For seven years I worked out of my basement, and about five or seven others in the neighborhood. I was walking back and forth between all the places all day long. So I decided in 1961 that I should get everything in one place. That's when I acquired the building that I'm in now at 5 Cordova. I leased it for 16 years and bought it for $40,000 (in 1977). It's 3,300 square feet.
It was orifinally a grocery store, right? Rapp: It used to be the independent grocer. The Safeway moved down to Mission Street where they are now with a big parking lot, and the independent moved from my building to the corner. And that's where they still are today with different owners. It's Cordova Market.
It was set up so I could back my truck and trailer in there after a race, with a big, wide doorway and everything else. And that's the way it is today....been there all these years. The house where I was born and raised is right across the street from my store, 329 Rolph. I live up the hill, a half mile, in Southern Hills. My wife and I bought the house there brand new. She died 32 years ago, from cancer. She was a great part of my life, as far as career goes.
Did she go to the races: Rapp: Before we had kids, she went to the races all the time. But I'll tell you, it was 1966 or 1967; I was driving for Emery Graham with a Chevy II. The kids were young and sometimes she'd stay home. So, I came home and the next morning she asks, “How'd you do last night?” And I said, “I did good in the heat race; I got up to second and in the main I got on my head. (She said) “You got on your head?” I hadn't been on my head in like 10 years. So she asked, “What happened?” I said, “Well, a guy screwed up ahead of me and I got over him and hit the fence and bent the car up.”
She wanted to know what I was going to do now and I said, “Well, a bunch of guys are working on the car right now to straighten it out so we can run tonight in Sacramento on the half mile, a 100-lapper.” So, we got a fifth in the 100-lapper (laughs). It thrilled me.
It must've been difficult to run a business and drive at the same time. Rapp: Yeah, I used to look at J.C. Agajanian. He was an owner and a promoter. It was pretty tough. My dad was helping in the shop, at the house, going to all the races and pumping fuel. My wife was doing the books. She was a really sharp bookkeeper. She could take care of anything.
It seems like the 1960s was your peak as a driver. Rapp: I kept winning races into the '60s. I retired in '67. The last main event I won was indoors in '66 in Oakland. I won about 40 main events altogether. Gary Koster and I won the most indoor (BCRA) races. We each won 12.
Did you miss driving when you retired? Rapp: Not too much, because I was still going to the track with my fuel and tire truck. I was busy. I kept going to the track until the last couple of years. I just retired a couple of years ago.
You were dedicated to your job as a supplier. Rapp: At Calistoga I got a hall of fame and it wasn't because I had great achievements there. I got third in the main there one night. I got some other fifth, sixth places, stuff like that. The big thing was I had been hauling fuel and tires there for about 45 years (laughs). We'd bring 15 barrels of fuel for a weekend. Louis (Vermeil) said to me way back in '53, “I'd like you to bring a barrel of fuel with you,” and that's how it got started. I gradually built it up. I had a 1,000 gallon tank and then a 6,000 gallon tank in South San Francisco. A friend of my dad's had an oil company there and they had all these tanks, so I bought a tank. You got a better price when you took big quantities. One year I sold nearly 22,000 gallons of fuel.
To what do you attribute your longevity? Rapp: Take care of the body by eating the right kinds of food and don't eat any junk foods. Stay healthy. When I was running a 50- or 100-lapper, I would exercise every other night before I went to bed. That gave me stamiina.
Racing has been my life. And as the saying goes, “Would you like to live your life over again?” I would. Some people wouldn''t, but I would.
Last Saturday I took my Audi to my buddy’s shop near Slatington so she could receive the required state inspection. It’s about an hour ride from my house which is too far for me- actually anything is too far for me on the weekends since I am a commercial driver and see nothing but the road (and the occasional boobs on it) all week long. If I didn’t get home on the weekends I’d probably lose my mind, more than I have already. But it was a wonderful day for a drive, and I enjoyed chatting with my buddy while his talented staff attended to my ride.
The ride up was pleasant. It feels good to drive something with some agility after 5 days and 2,000 some-odd-miles behind the wheel of something with 18 tires. The drive back was also decent, right up until I was halfway home on Interstate 78. I was passing some slower cars at a fair rate, cruising along at almost ten miles above the speed limit. (Don’t look at me like that, I know you do it as well when conditions allow.) I’m very careful never to exceed the posted speed limit by more than that because if I were to be pulled over going more than 15mph above whatever the speed limit is, I would automatically lose my commercial driving privileges, followed by my home, possibly my wife and a whole lot of other things. In addition, I’m not one of the aforementioned boobs who treat the highway as a racetrack. In addition, I like to look around at the scenery, from old barns in the country to pretty girls wearing short skirts in the city, I notice it all because I have eyes and that’s what they’re there for.
So anyway, there I am, sliding on westbound when in the midst of a mirror scan (I’m a professional even when piloting a fine German automobile) I notice a small black car, about a half mile behind me, flashing high-beams and closing in fast. Really fast.
Let me stop right here and explain something, notably, this kind of behavior. When someone does things like flashing their high-beams, and I see it quite often during my journeys on the road, the “flashee” is not saying, “Um…excuse me. I’m kind of in a hurry. Would you mind moving out of my way, pretty please?” It is aggressive, totally uncalled for and sometimes gets people killed. (I’ve seen that on the road before, you might have too.) This kind of driver is actually saying, “Move the **** over you ******* *******! Now! ****!” Really. If we could eavesdrop inside the car driven by a boob, you know that’s what we would hear or something along those lines. There’s no need for it and I won’t be a party to such nonsense by putting my right foot to the floor. I’ll leave the cruise set and move over after I passed who I am passing. I won’t engage the aggressor because that could lead to a gunfight and nobody likes that on a highway, especially during such a nice weekend.
So that’s what I did. Unfortunately (or, fortunately, depending on how much you like my writing) the guy, now two inches off my bumper, swung alongside me before I felt it was safe to come back into the granny lane as he was demanding. He let me know how he felt. At least he was nice enough to match my speed while I took a picture of his stunningly perfect upright middle finger. It was a lucky shot too, because I simply picked the camera up from the passenger seat, extended my arm towards the window and fired. (I know- I’m really lucky he didn’t fire back. I was in a turbocharged Audi, he was in some dumb Ford, so I figured I could have outran him if need be. You gotta think these things through.)
What’s the point of all these words? Well, I guess I could have made a pointless call to the State Police and whined about my situation. Instead, I choose to share it with the world because it worked the last time I posted a similar picture of an aggressive young lady who was terrorizing my family while I sat in the shotgun seat one fine day on the outer loop around Baltimore. (I think that’s where we were when she pulled up alongside us and stuck her tongue out at me while I snapped a photo.) I stuck that picture up on Flickr complete with a story (www.flickr.com/photos/mrjharry/7756042178/ ) about what I thought of her, how she made me feel. The next day a very good of friend of mine sent me a text saying that his niece was the driver. I did not believe him until he texted me a picture of the car AND the license plate. The odds were so unreal that I still can’t believe it. My friend shared the story with his brother-in-law and “somebody” got into some trouble. I felt bad for her at first. Later I thought, if someone had done that same thing to me during my younger years, maybe I would have cleaned up my act sooner than I did and saved myself all those fines along with the pleasure of meeting so many fine officers of the law. It was a good time though- at least until I pushed things far enough to find myself standing in front of a judge. Those folks make me nervous.
Life is filled with “maybes.” That’s why I am sharing this story of a recent encounter with a roadway terrorist. Maybe his mother will read this and have a talk with him about his poor social behavior. Maybe his father will read it and have a talk with him about keeping a car clean or scold him for his poor taste in automobiles. Maybe a young driver will read this and learn how not to act. Maybe one of my Russian friends will read this and have a “late-night” talk with him one evening when he least expects it.
Maybe you will read it and remember we all have somewhere to go. Some of us are not always in a hurry; others are not very skilled to begin with or have lost their edge with age. Be good and save those “One finger salutes” for important stuff like Mondays or those troubling times when you walk into a public restroom and discover a full-house during a serious emergency. Thanks for reading. Drive kind, travel safely.
It will disintegrate upon contact with the energy Barrier, it will end SIGMA and all similar projects to come, the creatures of your planet are not yet ready for space." John replies, "Who are you to decide." Van answers, "We have only your best interests at heart, in the realm of outer space you are only children and it is disastrous for children to enter areas where they have little understanding, John I can offer you the opportunity of joining us." John replies, "You can go to Hell!, I was born a human, and I'll die one, before I join a race that kills innocent people for abstract ideas." Van replies, "Abstract ideas, very well, you've made your decision, one I'm certain you'll deeply regret, for only death remains." Van puts his hand over John's chest, a high pitched tone is heard, John collapses into Van's arms, he puts him on the floor, just as Cybill enters, she sees John on the floor, she kneels down to John, Van says, "He couldn't stand the acceleration, I knew he should have stayed behind." Van leaves and goes to the control room and makes an announcement, "this is the Captain speaking, we have successively completed the first phase of our mission, and I wish to congratulate all members of the crew, I can now reveal the plan by which we can overcome the cosmic accumulations which have destroyed all of our previous manned satellites, the plan consists of 2 steps, step 1 has already been accomplished, this called for a Blast velocity of 1000 times that of our previous satellites, a force which has carried us into an orbit far beyond the moon, at our present velocity, this cosmic mass if encountered will act as a solid impenetrable wall, however at the first indication of this mass, the SIGMA BARRIER as we call it, we will put into operation the 2nd step of our plan, which varies according to necessity, if at this time we have accumulated enough solar energy for 750 miles per second, we shall be able to blast through the barrier,so doing destroying it, (Dave finds Cybill who is watching Van on the monitor) should the barrier appear before this, we shall take immediate action to avoid it." Cybill asks Dave, "What are you doing here, you should be in operations," Van continues, "I regret to inform you, there has been one casualty, Astronautical engineer John Compo was found dead apparently the result of Blast Acceleration, all hands not on duty will attend the space funeral at 14:00 hours." Dave says, "Cybill I've got to talk to you, it's about Van, he's not human." Cybill says, "Huh!, Dave don't be ridiculous." Dave replies, "I saw him split in two, he's been seen in two places at the same time." (Van has entered the room and hears this) He says, "Why are you not at your post." Dave snarls, "What happened to Jonny, did you kill him." Van answers, "We are now in outer space with one man dead, and I can't afford to loose another by confining you to quarters, so I'm giving you another chance, we'll say no more about your accusation, but I warn you, get out of line just once more and I'll take the necessary measures, I'll remind you, I'm the Captain of this ship and Astro-planetry log gives me supreme and unquestioned command, do I make myself clear." Dave says, "Yes!" and leaves. Cybill remarks, "Van please forgive him, we've all been under a great strain." Van replies, "there's no room for personal feelings on this mission, for his sake he'd better straighten himself out."
Sci-fier savour this outer space 'Shot' of the satellite passing over the Earth, great close-up work, inside John's funeral takes place. Van and a few other crew men stand alongside Van, Jonny's body is wrapped in plastic. Van speaks, "this is a sad thing we must perform, to say good-bye to a brave and beloved crewman, we must think of him as one who gave his life in a noble endeavour, the salvation of the human race. Dave and the Doctor enter a private room, the Dr says, "I feel it's all my fault, I never should have 'checked' the kid out." Dave replies, "You said there is nothing physically wrong with him." Doctor answers, "that's the curious thing, I was extra cautious, I double checked every test, there's just no reason he should have died from the same acceleration we all took, his training record was better than most." Dave replies, "He was murdered." "Murdered," repeats the doctor. Dave says, "Jonny knew something dangerous, something he shouldn't have known, and he was killed for it." Van commends John's body to the depths of space. John's body is dropped into a hatch in the floor. Some remarkable 'shots' as John's body is jettisoned into space. Dave says to the doctor, "Haven't you noticed Van's face there's something different about it, I can show you what I mean." Dave puts his employee identity card on the table and holds a small mirror across his I.D. photo, the Dr says, "Well that means nothing Dave everybody's face is slightly asymmetrical." Dave says, "Yes! but not Van's, I've been watching it, here's something else," the Dr gets a magnifying glass, Cybill enters the room, "I'd like you to see this Cybill." says Dave. Cybill replies, "Dave! you're disobeying orders." Dave answers, "Orders from Van, don't you realize he's trying to destroy us all." Dave inspects a card with Van's fingerprints on it and says, "they're identical, mirror images." Cybill asks, "What does that mean." Dave says, "What I've been trying to tell you, it's not Van, it's true I saw Van's car it was burnt to a crisp, all but the license plates, I checked those out, Van died in that car, this man is a substitute, a copy of the real Van." Cybill says, "You don't expect me to believe that fantastic nonsense." Dave replies, "Is it fantastic, that there's intelligence out there, that stops at nothing to keep us quarantined on our own planet, is the SIGMA barrier fantastic, they've destroyed every ship we've sent up, and now through him they mean to destroy this one, could those prints lie." The Dr speaks, "You know ever since his accident, Van has always given me an excuse to stop me from giving him a routine check up, I haven't even checked his heart." Dave says, "It's quite possible he doesn't have one." the Doc replies, "Well I'll find out, and we'll know for sure." he leaves. Van is sitting at his instrument panel, the Doctor (Howard) enters and says, "Well it's time for you're check up, I have to check you're heart, it has to go on the report." Van replies, "I'm in perfect health and you know it." Howard answers, "You fellows read the instruments, it's up to me to read the human being." Suddenly a mysterious 'BLOB' appears on the screen in the control room, and Van is called to the control room urgent, Van says, "I guess we'll have to put it of Huh!." Howard says, "No! No! I'll wait." Van says, "All-right I'll be back as soon as I can." he leaves. Van enters the control room and is informed, "the dials are acting up!." Van says, "It could be cosmic 'DUST' keep you're eye on it, if it continues to build call me." he leaves and before he returns to a waiting Howard, he enters another room where he is alone. He stands rigidly to attention, puts his hands on his chest, takes a deep breath, and slowly we begin to hear a heartbeat, he exits the room and meets Cybill who says, "Captain!" Van says, "Do you have to be so formal." Cybill replies, "I'm sorry," Van says, "Well I'm a little hurt, I thought we knew each other better, I've been wanting to talk to you, about Us," Cybill replies, "Of course Captain, I'm in the middle of a computation." Van says, "Half an hour then," Cybill nods and leaves. Van returns to a waiting Howard and says, "All-right! Dr you wanted to listen to my heart, proceed, I have work to do." Howard 'dons' his stethoscope and listens to Van's heart, Van says, "You know, I might almost believe you, though I didn't have the heart." Howard answers, "everybody has a heart." Van replies, "The Boy Dave put you up to this I suppose, quite typical of the childish mind, I'm sorry Howard, but I have no more time to waste." Howard asks, "What do you mean?" Van replies, "your a man of science what would you do if a guinea pig got out of control and threatened to ruin one of your experiments." Van is forcing Howard to retreat backwards. "I don't understand," he says. Van says, "Jonny didn't understand either." Van puts his hand on Howard's chest, who says, "What's this!!" Suddenly Van clutches Howard by the throat, and begins to strangle him. Howard tries to free himself, but Van is to strong, Howard falls to the ground Dead. Van leaves the room and meets two crew members he says, "I'm issuing an order for the arrest of one of the crew, I've discovered that John Compo did not die of natural causes he was murdered, I want staff engineer Dave Boy brought to my quarters immediately, you can use force if necessary." The crew men say "Yes Sir! and go." Dave and Cybill are talking, Cybill says, "I just saw Van, he seems so strange, I don't know what to think any more, maybe you're right Dave." Dave speaks,"I know I'm right, I've got to stop him somehow, I'm going after Van, you go to the Doctor, I don't want you here alone." The crewmen enter and arrest Dave who asks, "What for!" A crewman pulls a Gun and says, "No Questions!, lets go." they take Dave at Gunpoint. Meanwhile Van has brought Howard's body back to the Space lock to dispose of him into outer space, Van makes ready the air lock to jettison Howard's body, back at the control room a crewman notices that the gauges are going 'higher than normal' they think they should call Van, but decide it's only cosmic dust interference. Cybill enters the air lock room and sees Van 'tipping' Howard's body into the jettison chamber, Van 'spots' her, Cybill runs away through the corridors, Van jettisons Howard's body and gives chase. Cybill goes into the Solar energy room, Van is outside and calls, "Cybill I just want to talk to you." He forces the door open and enters saying, "I just want to talk to you Cybill." Cybill moves backwards. Meanwhile Dave is being escorted at gunpoint by the crewmen who arrested him, he turns quickly and 'Chops' one, and knocks the other one 'Out' with a punch, he lifts the gun. Van is being very menacing towards Cybill, he says, "I had no choice, I couldn't permit him to endanger the ship, please listen to me." Cybill says, "Yes!," Van continues, "I'm human now Cybill, I need you." A voice on the intercom declares, "Captain the prisoner has escaped." Van orders, "Alert all Hands."
Back on earth Scientists are watching the progress of the satellite on their flat screen T.V. it has reached sector H9 and the 'barrier' is in sector H12. A scientist says, "They're heading for it." The reply is, "the barrier is forming where the satellite is bound to travel, but Van knows what he's doing, he'll avoid it." the answer is, "Lets hope so, at least this time, lets hope so. Back on the satellite Dave is making his way through the corridors, gun ready. A voice on the intercom says, "Seize the prisoner at all costs," Van tells Cybill, "I'm sorry, but there's no alternative." he tries to take hold of her, she moves away. Again a voice on the intercom says, "Astrogater to Captain!, Astrogater to Captain!." Van touches a little switch on his neck, which allows him to reply, "Captain speaking." The Astrogater says, "Magneto Nebula cloud Mass forming dead ahead." (We see this on the screen..brill!), "Alpha contraction is building to critical point, expect SIGMA barrier." Van says, " Cybill I...." the astrogaters voice is heard again, "Captain SIGMA barrier dead ahead, we're bearing down rapidly, awaiting orders, repeat awaiting orders." Van replies, "Remain on course." The Astrogaters say, "remain on course...whats the matter with old Iron pants," The co-Astrogater replies, "I don't know, but if he don't get out a ball, this 3 million dollar balloon is gonna go bust, not only that, we're in it." Van repeats, "Remain on course." Cybill watches Van, she sees him split into 2 beings (2 Vans) one of the Entity's leaves, the other Van says, "cybill I want you to understand..." Cybill cries, "You're not human, who are you, what are you." Van says, "What am I, why I'm human, it's because of you I'm human." The (split) Van makes his way through the corridors, Dave 'spots' him, (split) Van goes into the computer room and announces, "Captain to Astrogater, readings are approaching mass." the Astrogater says, "It's about time, Alpha 102, Beta 107, Gamma 208, Thermo 477, Radiation 862, mass in quantum 39 (love it) estimate collision course, collision estimate 5 minutes." (Split) Van says, "Activate Plan B." Dave enters the room, he points the Gun and says, "Reverse that order, you'll destroy the ship." (split) Van says, "Don't be a fool you can't hurt me with that." So Dave shoots him, Van looks at his hand, it's covered in blood. Back at (original) Van who is with Cybill, he looks at his hand, it's covered in blood also. The Astrogaters see the barrier dead ahead, they pull a switch which seems to slow the ship down. Dave is still pointing the gun at (split) Van saying, "You've gotta be stopped." Van throws some papers at Dave and attacks him, a fight ensues, the Astrogaters report, "Radiation up, Alpha Beta and Gamma up we're deaccelerating," his buddy says, "We're just following orders,ours is but to do or die." The fight continues between Dave and Van, Dave finds the Gun again and shoots Van 3 times, Van falls to the ground. (original) Van is about to strangle Cybill who cries, "Dave!," she faints, (original) Van falls to the ground also. Dave takes the communicator from (split) Van's neck and says, "Reverse last order, ditch Plan B, activate Plan A." the Astrogaters respond, "Activating Plan A." Dave continues, "Secure all hands prepare to Blast!," The Astrogaters reassure each other, "Now that's more like it," his co-operator replies, "Hang on boy, we 'aint out of the woods yet!" Dave leaves, and we see (split) Van slowly de-materialize, and the (original) Van who is on the floor with Cybill de-materializes also. The Astrogaters are under a lot of pressure, one says, "Start burning that sunlight," his buddy turns the 'solar energy accumulator' knob up, but unbeknowist to him, Cybill lies unconscious beside the solar accumulator, she is in great danger, as the accumulator burns of it's energy. Hallucinative strobing negitive images, tell us Cybill is about to die horribily.....Wait!!! Dave is rushing through the ships corridors, he stops at a monitor, and switches through different locations on the ship, untill he sees Cybill, Dave now knows where she is. An Astrogater announces, "all hands secure for Blast." Dave reaches the solar energy room, he Bursts in, lifts Cybill in his arms, and carries her to safety. The Astrogaters get ready for 'BLAST', Dave straps Cybill into her 'Blast couch', the countdown continues, 5-4-3-2-1, Dave and Cybill hold hands...BLAST!!!, spectacular astronomical animate takes over, visual entertainment at it's best, as the ship passes into the Barrier, (nail biting stuff) as we hear the sound of someone using an arc welder in the background.
On Earth a watching scientist says, "they've dissapered they're destroyed." another replies, "I'm not so sure Hodge, we can still hear the solar Blast, LOOK!!" the ship passes through the barrier unscathed. The scientists recieve a message from the ship, "SIGMA calling!! Sigma Calling!! do you want satellite control, do you read me." A scientist lifts the 'Mike' and says, "U.N.S.C. calling SIGMA we read you, we read you SIGMA!!!" Dave replies, "We are passing through Andromeda at the speed of light, we've made it!!!!, the whole Universe is our new frontier." Nothing is left to the Imagination as we 'Zoom-in' to the magnificence of the great spiral galaxy Andromada, the 'heart' flutters, as galaxy after galaxy passes by at light speed, along with Nebula and everything interstellar, (boy is this ship travelling), Impressive intergalatic special effects, (planets 'dangling' on string) 'Zip' past, an animated Earth appears, as the ship with it's heroic crew hurtle towards it homeward, the music is 'obbligato' heart stoppingly exciting, Yes! it's over folks!!..Wow!!..What a picture!!
Finally, I would like to give a big 'Thank you' to everyone involved in the making of this Masterpiece, script writers, character actors and performers, production team, musicians and composers, designers, animators, artists, inventors, camera men, labourers, tea boy, sweepers...ect, I feel I'm Indepted to you.
Sleep well tonight Sci-Fier...Cheers! RAB.
Some religion salesmen were handing these out at Lexington Market here in Baltimore a few months after the attacks.
The weird thing for me is that this was pretty much the view I had from my boss' office in NYC that day.
Seeing the Second Plane Hit:
I’d tried to vote in the primary election that morning. I can’t remember if it was mayoral or something else. They couldn’t find my name at the polling place even though I’d received the little yellow card in the mail with that address on it. I was steamed; I went straight to work and up to my cubicle and called the election board to complain, ending my cranky voice-mail message with, “What is this, Florida!?!”
It was probably around 7:30 now, and I went back downstairs and outside for my morning glazed donut, diet soda (never really been a hot caffeine person), and cigarette breakfast (ahh, how I miss them still) near the water at the South Street Seaport. In the three months since I’d started at Prudential, it was always calming for me to start the mornings this way, getting to see the sun's gleam on the water, the sightseeing boaters preparing for their day, and the seafood houses already in the middle of theirs.
At 8:00 I went up to officially start my work day, checking emails and voicemails, taking care of a few things that had come over the department fax late from the night before. It was a while later that a manager, John, another early starter, came out of his office and said, “Come see this. The World Trade Center is on fire.”
It’s hard to say how many city blocks we were from the Towers. The streets at the south end of Manhattan wind so much; my best guess is that our building, 1 NY Plaza was about a mile away. In that building, our department was on the 35th floor. So, when I walked into John’s office, facing the towers, what I saw was surreal; there were flames for sure (no sign of the plane), but what I remember most was the endless stream of paper raining down outside from the upper floors, not yet touching the streets which meant whatever had happened must have just.
Though John was the first to see the flames, he hadn't seen the cause, and, as other coworkers started arriving, we all started speculating, with one of those weather/traffic copters getting the most votes. Nobody mentioned terrorism.
I called my roommate who at this time was working as a receptionist at my old company (a job I’d had a few years back) and told him the news. "The World Trade Center is on fire," I said.
“What,” he said.
“The World Trade Center is on fire.”
“What?”
“The. World. Trade. Center. Is. On. Fire.”
“Stop saying that!”
“Well, stop saying ‘what,’ then,” I said.
When he was finally convinced that I was not joking we speculated more.
“Well, how many times have we seen those little planes coming down over the skyline, coming so close,” he said, “it was bound to happen eventually.”
“Oh, geez the subway’s gonna be a mess. Ya think they’ll let us out early?” Yes, friends, I actually said that, and, no, I am not in the least proud of it. My only defenses are that I certainly was not thinking about death and suffering at the time and that I’d lived through the other attack on the WTC, the one in 1993, which, in my world lacked catastrophic devastation. We had a cousin who broke a foot in that one, but that was it.
“Yeah, I think they’ll probably let you out early,” he said, and I hung up, promising to fill him in on any other news.
By the time I made a quick call to family in Baltimore to let them know that they might hear something about the Trade Center on the news but that I was safe, my boss had come in and she said that, sure, I could watch things from her office while she went to get coffee. She had a great office with a great view, window covering an entire wall, and I just watched. Watched a building burn in an otherwise picture perfect blue sky. Watched the endless confetti cascading down like what I’d pictured from the old ticker-tape parades. Watched a few white fluffy clouds, seemingly oblivious in the distance.
Watched as yet another plane came zooming across the skyline.
This is where it gets hard to keep writing. Seeing the second plane hit…Remembering seeing the second plane hit still gives me a jolt to the spine. Seeing the second plane hit admits there might just be “evil” in the world, because seeing the second plane hit meant the first could not have been an accident. Seeing the second plane hit meant, temporarily at least, knowing there was a before and an after to that moment. Example: "the last time I laughed so hard I cried before 9/11 was during an old SCTV rerun two nights earlier where Andrea Martin was sending up a vintage Connie Francis album commercial. She sang, ‘I’ve lost my hearing and sight in one eye’ and 'I'm so unhappy are you unhappy too' as an announcer boasted, 'She depressed an entire generation.' That there was some funny shit, and I could use that laughter now, after."
For days after, seeing the second plane hit replayed constantly in my mind, not even making it to my subconscious until months later, really, when I was miles away, back in Baltimore. It was then that I finally had a nightmare about it, stolen, ironically from the opening to that old “Airplane” movie comedy. Instead of the tail of the plane moving through the clouds, however, in my dream, it was an entire big shiny plane heading toward the second tower in the big blue sky, but still to the "Jaws" theme, of course. In the dream, and in my memories since, I’ve wanted to be able to just reach through my boss’ office window and pluck the plane from the air, as if it were a toy one. But, well….
So the second plane hits with an explosion that I see but don’t hear through the thick layers of skyscraper window glass; I’m hearing coworkers in other offices scream instead.
“Gotta go,” I say, as my boss comes back with her coffee, and I do, right past my cube, saying nothing to anyone else, not bothering to log off and turn off my computer, bee-lining straight to the elevator before someone has the chance to tell me I can’t use it. Not too proud of that instinct to flee, either, but there it is. I’m guessing that the two other elevator passengers must have also seen the plane hit. She was shaking and crying and every time the elevator stopped on a floor, he ran out quickly to see if someone was really waiting and hurriedly returned, pressing the “door close” button as fast as he could. Down and out we scurried where we would mill about while the rest of the people in the building filtered down, indeed by the stairs. Madeleine, who was no fan of aerobic excercise at the time, was not thrilled with the walk, and Pam, upon coming outside asked if it was o.k. to smoke.
I said, “They just blew up the World Trade Center, Pam. Of course you can smoke!” And she and I probably smoked five or six cigarettes in a row waiting for word that we could go home. What was concerning me, in my paranoid state, was that, with the second plane coming roughly twenty minutes after the first, we could be due for another soon, and I just wanted out of there. Finally, we were given the o.k. to leave, and by this time we knew we were walking.
On the way, I found out about the Pentagon being attacked too and freaked again, (in a slightly jaded way this time), because I had family working in that area. Phones, however, were not an option as cells couldn’t get a signal, and the few pay phones one could find had lines at least twenty people deep. So, I just walked, and again I have to say, “surreal.” Surreal to see so many pedestrians, even as crowded as New York usually was. Surreal to see so many cars just abandoned. Surreal to see armed military personnel on the streets of Manhattan. Surreal to see a basketball game and rope-skipping at a schoolyard as if nothing had just happened blocks away.
And jarring to hear but not see, what one hoped, were our fighter planes overhead.
Taking a meandering journey through Chinatown I finally made my way to my roommate’s workplace where all hell was breaking loose. One of his company’s clients was American Express which had its offices very close to the WTC. Once the towers had collapsed (luckily I didn’t have to see that), the structure of the AmEx office building was also in question, and my roommate was frantically trying to find out if any of his coworkers were there for meetings. Still in a daze I stayed and helped him a little; but then I just went home, or rather, to my little neighborhood dive bar where others were already sobbing. Just didn’t want to be alone at that point.
The next days and nights are blurs what with all of the self-medicating and constant news-watching - how truly awful it was to see those that chose to jump.
Our offices and so many others downtown had to remain closed while soot and debris were removed. The burnt rubber smell, however, traveled uptown and lingered for a week. Flowers were everywhere and the posters of the missing went up and multiplied. With Manhattan in virtual lockdown, and because we had a police precinct (potential terrorist target it seems) on our block, we had to show i.d. and proof that we lived on our street before being let on. The Friday after, my roommate and I went to 1984, a retro club, to try and dance some of the depression away, but, rightly so, out of respect, it did not open.
This story ends slightly comically with the HR-sponsored grief session our company held the next Tuesday, when we were first allowed back to work. The first thing the counselors asked was, “how many of you saw either plane hit or either building collapse?” Everyone raised his hand and the counselors looked at each other as if they were in trouble.
Later, they warned against self-medication, “You want to stay away from alcohol, caffeine, nicotine and any illicit substances.” This got the biggest laugh because with a week off, paid no less, and with what we had seen stuck in our minds, all quite a few of us had done was self-medicate, one way or another.
Finally, just as the counselors were about to offer helpful suggestions on how to deal with the stress of the events, someone knocked on the door. Unfortunately, the entire building had to be evacuated due to a fire in the cafeteria. And poor Madeleine had to walk down those flights of stairs again.
And the cold I had became the flu.
Though her office wasn’t near the site - I checked later - I still think about that election worker and the nasty voice-mail message I left for her comparing New York to Florida. How wrong I was about that and how not-so great to know that it was either one of the last things she heard before, or one of the first things she heard after, her 9/11.
Aranea Cullen: Randulf makes his way inside the church, his head tilting from one occupant to the other. He remains silent, standing off to the side.
River Grau 's ears flattened. Perhaps he was a little jealous that Jaina was talking to the older girl and not him. "Yeah, bestest friend. Still not a good bodygaurd if I ain't able to know who is gonna hurt yah." He hadn't noticed Randulf yet.
River Grau tilts his head up to look at D and follows his gaze to Randulf. Mood brightening, he waved to the man and scurried foward. "Mister Ranulf, didja talk to Momma yet? Are you my Dadd-- Err Father yet?" Father sounded less girly. And despite his near-skip to the man, he was trying to learn man t hings.
Jaina Lefevre sighs at River. "S'just a bad place. Conors knows." She watches him run off to Randulf and grins, offering the dark man a wave before turning to Luci. "He swore an oaf."
Aranea Cullen: The cowel flicks as he hears the little one's words to eachother. Slowly he would begin coming forward. His head erodes in the direction of the nun before turning to glance at the little ones in attendance. He waved to the boy and opened an arm as if to welcome him into a hug. "No I have not yet gotten a chance to speak to your mother. I have left numerous messages for her to phone me back when she is free...however.... we've yet to speak... and I'm gettting to the point of not caring."
River Grau paused, his ears flicking at the words 'not caring'. Biting his lip lightly, he drooped his head foward as he begame to sulk. "Not carin'..? Oh, I understand if you dun' wanna be my father. I ain't a very good person to be a father to an' I get in trouble with fights. An' they gotta make saftey lessons 'cause of me."
Darkness Odigaunt watches Piper with River. There's still obvious distrust in her eyes, whatever had happened to make everyone else trust him, she'd been left out of. Slowly she looks to Gemma, "Did I? Oh... Here, do you want clay, pencils, crayons...?"
River Grau might actually be the only person that really trust him.. but that wouldn't make D feel any better...
Aranea Cullen: He would slowly lower to the boy and move a massive black hand upwards to try and lightly bop at the boys nose with a finger. "I meant, my son... Not caring whether or not she has a problem with my being your father.. " He then would attempt to wrangle the boy close to him in an attempt to give him a knoogie, being careful of course of the spikes.
River Grau 's eyes brighten as he is bopped on the nose and gave a small laugh. "Oh, I dun' care either then 'cause I say you're my Daddy, err Father!" Flailing his arms around as he is knoogied, "Aaaahhh." He was carefully avoided the spikes, knowing how sharp they were.
Aranea Cullen: He lets out a hearty chuckle at the boy, moving to release him. "I care not what you call me river. " his hand would move to ruffle the boy's hair, before his head tilts. "What's this about fighting?"
Jaina Lefevre pauses near River. "You gots a Daddy now?" she 'whispers'
River Grau plops down on the ground as he is let go, small arms trying to hug around Randulf's leg. "Okay, just dunnoi f yah wanna look all tough an' Daddy ain't a tough word. " he shrugged, "Dunno. They was fightin' 'bout how somebodies Mama and Daddy was gonna squish the eyes of that Luci girl." Head turning to Jaina, he nods and grins. "Yup1'
Aranea Cullen: He glances down as River latches onto his leg. He shifts his boot so it is like a seat, which considering his large feet almost is. And begins slowly to pace back and forth, lifting and walking with the boy. "And what did the little Lady do? that deserves eyes squished?" He glances up to Jaina. "Evening Jaina" He goes back to watchin' his boy.
River Grau eyed Niyol as he entered the church, arm's hugging Randulf's leg tighter as he was a little nervous about te boy because ofthe other day. "I told Auntie Saki she was my Auntie.. Two days ago." He was a little excited. He never had a father before. "Called her Daddy a nun-biter."
Jaina Lefevre grins at Randulf. "Bye Mister Randulf" She looks at RIver and gives him a smile. "Good. I'm glads. I gotta go. Bye." She flicks a glance at Guin as she passes, then to Niklaus, slowing as she sees him just standing. Her feet scuff and she watches him until she's all the way past.
River Grau waves to Jaina,"Bye Jaina. I promise to be a better body guards."
Aranea Cullen: His head quirks as River remarks about being a bodyguard. "What's this about being a bodyguard?" he glances between Jaina and River.
Debra Charron wanders up and stops by the column, smiling at Jania
River Grau tilts his head faaaaar back to look up at Randulf. "I am Jaina's bodyguard. An' I protect her, like the lion neko protects Miss Portia. "
Debra Charron bends down and scoops up the charging munchkin and tickles her mercilessly. "Hello Starfish! i missed you !!! Did you learn anything interesting at School?"
Jaina Lefevre wraps her arms around Deb's neck and hugs tight." It's been forever! That Beast place makes you work too much." She kisses her cheek and then nods. "Uh huh. Gemma's mom eats eyeballs but they got runnies in them not bloods and there's a boy that's a prince putty-tat and he's a booger-face and he said he's got a file on me and everyone wants to beat up Rivers and we talked about places you can't go."
River Grau tugged lightly on the bottom of his father's cloak. "Yesterday I got in a fight with two kids, but they attacked me. An' now I keep gettin' in trouble 'cause I defended myself an' hurt 'em more than they hurt me. So now the church is teachin' me I ain't supposed to fight at all. But I gotta.. to protect myself."
Aranea Cullen: His tail would peek from below the dark fabric, the black and grey canine-like appendage begins wagging at the news. "So my son figures himself a guardian." His tail wags more as a hand moves to ruffle the kid's hair. "I am pleased but remember m'boy.... a good guardian knows that they are only but one man and cannot be there every moment of every day.... However, when they are there.... they are loyal trusting and true to their charge."
Debra Charron smiles at Jania as her brain translated five-year-old into Standard and she hoists her up higher on her hip. Deb gives Jania's chin one last tickle and inquires; "Now who'd wanna hurt River sweetie?" Deb looks about for Jania's friend.
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "All the mean kitty kids." She points to Randulf. "That's RIvers' new Daddy.Mister Randulf. He swore an oaf."
Aranea Cullen: He nods slowly." Fight only when absolutely necessary m'boy. You can do alot more with words." He would slowly move to detach the boy from him, so that Randulf could bend a knee to the boy. "And if you have to fight, try and make sure that it is a fight you fought with honour and purpose." He tilts hishead at his boy, but is uncertain whether his words of wisdom would stick.He hears his name ad looks up to the girl and the woman sheis beside, his tail flicks
River Grau grins and nods, "Uh-huh. When I grow up, I am gonna be a bodygaurd or somethin' that defends people. Dunno what else I can be, but I dun' wanna be one of them uniformed men. They only pretend defend people." An ear flicked as he heard Debra. "You probably wanna hurt me cause I tried to poison yah, like the hammer-man Rein wants to hurt me." He gets shooed away from clinging to Randulf's leg. "Okay, I will Daddy."
Jaina Lefevre 'whispers' to Deb. "Mommy, Luci said that you're s'posed to stick your tongue in a mouth when you kiss. Is that true?" She glances at Nik again and then 'whispers' "He's watchin' us. Is that okay?"
Debra Charron shrugs at River's statement - figuring the best revenge on people who tried to kill her was still being here after the effort failed. She glances at Jania and chuckles "Well, the tongue thing is for grownups when we're being especially gross. So far as the guy watcing us..........do I need to ask him why? Politely?"
Jaina Lefevre nods a little, then shakes her head as the guy starts to walk away. "Guess nots. Maybe he wants to be a Daddy and was pickin' out a kid." She leans her forehead against Deb's shoulder. "Don't need a busy p'tend Daddy. I got two Mommies."
Debra Charron chuckles and hugs Jania a little tighter. "And your mommies are VERY glad to have you. You wanna go visit Deets for a few minutes sweetie? I've missed both of you something awful while I was back at the home office. Next time I go there, i'm taking you with me so I can show you all the neat places I used to go when i was younger"
Aranea Cullen: He would begin to stand and move towards Debra, extending a massive hand as if to shake. "Greetings. My name is Randulf.... Seems m'boy and ya little one are friends." He'd glance down to his boy when River mentioned Rein wanted to hurt him. "I"ll square things with Rein so you don't have to worry about him. He and I go... way back."
Jaina Lefevre nods a little. "Okay." She pauses and grins up at Mister Randulf. "Hi. This is my Mommy." She gets down so Deb can shake hands.
River Grau didn't seem too worried about it since he has learned where to go so not to confront the hammer-man. "'kay. He *really* hates me though an' I ain't ever see him hate another kid. He says it's my fault the police mens almost killed him. 'Cause I told on him." Looking over to Debra, he waved slightly. "I'm Jaina's body guard."
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head no at the offer of cookies and tucks her face into Deb's side. She peeks out at Randulf and River, watching.
Debra Charron nods and extends a cautious hand, her eyes closely tracking the cloaked figure. "Deb Charron. River's a pretty dynamic kid.." Deb grins, "...but then I suppose they have to be to survive here. I'm glad he and Jania hit it off"
River Grau watched the nun, checking to see if she would go near Randulf since he knew how much she distrusted him. "Can I have a cookie, Sister D?" Blinking at Debra, "What's dynamic mean? Does it mean 'bad'?"
Aranea Cullen: His hand would try and curve around hers to try and bring it to his metal mask covered lips in a show of gentlemanship. "I hope they get along better than we have in the past, dear lady Debra." He would then move to pull away and looks down to River. "being Dynamic m'boy is not a fault, but in the right use, can be a great aid to you in later years. " He would glance back up to Debra.
Jaina Lefevre looks from Deb to Randulf and then to River. "He swore an oaf, Mommy. He can't hurt me or River or Conor or Chan until after we're eighteen, even if we hurt him first, and he wont' hurted us after eighteen unless we hurts him."
River Grau gave a small huff as he heard Sister D. "Yah say that as if I fight a lot an' you only seen me fight *twice* an' that was always after I was attacked first." The real question would be, what was the boy doing to continously get attacked by other children in a church? He waited until D was done before taking a cookie. Head turning, he watched his father and Debra interact.
River Grau picks out a cookie, "Thank you, Sister D."
Debra Charron's muscles tense and her eyes immediately frost over, but her tone and facial expression remains measured-neutral. "I generally get along well with most people unless its made my business not to, especially in this house. " Deb glances from the cloaked figure tot he child, " I'm glad River has someone. Jania does a pretty good job of choosing her friends - so I'm sure he'll flourish." Deb permits her hand to be taken, "The great redeeming thing about children is that the forget and forgive ever so much faster than adults. Its an admirable trait and I'm hoping Jania will rub off on me that way."
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head at the cookie offer. She was still feeling a little 'off'. "No thank you, Sister D." She glances up at Deb, then at Randulf. "It's an oaf, Mommy. It's okay." She leans in, fingers hooking lightly in Deb's belt.
Aranea Cullen: "I hope so as well, as I hold no ill towards you and yours. I have a son now to look after cannot afford disgruntlements of the past and I hope you understand that as well with a child of your own. I live a new life, perhaps in this one, we can forget and start over?" His head would tilt, as he shifts to show Penumbra at his hip, if she had any doubt of who he was.
River Grau chews on the cookie, head bobbing at Jaina's words. "Is your Mommy scared that my Daddy's gonna hurt you? He's nice to kids. 'Cause he cried when he acccidently hurt Conor an' apologized but Conor ain't forgive him, I still dun' talk to that stupid head." Perhaps some children forgive easily, but not him.
Jaina Lefevre looks over to River. "Dunno. Mommy's not scared. She's got tac-nukes." She nods sagely, and glances up at Deb.
Debra Charron lays her arm across Jania's shoulders and strokes her hair. She glances back towards Aranea and smiles thinly, her eyes glittering with some kind of deep emotion. "Generally, I confine my hostilities to my profession. The food needs to get to Midian, Oceanic delivers it and I make sure that no one stops Oceanic. Personal vendettas are bad for business and my job here rather defines everything else." Deb hugs Jania, "Its a discipline I try to maintan unless circumstances dictate otherwise. I've got more positive things in my life than revenge at this point. I'm content with things as they are"
River Grau scratches his ear, not understanding all this adult-talk. "Who's makin' it so food an' stuff ain't get to Midian? That dun' sound real nice 'cause people need food."
Jaina Lefevre leans into Deb and whispers. "I got scared t'night and Luci hugged me. She's a nice bigger kid." She glances back at River and Randulf and then yawns softly.
Aranea Cullen: He nods slowly to her. "Indeed, but if you do feel the need for revenge still. I will not retaliate, so long as I am left alive and able to heal well enough to take care of River. I want slates clean, even if it is seemingly ... impossible as I will not have my past and my actions hinder his future. " He would hand over a card to her. "Especially if he and your little one are friends. Call."
River Grau looks over his shoulder at the nun, wishing she was paying attention to the things Randulf was saying. Rising on his tiptoes, he tries to whisper to the man but he was just so much taller.. So his whisper was a little too loud. "Sister D is scared you're gonna be a bad Daddy 'cause you did somethin' that upset her real bad. I said you're a good Daddy but I think she's still scared. "
Debra Charron snuggles Jania close and smiles "I'm glad you make friends so well Starfish, maybe you can teach me that...and we don't have any Tacnukes....thats for the World Union and UAC....we just have some very good soldiers." Deb kisses Jania on the forehead and looks at River; "Well, Midian is a long way from the farms that make the food -so it has to get shipped here and there are lotsa pirates out on the ocean who want whas in our ships. My folks protect the ships and the warehouses here in Midian, so the food can get to Sari Mart and other places. We being other stuff than food too, medicine and books and games....but about 80% of the food that comes here comes in our ships and we try real hard to make sure nobody misses a meal 'cause we didn't do our jobs" Deb looks up at Aranea, "Its not like the World Union tries real hard to feed the Freetowns." Deb pauses and adds, "I'd as soon leave the past in the past. I feel good about my life now, and its best if I keep it that way"
Aranea Cullen: "Very well." He would keep the card aloft however, as he tilts his head down to River. "As I told you river.... I scare alot of people. The nun simply caught me on a bad night."
Jaina Lefevre mumbles. "We need nukes. They is good for scarin'." She closes her eyes and leans into Deb more. "Almost done with my book. Need th'one for J through L..." She's tired. It's been a long couple of days, and now Mommy's here so everything's safe.
Debra Charron accepts the card, placing it in her belt-pouch and extracting one of her own and extending it in exchange, "In case you ever need to contact me, I can always be reached by calling that number so long as the fellow at the duty-desk has had coffee"
River Grau nodded, a bit saddened. "Oh, well I dun think you're scary." And just to prove his point, he would try to hug Randulf's leg since that was all he could reach.
Aranea Cullen: He accepts the card , looks at it and files it away before realizing River has latched to his leg again. He lowers a hand and gently ruffles the boy's hair. "Its alright River. Thanks for the hug, little one."
Unfortunately, I crashed before I could save a good deal of this. This is what Pet was able to send to me because she crashed too. What happened before this: Pet approached Colette and asked her in a hush-hush way if she'd ever killed anyone. Then Pet started asking about The Shadow Stalkers, Colette said she'd been in it, and Pet asked how she got in. Now, read on...
[0:07] Colette Loon was grinning like mad, being very amused. What a funny woman. "I got in because I was... very good friends with one of them. Still am. Maybe I can talk to him about getting you in." She itched her neck and continued. "There's not much I can teach you except not to care about your plaything. If you start doing that, well, you'll be a little bitch about it. I'll help you out. You remind me of my little sister a bit, but less snobby. Her name was Clair. Never mind about her though."
[0:11] Pet Fiertze was beaming, entirely pleased. "Oh, would you really? Would... YOU ever go back to them? With me? Are they mean to their own? I always wondered if they're people I see walking the streets, every day." She was rambling, unable to contain her excitement. This woman was being so perfectly good to her, exactly what she'd been needing ever since these anti-goodytwoshoes desires started to rouse.
[0:17] Colette Loon uncrossed her arms and placed one hand on her hip. "I said yes, didn't I? Yep. As for the Shadows, I don't know if I can go back. You know the Marines? I'm about to join I think. My buddy is a Marine. I just gave him my application. I get free guns, food, shelter, and I get to bully people. It's gonna be great. I don't think I can go back to the Shadows at all." she paused, taking a breath. "They are the people walking the streets sometimes. But mostly, we... they... stick to the... well, shadows. The alleys, the catwalks at times, if those damned cats aren't around. I can do it openly. I stabbed Auntie and the MPD was only looking for me for a few hours. I just... I don't know about them. I'll help you out, Petty Pet Pet."
[0:23] Pet Fiertze smiled sheepishly, cheeks pinkening mildly at her own zealousness. She didn't mean to come across too strong. "That is so very nice of you. Thank you," She mewed wistfully, brow knitting as she contemplated the woman's words. "Yes, those stupid cat people act like it's their property. You can just... Get away with it, being a Marine? I thought they were good people," Pet mused naively. "Will you play with me, sometimes? I come up with creative things to do to people, and I want to so bad sometimes. It keeps me awake."
[0:25] Colette Loon smiled again. "Yes, I am being pretty nice, aren't I? Isn't that strange? And no, probably not. I'm not a Marine yet. People will hold grudges, so you gotta be sneaky." She grinned wider. "Of *course*, I will play with you."
[0:30] Pet Fiertze near-swooned, overcome, and threw her arms melodramatically around Colette. "It is so weird for people to be nice, here. 'Specially the killers." She mumbled, nuzzling a bit contently into the woman's bosom, if not instantly rejected, and then withdrew from the mini bear hug. She was absolutely thrilled about the prospective partner in crime.
[0:32] Colette Loon was taken back. Man, she sure hadn't been hugged in a while. Anyone else would have probably been tossed off or stabbed, but this one reminded her of her sister. She humored her and hugged her back a bit awkwardly. "Yeah, yeah. You're like a damn puppy dog, y'know that? I'll turn you into a blood lusting wolf, if you'd like."
[0:36] Pet Fiertze blinkblinked, eyes asparkle. "I want to be able to be that, but I want to be me too! At the same time. I'm not like a puppy dog, though. I was thinking the other day, the streets were so crowded. It would be funny to skip along the awnings, dumping mustard gas down there. Or to have a friend on the other side, with a huge bucket of ammonia! And then one with bleach. And then toss them at the same time, down onto the crowd. For fun, you know?" She had many of said ideas running around in her head, and they wanted out. Finding someone with whom she could relate, to Pet, was like finding a damn-near soulmate.
[0:40] Colette Loon felt it appropriate to pull out her switchblade and open it. She ran a gloved finger along the shiny blade. "See this? This is my baby. Think of me as Van Gogh and this... my paintbrush... and someone's flesh... the *canvas*. I love knives. Do you like knives. I just adore them."
[0:45] Pet Fiertze canted her head at the woman after paying proper observation and reverence to 'her baby', lips twitching in semi-psychotic pleasure. "I like knives. And scalpels... Before Midian, I was one of the youngest neurosurgeons. I just wanted to help people then, but now... I think things like, wouldn't it be fun to experiment? Damage someone's medulla oblongata just right, so that they lose the ability to cough? They'd die far down the road when they had pneumonia or were choking, and it would be a mystery. All sorts of stuff like that." She sighed contently, tongue darting out over her lips. "Do you like to be meticulous, or brutalize people?"
[0:50] Colette Loon got a bit excited when asked about how she liked to go about her 'art.' She rubbed her fingers along the blade more, feeling the smooth surface. "Well, if I can, I like to take it slow, make them writhe around and watch their reactions. But if I can't, I *will* hurt them. It may be a bit sloppy, but it's all I can do at the time. But I'm careful about picking who I put the blade on."
[0:57] Pet Fiertze nodded vigorously, listening with intense interest. It was a hobby, as she was studying it, as though the whole thing were as innocent as Chess tactics. "Yes! I think it's better to capture someone, and take them somewhere to enjoy it all. And yet, I still would like to run down the streets, hurt people, and make an escape." Pet nodded sagaciously, top teeth clamping down on lower lip as she pondered. "I would feel stupid if ever I set my sights on a victim, and he or she overpowered me. Has that ever happened to you? I think I'm real competent, though."
[1:00] Colette Loon sighs a bit and takes her mask off again. She pointed to the scar on her face. "This... ugh. Okay, well, I wasn't trying to hurt him, but I was overly confident and he was on my tail anyway and basically, I got my ass kicked. That's when I learned to judge who I pick, sometimes even watch them. If you pick someone that's stronger than you or you underestimate them, far worse can happen than what happened to my face."
[1:03] Pet Fiertze sighed a bit dejectedly. "Well then that's why we have eachother from now on," She mewed forlornly, and a bit presumptuously, but she always thought the life of a hobby such that they shared was bound to be a lonely one. For it not to be, was thrilling. "My Godfather, Lucien, he thinks I'm going to fail in these endeavors. I can't wait to prove him wrong. The person who did that to you, is he still around? You should get revenge, one day."
[1:07] Colette Loon sighs and shook her head. "I don't think so. Lucky bastard is probably far away now. I never told you that I hate this place. I really do. I can't get out. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't leave. I've lived here too long and I've been molded into something else. This city twists people, it really does. Someday, you'll probably end up like me. I used to be like you."
[1:12] Pet Fiertze stretched up high, arms above head, squeaking indulgently as she did so. "I understand. It had been good for me in many ways, though. I'm learning stuff about myself. Did you know, I didn't even know what actually goes down during sex before I came here? And now, well. I still haven't had experience, but at least I know. You know, from my point of view, it'd be pretty darn cool to be like you." Pet intoned reverently.
[1:16] Colette Loon actually laughed quite a bit at her last statement. "Oh, you really are a little puppy, aren't you? You don't want to be like me, do you? I mean, you don't know me at all yet. I could get you alone and murder you. I don't think I will though. We are too similar. Just don't trust me *too* much because I won't trust you too much. Understand?" She slipped her mask back on.
[1:20] Pet Fiertze downcast her gaze, cheeks pinkening at the semi-rejection. "You seem so competent and savvy, though. But you're right. I need to trust you lots though, you know? In time. And maybe... Maybe you'll trust me like that, too." She concluded both wistfully and hopefully. "Am I keeping you?" She'd inquire hastily, forgetting her manners.
[1:26] Colette Loon felt somewhat bad for making the girl so down... which was weird. "Don't be upset. I trust you enough to do fun shit with you, right? Yes. That's all that matters though." She popped her jaw and smiled a bit. "Do I look like someone that needs to be somewhere? Or like I have a lot of friends? Ha, no. Not at all. You're fine, rookie."
[1:32] Pet Fiertze brightened mildly, rocking back and forth again, hands clasped behind her back. "Well, fair enough!" She snapped her fingers in revelation. "Do you use a cell phone? Because we need a way to contact eachother. Plus, if you're ever outnumbered or something, you can call me and the other way around." Pet fumbled around in her bag, victorious in retrieving a pen and notebook, which rather strangely had kittens on it. Little hand scribbled away, and she ripped the small bit out, phone number offered.
[1:34] Colette Loon took the number and put it in the pouch on her belt. "Yeah, I do. Want me to write it down?" she asked, crossing her arms. She didn't really know why she was being so nice to this girl. It was probably Pet's morbid curiousity that saved her ass from Colette's wrath. She was lucky indeed.
[1:32] Pet Fiertze brightened mildly, rocking back and forth again, hands clasped behind her back. "Well, fair enough!" She snapped her fingers in revelation. "Do you use a cell phone? Because we need a way to contact eachother. Plus, if you're ever outnumbered or something, you can call me and the other way around." Pet fumbled around in her bag, victorious in retrieving a pen and notebook, which rather strangely had kittens on it. Little hand scribbled away, and she ripped the small bit out, phone number offered.
[1:34] Colette Loon took the number and put it in the pouch on her belt. "Yeah, I do. Want me to write it down?" she asked, crossing her arms. She didn't really know why she was being so nice to this girl. It was probably Pet's morbid curiousity that saved her ass from Colette's wrath. She was lucky indeed.
[1:40] Pet Fiertze mmhmed, thrusting the pen and paper generously over. She'd been in enough tight spots, and for a companion to show up and basically even the score would be most appreciated. "I'd like that. Bullies need to be taught a lessen," she intoned, nodding sagely. 'Game on bitches', Pet mused whilst brain sifted through her various fantasies.
[1:41] Colette Loon laughed a bit, jotting her number down. She handed the pad back her. "Y'know, we are bullies, technically. We really are. Are you okay with that?" she asked, tilting her head to the side a bit.
[1:45] Pet Fiertze grinned impishly, that enthrallment running rampant again. "Yes! Oh, to give back to the city as it has so generously dished out. We are cool bullies." Well, perhaps the word for Pet wouldn't be 'cool', but she was having some serious girl-power go-get-'em emotions at the moment. "Where do you like to sleep?"
[1:47] Colette Loon laughed again a bit at Pet. She seemed so young. "Where do I like to sleep? Hm... where I can. There's a shelter, but I'm not a little pussybitch. I don't know, I just don't like it there. Plus, I stabbed Auntie, the woman who runs it." She paused, thinking for a moment. "How old are you?"
[1:52] Pet Fiertze agreed wholeheartedly, and found it rather amusing that Colette had stabbed Auntie. If Auntie were a Shadow, her disguise would be as the Cookie Monster. "I like to sleep in Apocalypse. It's nice, and I got on Chi's good side, I think... Did she scream when you stabbed her, and writhe?" Pet inquired, idle chat and all that. "I'm nearly twenty-one. What about you? I hope you still respect me... I know I come across as naive."
[1:55] Colette Loon uncrossed her arms and sighed. "Chisaki? That little kitty. She's good friends with a friend of mine. Only cat I can stand. Auntie... I think... probably. She did scream, I remember that." She had a hard time remembering for some reason. "I'm 25 as of November 4th. There, now you know my birthday. Get me something this year." She really didn't care if she got her something or not.
[2:04] Pet Fiertze nuh-uhed, brow knitting. "No, just Chi. He is someone I thought everyone knew, because they know someone who he's raped or have been themselves. I like a cat lady named Emberen." Pet tapped her lower lip with a finger in contemplation, reminded herself to return the pad and pencil to their designated spot. "Do you want to get matching masks and stuff? You need a different one from that, that people won't associate with you. Right?"
[2:06] Colette Loon shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose. I don't wear this one as much as I used to actually, but I needed to wash my other mask. Where will we get these masks, rookie?" she asked.
[2:09] Pet Fiertze mulled over the idea, contemplating where best to look. "I will go out shopping around one day, and if I find something nice, I can take you to look? I want it to be the perfect thing!" It was strange to be -vain- about picking something to cover one's face, but she seemed pretty unbudging on the whole mask aesthetics thing.
[2:11] Colette Loon popped her neck again. It sure did hurt. Sleeping on concrete would do that. "I wear a mask because I can. Sooner or later, people stop asking. It'd probably be better for me not to wear a mask when doing these things, huh?" She laughed a bit and crossed her arms.
[2:14] Pet Fiertze furrowed her brow, as the woman had a point. "That is true. If you think people will suspect you, it's best not to do it. It is the combination of blond hair and a mask that will stand out most, yeah?"
[2:16] Colette Loon shrugged her shoulders again. She was rather tired at this point. She was good at standing for hours, but she wasn't immortal or anything. She'd need sleep soon. "I guess. But I'm not worried about people knowing who I am or not. This city is too corrupt for anyone to be that big of a deal. I mean, for this kind of thing. The police suck."
[2:23] Pet Fiertze nodded her head meekly, hand wandering up to cover a fierce yawn. "Yes. Wanted signs for your arrest would be no good. The mercenaries here are terrible," Pet mewed forlornly, recalling Bane and his rude attempts, though she didn't know his name. She'd narrowly escaped that dilemma. Little hands balled into fists, and she knuckled them into sleepy eyes. Once donce, Pet blinkblinked a bit vacantly for a moment, and snapped out of her sleep-deprived stupor after a moment. "Colette, thank you so much. I'm so glad for all of this," She intoned happily, barreling into the woman's petite form for another greedy hug. Arms eventually unsnaked and loosed from her, and she withdrew again, a dopey smile plastered across her features. "It is sleep time."
[2:28] Colette Loon patted the woman on the back awkwardly as she hugged her again. "Don't sweat it. Now I just get someone to play games with. No big deal." She nodded her head and itched her neck. "Yes, it's late. I've been up all day, walking. I'm so *very* tired. Enjoy wherever you sleep and hope that your pal, Colette, sleeps soundly." She laughed a bit, still wondering why she'd been so nice to her. She began to walk back into the city. "Tata."
[2:30] Pet Fiertze still had that ridiculously content little smile etched across her lips. "Sweet dreams, pretty Colette," she called after her, toddling off in the opposite direction.
Jaina Lefevre starting into the Snake Pit when she spies Portia. "Miss Portia! I gots a message for you! But I gotta say Hi Mama. You come in too?"
Portia Kass was sending a text message when she heard the vaguely familiar voice of Jaina calling to her. She looked up and blinked a few times. "Oh, sure thing," she said with a bewildered smile and tucked her phone into her pocket before following the girl inside.
Jaina Lefevre hurries in and jumps up to grin at Deets. "Hi Mama! This is Miss Portia. I gots a message for her but I wanted to say hi first."
Tanken Darkstone watches the pair head into the Snakepit and gives them both a quick nod. They weren't the men he was looking for, and he had little reason to bother them with questions about them. He takes the time to lean over and check out Portia's behind as she moves through the door way, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He chuckles as he straightens himself up again and leans back against the wall, digging in his pocket for one of his cigarettes.
Deets Carroll looks to the door as it opens, and smiles broadly as she sees Jaina come in. "Hey bug! Oh, okay."
Deets Carroll turns and picks Jaina up for a hug and a kiss on the forehead, letting her sit on the bar if she wanted.
Deets Carroll looks around suspiciously for Nanny, frowning.
Portia Kass chuckled at the girl's enthusiasm and gave the woman behind the bar a faint smile. "Hi there," she said with a little wave and smiled at the two together.
Jaina Lefevre climbs up and wriggles behind the bar. A kiss and a hug and she giggles, then settles on the bar, feet swinging lightly. "You knowed my Mama, Miss Portia?"
Deets Carroll smiles, "We've never been introduced. " She extends her hand. "Deets Carroll."
Portia Kass neared the pair at the bar and shook her head gently at Jaina's question. "No, I'm sorry to say I don't." She lifted her gaze to the girl's mother and met the woman's hand. She shook it, not firmly, but not so limply that there was no point in shaking hands at all. "Portia Kass," she replied with a polite grin. "Nice to meet you."
Jaina Lefevre chatters on. "Miss Portia babysnits for Conor sometimes. OH! I gotta tell you, Miss Portia. The Sapphira lady said she wanted to talk to you. She wasn't kinda happy about Mister Luk." She grins cheerily and then looks back at Deets. "Nanny droppeded me off here. She's got a boyfriend."
Deets Carroll nods. "My pleasure." She cocks her head. "You work for Damian, don't you? I remember seeing you while he was campaigning."
Deets Carroll mutters something about Sa not being happy unless she's unhappy.
Portia Kass was having trouble keeping the conversations straight with Jaina jabbering over her mother. Her attention was focused on Deets for the most part, so she didn't catch all of what Jaina said at first. "Oh.. yes.. I'm Damian's assistant," she delivered to Deets. "Come to think of it, I remember him mentioning your name as well. Nice to finally meet you." She blushed a little as she realized she had repeated herself and then turned to the little girl. "What was that now, Jaina? Who wants to talk to me?" Her brow was creased in curiosity.
Jaina Lefevre grins. "Damian's my p'tend Daddy. He likes my hugs." She grins broadly at that and then ohs. "The Sapphira lady. She wasn't happy about Mister Luk."
Portia Kass's brow furrowed even more as she tried to decipher this message. She had never heard of anyone by the name of Sapphira... so she couldn't imagine what she would have to be unhappy about, but at least she recognized Luk's name. "What about Luk?" she asked, hoping to get a bit more information to go on.
Deets Carroll sets a glass of milk on the bar for Jaina and follows with a couple of maraschino cherries on a plate, before turning to Portia. "Can I get you a drink?"
Jaina Lefevre oohs at the cherries and picks one up, popping it in her mouth and chewing before starting to talk. No, she's not swallowed yet. "Mister Luk called her 'baby' and was tellin' her she was mad for nothin'. They sleeps t'gether."
Deets Carroll shakes her head and chuckles.
Portia Kass's confused expression softened slightly as she turned to Deets and said, "Oh, just a bottle of water would be great... thanks." As Jaina continued her story, things became a little more clear and Portia's face began to flush with embarassment. Sapphira must be Luk's girlfriend... and Portia could only assume that she was "upset" over what had happened between Portia and Luk during the regression. My but Jaina seemed terribly informed on the subject for such a little girl and Portia was rather more concerned about that than the actual subject matter, but Deets was laughing so... Portia laughed too, awkwardly. "I see..." she said slowly. "So... she wanted to talk to me?"
Jaina Lefevre nods. "Uh huh. She was mad. I don't think she's gonna shot you though. Mister Luk told 'er it was just the bein' crazy stuff."
Deets Carroll fetches a bottle of water from the cooler, cracking the top before passing to Portia. She blinks as she notices something. "Hey kiddo, where's Pa-Fetic? Did you forget her someplace?"
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head. "Nuh uh. I lefted her on my bed. I don't gotta watch her no more."
Deets Carroll looks puzzled. "You don't? How come?"
Portia Kass's eyes went wide and the color rapidly drained from her face. She was frozen for a moment, unable to speak. Deets broke the silence and Portia blinked a few times, coming back to her senses. Surely... no one was going to shoot her over one kiss? She blinked a few times and rubbed the back of her neck before reaching out for the water. She snatched it up and drank almost of half of it in a few quick gulps, than said a very breathless, "Thanks..." to Deets.
Jaina Lefevre shrugs and looks at Deets. "You tooked them." She glances at Portia, frowning. "You okay Miss Portia?"
Deets Carroll notices the woman's discomfiture, and chuckles. "I wouldn't worry about Sa, it'll blow over pretty quick. Luk'll do somehting else to piss her off, and she'll forget all about you. Besides, she's a lousy shot."
Portia Kass took another deep drink of water and nodded a bit too much and too quickly. Clearly she was still a little nervous about the whole Sapphira thing. Portia wasn't big on confrontation... especially not if there was the possibility of shooting involved. "Oh.. I'm fine..." she lied, trailing off to listen to Deets. Yeah... that wasn't very comforting either. Her hand was shaking as she lifted the bottle to drink again and finished it off, sucking it down so quickly that the plastic of the bottle crinkled and caved in on itself, then reflated with a loud pop once it left the seal of her lips. "Yeah..." she said idly... then looked back up at Jaina. "Did she... Miss Sapphira... mention um... when she wanted to talk to me...?" That was one conversation that Portia was surely going to be taking her new bodyguard along to.
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head. "Nuh uh. But she's gonna paid me when I tell her I told ya. Wanna come with me and I can tell her and ya can do it then? I'll hold your hand..."
Deets Carroll frowns and looks sharply at the child. "PAY you?"
Portia Kass shook her head just as quickly as she had nodded before. Did it make Portia look like a coward? You bet. Did she care? Not even a little. She shook her head so much that her glasses unseated themselves from the bridge of her nose a little. Portia pushed them back into place with her ring finger. "I... can't right now... I've got... a meeting... with the mayor," she invented. "You can tell her you told me."
Jaina Lefevre looks over at Deets. "Uh huh. I had a mess'ger job. I got ten creds to go tell 'er and then ten when it was done."
Deets Carroll blinks. "What are you doing with this money? We need to get you a piggy bank."
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "Mama, it was 'fore I had you and Mommy. A kid's gotta eat, y'know? I gived money to Dreven and Rivers and stuff for foods. There's lotsa kids that need foods sometimes."
Deets Carroll hmmphs, mollified. For now.
Portia Kass was still too nervous and anxious about the whole vindictive girlfriend thing to even be touched by the sweetness of the sentence Jaina had just uttered. She was too busy trying to keep her hand from shaking as she pulled her wallet out of the pocket of her hoodie. "H... how much do I owe you for the water, Deets?" she asked the woman. She was eager to make her exit and get to her imaginary meeting.
Jaina Lefevre is gonna have to hide her moneys. Deets finds close to eight hundred creds in a crumpled up bag under her mattress, she's gonna be surprised.
Deets Carroll smiles as she leaves. "Three creds." She points to the NPC tender.
"Hi there, Thanks for your visit to my stream.... and well, sorry to say so, but you've been tagged! You have to write 16 random things about yourself, then add it to the group (see the group in the side column on my page). Then tag 16 people to do it too. Good luck! Ouendi"
1. I was always the sporty one, I used to play football. You name an injury (and if it’s not serious), I probably did it. Seriously, I am the best date ever. At school my favourite subject was P.E. I got a B at GCSE. (I got an A in Maths)
2. I was bullied at school. That wasn’t a fun time. At least I didn’t get knocked up at 16 by my chav boyfriend. But Juno has to be one of my favourite movies !
3. I love 30 St. Mary Axe a.k.a The Gherkin. Actually, rephrase, I love skyscrapers. Even if it’s just a rectangular building with 60 storeys, I’ll be the one taking 10+ photos of it.
4. I don’t have many myself, but I love night shots. Where the only thing that can be seen is the lights of the skyline and it’s many skyscrapers. It’s gotta be a really bad waste of electricity, but it looks so good.
5. I hate politics. I’m 18 now, so can vote. I have no idea where my political allegiance lies here in the UK. I would say I am Democrat. GOBAMA. Sarah Palin is a crazy woman. Please don’t hate me, it’s just my opinion.
6. I enjoy Sundays for Postsecret. My favourites ones are the ones about love. They’re cute. Whilst on the subject of love, I’ll add that I love kisses, affection and flirting (with the right person). But hickeys make me want to vomit. They’re disgusting.
7. I’ve been to America twice and am in love. Plus, when I go there, I get a stamp in my passport, and a sticker. If anyone removes the sticker, I may get angry. When I returned home in August after my latest trip, the TSA had searched my bag. I did take one piece of luggage out and return with two..
8. I’ve never been artistic, and I’d never go to an art gallery. I take photographs for fun, for the memories. Now I take for Flickr, for anyone who wants to look and hopefully appreciate or like.
9. Whenever I go somewhere away from home, I’ll spend my first few mornings freaking out. This is called anxiety. Hopefully I’ll grow out of it..
10. If I don’t straighten my hair, I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. I may not wear makeup daily, but you can be sure my hair is straight. I spend forever in the shower. I love water, I love the beach, I hate the rain ! I nearly drowned on holiday when I was younger, and only learnt to swim at about age 9 for fear of drowning.
11. I intend to emigrate after I finish my degree.
12. I’m not a religious person, never have been, never will be. I hate extremism. I prefer to live my life as a good person.
13. I can’t live without my iPod. My taste in music is mega. Here’s a sample of what can be found on my iPod: Bryan Ferry, The Hood Internet, Ryan Leslie, Imogen Heap, Sade. Oh, by the way. Sade OWNS.
14. I hate vegetables. I like chips. Yes, how does that work?! Not a big fan of much meat other than chicken, and turkey. Pork sausages I’m good for, also minced beef. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a really picky eater !
15. I’m jealous of every single person who has been explored. I am grateful for everyone who has favourited, commented, visited my photostream. 201 Views on ”what’s in my bag”. 64 Views on ”the face revealed”. I enjoy that people have the, “Oooh ! that looks good / like something interesting” moment. (That’s what I do when I see a photo I like). Let it be known, I prefer originals.
16. I was a Student Paediatric Nurse. I'm now a would-be American Studies Student. September 2010 Entry.
Well, my new car kicks ass. Took it out for a ride on the town last night. Stopped about 4 police pursuits with it. Hell, it was basically one Sylvester Stallone short of a Death Race. But that was yesterday. Today I'm just fucking around in my house, waiting for the sun to crawl under the horizon so I can put on my armor and go for another drive. I didn't bother putting my armor in the shed this time, though. And I have no excuse for it. I'm just a lazyass. As I was pulling out of the chest I stored it in, a knock came on the door. Shit. Well, better see who it is. I open the door, and see and old friend of mine, looking as uninterested as ever.
"Ms. Tate? Why you here?"
"Okay, Jay, seriously. I've been through this with you a million goddamned times! My name is Linda!"
"Sorry Ms. Ta-I mean uh, Linda..."
Anyway, here's the thing. Linda Tate is basically my manager for that little sidejob known as my MMA Career. Simply put, she's the kind of person it takes alot to make her laugh. She doesn't fuck around by any extent,it's just getting to business and moving along. But there's something else. You see, she's one of the few people I allow to know just who really am. She doesn't say much of it because I'm basically the reason she's still here, living and all that.
"Well, c'mon in."
"Fine, but we gotta make this quick, so here's your tickets to Rio."
"Rio?"
"Yeah, Rio. You have a fight there in about a week, remember?"
*HONK*
"Oh yeah. I forgot I'm kinda a pro fighter an all. Fuck me, right?"
*HONKHONK*
"Uh..sure. The point is, you'll have to open your schedule a bit, because I know you're so busy with that."
She gestured at the chest against the wall. Ah shit, the arm bit of my armor is sticking out. Well, it's a good thing she already knows about the fun little shenanigans I get into at--
*HONKHONK*
"Okay that's seriously pissing me off. Who the fuck is that!?"
"Uh, it's my stupid boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend in a bit. I'm dumping his sorry ass tonight."
"Heh. for real?"
"Yeah. The guy is a jerk. He's always rude to me, dresses like he thinks he a rapper or some stupid crap, and every time we're out he's always eying other girls."
"So a garden variety Douchebag? How did someone like you fall for someone like that?"
"He wasn't always like that. When i first met him he was decent and all, but a few months ago he just sorta--"
"Linda, the hell you doing? Get your ass outta here, we're gonna be late!"
That voice alone pissed me off. Then the guy walks through the doorway into the same room with me. This guy was a textbook toolbag. Hat backwards, wearing hugeass sunglasses in the night, and a leather jacket with the sleeves cut off. I think I saw "swag" etched on one side of his outdated rag of a jacket.
"Y'know, you only let yourself in someone's house when you're invited."
"Whatever, brah. You done yet, girl?"
"Darrel, just wait in the car. I just gotta-"
"Hey, I'm not gonna be late to the party because you can't get shit done! Hey, that's a sick knife."
Oh goddammit! I left my blade on the shelf when I came home. And now fuckstick here see's it. Better not let that shit get a good look. He might recognize it.
"Touch that blade and I snap your fucking neck like a twig."
"Jerrick!"
"Whoa, we got a badass here. You got a problem, brah?"
"Yeah, it's about 5'10 and looks like a member of Vanilla Ice's passe."
"Hey, eat a di-"
"Darrel, enough! Let's just go to that party, alright?"
They both walk out of the room, the asshat glaring me as he leaves. I shoot him a look I usually use while I have the armor on, and I see a bit a fear in his face before he's outta my sight. I tell you waht, people like that only continue to breath because I'm such a nice guy.
Johnathon Bernard snorts a bit too far pissed off to care at this point and time about any tone. "Why don' tyou go play with the other mutants Kat? I'm sure theres plenty in KAOS the pack or catwalkers that you make your rounds with when your not at the record store. Games are over - get you ass out of my sight Kat or I'll make you truly wish you hadn't pissed me the fuck off." oh he was seething, his tones a outright growl. He was pissed beyond measure.
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth narrows her eyes when he told her to play with Mutants, but the point that angered her the most when he compaired KAOS to the pack, and catwalkers. Without any warning, or sign the tiger would push herself off of the ground and tried to lunge into his form using as much of her weight to slam into the middle of his chest to get him to the ground. Bernard seemed to have forgotten, the tiger worked at the gym, Marina treated her like she was her kid.....is anyone was leaving the gym it'd be him. Weither she got him down or not she'd try to slam her fist into his jaw. "You started these games!" In a strange way, granted Bernard would probably never see it....the games was what showed people that they were different....Like when she stabbed someone after saying she loves them, in her book...it was normal.
Jackie Vanmoer raises a brow as she watches and listens. She laughs though and then she says in her still thick Irish accent "Go on Bernard! Kick 'er ass!!" and she laughs again. She would move to try and slip past them though, sheh ad come all this way just to be in the gym... And god damn it she was gonna use that fuckign treadmill!!!!
Johnathon Bernard rolled with Kat, He lived, ate shit pissed and breathed hand to hand fighting. He did take the hit to the jaw, an elbow flying at Kats collar bone while he tried to roll her onto her back, "Fucking cuntrag!" He was reachign into a pouch with his right hand, the sound of somethign clicking as he did.
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth weighted less then Bernard so rolling her over, wasn't extremely hard as she'd attempt to lift her knee up just enough that it would cause some space between them and his weight wasn't completely crushing her. The tiger felt the elbow to her collar bone, and moved her hand upward to try and crack him in the mouth once more. Her ears picked up the sound of the clicking and her eyes widen as she knew what that meant and what would happen. Quickly the tiger tried to use her hand to pull out her blade if she could grab it before he pulled out the noise clicker. "You do what I think your going to do! I swear to god, I'll tear your other eye out!" SHe threatened him. Well she pulled at her knife.
Johnathon Bernard snarled and didn't even bother dragging the taser out of the pocket, he'd jam the prongs into Kats leg through the fabric of hs pants and depress the button, liekly tasering the fuck outta the both of them. A bit of blood dripping from the split in his lips as muscles locked up and he literaly roared in pain from the shock.
Jasmine Plessis straightened up as she seemed to stumble upon a peculiar scene. She watched on with a serene neutrality, only the faintest of smirks coming to her lips. It wasn't her brawl...why should she come between theirs? She knew neither, and had only spoken to bernard briefly. She watched the mutant with a certain disdain. She furrowed her brows, hearing the click and zapping of the tazer as she watched both of their bodies reacted.
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth yelps out at the electricity that surged through her body and tried to hold in that scream of fear but leaning up and trying to bite down upon Bernard's neck which is something he probably should have expected. If she managed to bite down upon the flesh, she'd bite as hard as she could even if that meant taking out a chunk as long as that scream wouldn't be heard. The rest of her body was starting to curl up like it did when Bernard first tazered her in the cell, and if you looked close enough you'd notice a few tears leaving her eyes.
Jackie Vanmoer truns ands he raises an eyebrow. After a moment she reaches into her bag. She pulls out a bag and then she yells at them "Alright break it up! Behave er I'm gonna have ta pop a cap in both y'alls asses!!" Adns he laughs abi t... She'd always wanted to say that! She doesp ull out her gun though, she wasn't joking about shooting them
Johnathon Bernard had jammed his arm in Kats mouth, the movements jerky and spasmic as she refused to let go of the tazer until the battery was dead. He'd yell in pain and fury as he felt those teeth fits down on his flesh, smoke radiating from hims shoulders and neck as the electricy vaporized the moisture.
Jasmine Plessis stepped up just a bit closer, rather amused in a sadistic sort of way. Physical pain...it was the closest thing she had to actually feeling alive now. She licked her lower lip nervously before pressing lips together, walking forward a bit more until she saw Jackie, then down at the gun she pulled out, deciding to stay as she was.
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth felt all of her muscles tighten and untighten as she felt more tears leave her eyes. There was many times that the tiger was caught with tears in her eyes, but when she did it usually involved that tazer. She bite down harder onto his arm until she could taste his body and then pulled off of his flesh. "Stop it!!" She whispered to him, her voice was shakey and she tried to keep any of those memories that usually flowed into her mind whenever she was electricuted at bay.
Johnathon Bernard flciked the tazer off and fell backwards gaspping for air even as blood ran down his arm. Smoke and burn flesh filled the air around him as that psychotic grin caressed his lips. He'd lick them and grunt, "Goign to listen to me now kitty kat?"
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth didn't move as she stayed in almost a tight ball. Her eyes shut tight expecting more electricity to shoot through her as she tried to also keep the fact that she was scared of death of that damn weapon of his...the good thing was it seemed only Bernard realized what the tiger was scared of as she nodded her head. "..Y...yes.." She stumbled out, still almost scared to move as she remembered before he kept tazering her. Her tail coiled around her waist and her ears seemed almost buries in her strands of hair.
Johnathon Bernard slowly rolled over and got to his knees, the taser stayign in his pocket as he coughed, "I had nothign to do with you beign arrested. Never filed papers on you." He'd snort in amusement, "and if you ever try and attack me again Kat.. I'll taze you, fuck you, then taze you while fucking you."
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth wiped her eyes quickly as she sniffled once more. "Aza said so..." She spoke low, "He wanted me for questioning....and then left me in there all night and day." She had goosebumps over her body as she released a whimper of pain as she tried to sit up slowly. She had a look of fear in her eyes still as she watched him once more. "You can't fuck me...that's one of the rules..." She stated weakly as she was trying to control her emotions. "Plus, the games over...." She repeated his words.
Johnathon Bernard chuckled a bit and watched her, "There are no rules if there is no Game Kat." HE'd state evenly. Slowly bandaging the bloody bite mark along his arm. IT seemed Kat would leave her mark on him afterall. "And I'll find out what the fuck Aza's got in his ass cause I never filed shit on you. Your just too damned stupporn and stupid to listen to me. Gotta fuckign beat it into your brain half the time."
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth seems confused as she heard his words and shook his head. "You're not just a toy..." She mumbled to herself more then him as she wiped her eyes once more atlease she was calmer and looked over to him. Her fingers moved against the glove, and pulled out a small pink needle, and then pricked her finger with it hopefully to relax her body and stop the trembling. She rarely used her own drugs, unless it was to numb the pain. "...I'm not stupid...I'm smarter then all your soliders..." She wiped another tear and waited for her muscles to relax.
Johnathon Bernard snorts, "Kat. You act like a sutbborn, spoiled, petulant. whiney child when you do't get your way." He'd managed to get one foot up on the ground. A huff of breath. it felt liek he had a thousand ants biting at his skin. "Not a toy huh? then what the hell am I? cause you sure as fuck annoy the piss outta me."
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth watched him as he stood up and then took out another toothpick needle and offered it to him, instead of just drugging him like she usually would have. Her body muscles was slowly relaxing and she couldn't help but smirk at his words. "That's 'cause I always get my way..." She stated in a matter of fact tone of voice, the tiger knew she was stubborn, spoiled, and whiney...it was one of the reasons why her and Chi always faught more then anyone else. She didn't answer his question about what he was instead she just sat there and though about that answer. "What am I to you? You said I was something else...but you linked me with that other cat..." She didn't seem happy with that, atlease she didn't link him to another UAC. "And I could have other UAC toys, ya know..."
Johnathon Bernard snorts and waves off the needle. "I prefer the pain. Remidns me I'm not dead." He'd stumble back and land on his ass with a grunt. Fumbling or a cigar, and finaly lgihting it. "Yer special Kat. Told you that.A pain in my ass that annoys me and pissess me off to now end. and if you coudl have othrs, go ahead. I don't give a damn kat. Tired of listenign to you throw a fit everytime you imagine i've done somethign to piss you off..." on second thought he did reach out and prick his finger over that needle. HEr nerves steadying slowly.
Shadowkat Wrigglesworth studies him from the distance as she would slowly move closer to him. "Well..." She spoke slowly, her voice was dull as she moved to sit next to him and then looked down. "You get me mad, and I'm not a damn doll!" She stated slowly as she watched him with the cigar. Every so often moved her hand up to wipe her cheeks. Whenever she got tazered, it took her a while to get back to normal. "You're not suppose to like me..." She stated slowly, "You're suppose to...I don't know...keep a distance." She informed him as if she made a list of what was suppose to happen and what wasn't. "And...and it's strange when you react to things I do...then I start thinking about it and it's strange." The drug was making her more truthful, which could be good or bad...atlease right now she wasn't in the right state of mind to play any games.
Johnathon Bernard snorted in amusement, as he chewed the end of the lit cigar and arm lifting up to wrap around KAts shoulders and tug her up against him, "Kat. Shut up and stop acting like theres a set of rules. IF there were actual rules to this we wouldn't keep crying about breakign the rules. I'll do as I damn well please weather you like it or not. Hows that?" And he's turn pull the Cigar from his mouth and outright lip lock Kat if she didn't stop him.
BOY:
I remember every little thing
As if it happened only yesterday
Parking by the lake
And there was not another car in sight
And I never had a girl
Looking any better than you did
And all the kids at school
They were wishing they were me that night
And now our bodies are oh so close and tight
It never felt so good, it never felt so right
And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
C'mon! Hold on tight!
C'mon! Hold on tight!
GIRL:
Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night
BOY:
I can see paradise by the dashboard light
GIRL:
Ain't no doubt about it
We were doubly blessed
'Cause we were barely seventeen
And we were barely dressed
TOGETHER:
Ain't no doubt about it
Baby got to go and shout it
Ain't no doubt about it
We were doubly blessed
BOY:
'Cause we were barely seventeen
And we were barely dressed
Baby doncha hear my heart
You got it drowning out the radio
I've been waiting so long
For you to come along and have some fun
And I gotta let you know
No you're never gonna regret it
So open up your eyes I got a big surprise
It'll feel all right
Well I wanna make your motor run
And now our bodies are oh so close and tight
It never felt so good, it never felt so right
And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
C'mon! Hold on tight!
C'mon! Hold on tight!
TOGETHER:
Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night
I can see paradise by the dashboard light
Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night
Paradise by the dashboard light
You got to do what you can
And let Mother Nature do the rest
Ain't no doubt about it
We were doubly blessed
'Cause we were barely seventeen
And we were barely-
We're gonna go all the way tonight
We're gonna go all the way
tonight's tonight...
We're gonna go all the way tonight
We're gonna go all the way
tonight's tonight...
RADIO BROADCAST
OK, here we go, we got a real pressure cooker going here,
Two down, nobody on, no score, bottom of the ninth,
There's the windup, and there it is, a line shot up the middle,
Look at him go. This boy can really fly! He's rounding first and really
turning it on now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna try for
second; the ball is bobbled out in center, and here comes the
throw, and what a throw! He's gonna slide in head first, here he
comes, he's out! No, wait, safe-safe at second base, this kid
really makes things happen out there. Batter steps up to the
plate, here's the pitch-he's going, and what a jump he's got,
he's trying for third, here's the throw, it's in the dirt-safe at
third! Holy cow, stolen base! He's taking a pretty big lead out
there, almost daring him to try and pick him off. The pitcher
glances over, winds up, and it's bunted, bunted down the third
base line, the suicide squeeze is on! Here he comes. squeeze play, it's gonna be close! Heres the throw. heres the play at the plate. Holy cow, I think he's gonna make it!
GIRL:
Stop right there!
I gotta know right now!
Before we go any further!
Do you love me?
Will you love me forever?
Do you need me?
Will you never leave me?
Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?
Will you take me away, will you make me your wife?
Do you love me!?
Will you love me forever!?
Do you need me!?
Will you never leave me!?
Will you make me happy for the rest of my life!?
Will you take me away , will you make me your wife!?
I gotta know right now
Before we go any further
Do you love me!?
Will you love me forever!?
BOY:
Let me sleep on it
Baby, baby let me sleep on it
Let me sleep on it
And I'll give you an answer in the morning
Let me sleep on it
Baby, baby let me sleep on it
Let me sleep on it
I'll give you an answer in the morning
Let me sleep on it
Baby, baby let me sleep on it
Let me sleep on it
I'll give you an answer in the morning
GIRL:
I gotta know right now
Do you love me?
Will you love me forever?
Do you need me?
Will you never leave me?
Will you make me so happy for the rest of my life?
Will you take me away , will you make me your wife?
I gotta know right now!
Before we go any further
Do you love me?
Will you love me forever?
Whats it gonna be boy? Come on...I can wait all night... Whats it gonna be boy... yes or no?? Whats it gonna be boy? YES OR NO???
BOY:
Let me sleep on it
Baby, baby let me sleep on it
Let me sleep on it
And I'll give you an answer in the morning
Let me sleep on it
TOGETHER:
Boy: let me sleep on it......
Girl: I gotta know right now.......Do you love me will you love me forever do you need me will you never leave me will you make so happy for the rest of my life will take me away will make me your wife i gotta know right before we go any further do you love me will you love me forever.
BOY:
Let me sleep on it..
GIRL:
Will you love me forever?
BOY:
Let me sleep on it..
GIRL:
Will you love me forever?!?!?!
BOY:
I couldn't take it any longer
Lord I was crazed
And when the feeling came upon me
Like a tidal wave
I started swearing to my god and on my mother's grave
That I would love you to the end of time
I swore that I would love you to the end of time!
TOGETHER:
So now I'm praying for the end of time
To hurry up and arrive
'Cause if I gotta spend another minute with you
I don't think that I can really survive
I'll never break my promise or forget my vow
BOY:But God only knows what I can do right now
I'm praying for the end of time
It's all that I can do
Praying for the end of time,
So I can end my time with you!!
TOGETHER:
BOY:
It was long ago and it was far away
And it was so much better than it is today
GIRL:
It never felt so good
It never felt so right
And we were glowing like
A metal on the edge of a knife
Welcome.......
To the.......
Karma.........
Hoooooooo..........
Welcome.......
To the.......
Karma.........
Hoooooooo..........
Karma Hotel lobby, and I'm lookin' for enlightenment
Concierge, where can I go to find adventure and excitement?
Played of all the casinos, bars, and orgies, they bore me
Here's another twenty, now what you got for me?
He stared at me hard, finally dipped in his drawer
Flipped the elevator keys and said "Go to the thirteenth floor"
So in a flash I was there, cold knock on the door
Bombarded by cigar smoke, the smell of Hell and War
And when the fog cleared, the scene was like an eerie nightmare
"Come in, we've been waitin' on you for years"
"You wanted adventure, now you got it boy, don't show me no tears,"
"This is the place where you face your desires and fears,"
In each of his hands was a revolver, forty-five in the left
Twenty-two in his right
Russian roulette's the game tonight
And there's NO escape, so don't try to run
But I'll fill your life with bliss if you're alive once the death wheel has spun
"Choose your gun"
Gimme the forty-five, I said with a smile
"Here's a shiny silver bullet, might as well go out in style"
Put one in the cylinder, spun it, aimed at my dome and slowly clicked it
Now I feel the adrenheline rush that's got me so addicted
Motivatin' me to play, a second time, then a third time
Fourth time I clicked and popped
BOOM! Money shot
Next morning, cops found me, needle stickin' out my arm
Peep the drama, another sad story at the Karma
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Peep the gamblin' scene
Gettin' dough as he rambled the fiends
Exotic queens dancin' with tamborines
And the Gambler's theme
One eye open, one eye scopin'
Watchin' his gat, watchin' his back
Watchin' his stack, watchin' his wrap
Watchin' his deck, as people notice like
"OH SHIT! Boy just won a hundred grand!"
"Where? Where?" "Oh my God, at Table Seven, did you see him yet?"
Look at his chips, all that green growin' like Chia Pets
Two out the handle and he can't stop
The more and more the fans flock, the more the dice out his hands drop
Walk in the room, he's bettin' and makin' money and every table
Women are sweatin' him like he was James Bond or Joe David
Yeah, he's satisfied, he's in his element now
To do this for the rest of his life is how it's goin' down
So it seems like, he got his whole shit set
But his son is gangbangin' in the park, holdin' a rain check
Meanwhile, somehow, somethin' is kinda eerie
About this place that he seems to be payin' a permanent visit to
Every face he sees, expressionless, like a mannequin
He really wants to leave, but stays cool, to avoid panickin'
He's gettin' the same attention, but somethin' seems sorta different
He's wrinklin' up, losin' weight, and his body's startin' to stiffen
Now he notices years have passed in one night
He made more cash than we could imagine, but never lived life
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Since we're all trapped in, peace guys, see you later
I'm a go to that red door near the elevator
Triple nines on nails danglin' off the door
Excuse me sir, I didn't notice you before
Pleased to meet you, Macristo's the name
Pretty young thing
Come into my room, I'd like to play a game, it's called "Doom"
Beat the friends and family
Gotta give yourself to me
By the way, what's your name?
Eve
Check the scenery
Looks so happy, at the same time
The way they're entwined seems so good it's a crime
Believe in me as I believe in you, live it up tonight
Well fuck it I feel I've got all of my life!
So true, pleasure and pain, transform lust to thrust
One night stands of hot sex, the bottle entrusts
Oooh, invitation accepted, too good to reject it
So I join in unprotected
Expected, one life to live, don't respect it
Respect what?
Ooh, you poor child you've been neglected
Cristo why do I feel so cold?
It's like each time I climax you take a piece of my soul
You could never leave, you made a pact with the Devil himself
Infected in my family of trust, my daughter of lust
So what you're tellin' me is I can't leave!
And I'm trapped here for eternity!
Oooooohhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Welcome to the Karma Hotel
Looks like Heaven but could be Hell
Where pleasant screams transform to yells
And every suite casts its own spell
Written by: booker t. tucker/chenjerai kumanyika/irina m. perez/jerel spruill/joseph m. davis
Performed by: Spooks
Darkness Odigaunt isn't surprised Conor knows more than some of the Catwalkers. She reaches out to tilt it toward the light, not taking, or even trying to take it out of his hand, "It's beautiful, Conor. Your friend must be quite some carpenter."
Jaina Lefevre opens the door and nearly runs into Conor. "Sorry..." she mutters and shuts the door, skittering over to the side. "Gotta find my lucky pencil." She doesn't look up at either of them, letting her hair hide her face.
Conor Nitely nodded giggling. "JUST LIKE JESUS!" The elastic was pulled taught as he showed it off, snapping with a faint ping as Jaina nearly ran into him. Luckily no rock inside to do any damage. "Hullo Jaina," he giggled, still grinning. "Welcome to Saint Michael's!"
Darkness Odigaunt grinned, "Right. Wonder if Jesus ever made a slingshot this pretty?" Her head lifts as the door opens, "Welcome, Jaina, do you need help with your pencil?"
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head and pads up to where class was, looking around under the pews and stuff. She comes back a few minutes later. "Ain't here. I gotta keep lookin'." She pauses to glance at the slingshot. "Gotta get ball bare-rings for it. Better'n rocks."
Conor Nitely eyed her considering, his proud expression faltering a bit. "Ball bare-rings? I errr...dunno what they are. And rocks are free and stuff yanno. In the park at least. Just gotta stay away from old crazy pants or growl real mean so she'll leave." Eyes turn back to D, looking slightly deflated now at his inadequate ammo.
Darkness Odigaunt looks between Jaina and Conor, "You're both right. Ball bearings are okay because they're little metal balls, aerodynamic and stuff, but rocks are better because you don't have to carry them, they're lying around all over so you don't run out."
Jaina Lefevre shrugs. "You get 'em out of broken chair wheels and stuff. There's a bunch over at th'warehouse. I bet there's like boxes or somethin' in all that trash. I sleeped there before and there was lots of that stuff."
Conor Nitely nodded, making a mental note in his head. "Which warehouse? And how come you slept there? You've got like two beds and stuff right? Two beds and two mommies." The slingshot was wrapped delicately back against his thigh. Fussily almost, a good two minutes devoted to wrapping and rewrapping the string.
Darkness Odigaunt watches the small display, wondering if that's taking care of a new weapon, or mere OCD. "Jaina, I didn't see you with a pencil at school, but it was getting crazy this week."
Jaina Lefevre mutters. "/Before/ that. I ain't always had them." She scuffs the rug with her shoes. "It was in my bag pocket and now it's gone. I looked at th'Beast house before we left and it ain't there and if it ain't here then it got losted on the train."
Jaina Lefevre adds grumpily. "Two houses aint' so great. Stuff never where you want it."
Conor Nitely seems less than sympathetic at her last comment, offering a vague shrug only. "Next time maybe put it inside your bag. So it doesn't fall out and stuff," he adds, just as grumpily. Awkward silence then, skinny arms dangling listlessly at his side as he eyes the votive stand. "Can light a candle and stuff if you want. Pray to find it. In the back is the best though 'cause they're always lonely."
Darkness Odigaunt frowns, "Train? Where.. Where are you going on a train?" she already had an inkling, though. "That's right, Conor, light a candle and say a prayer to St. Anthony. He's the patron of lost things."
Jaina Lefevre shakes her head. "Don't wanna. Don't care. Stupid anyway." She looks over at the Sister. "Mommy works at th'Beast so she's got a partment there. I don't like it there. It's always cold and people are mean. And they owns people there and sells them." She shudders and rubs her hands on her arms. "Gonna go. Stupid t'look for a stupid pencil."
Conor Nitely frowns as his suggestion is shot down, two feet shuffling over towards the candles. "Well, imma light one anyway," he says simply. "Not for /you/ or anything. Just 'cause I feel like it and stuff. Yup." A shiny zippo lighter is extracted somewhere from his back pocket, three candles lit in quick sucession.
Darkness Odigaunt nods, she didn't say anything about soldiers, so she didn't worry as much as she did about River and his ears in Levi. "Be careful, hunny, whereever you are, here or there." She watches Conor go until he disappears around the pole, "It's not stupid, Jaina, if something's important to you, it's okay to worry about it."
Jaina Lefevre looks up at Sister D and her lower lip quivers. "No..s'not. Cause then I'm trouble and if I'm trouble...I..." She swallows and looks down. "I gotta go, Sister D." and she starts for the door.
Conor Nitely stays by the votive stand, hands clasped in prayer as he prays silently. Well, almost silently. "And Dear God, please make Mayo not so sad about Rith. 'Cause I dunno what to do...and Dear God, please help me find some ball bear-rings 'cause they're ammo-dynamic..."
Darkness Odigaunt nods, then bends down to offer her a hug, "It is okay to worry, but be careful about worrying your mommies." Conor's prayer reaches her ears, but she lowers her voice, "I'll see you soon, Jania."
Jaina Lefevre stops and looks at Sister D's offered hug. "I better not. Might make Conor mad and I needs my frien's. Cause Mommy and Mama will get tired of bein' Mommies and I'll need frien's so's I don't get sold or somethin."
Conor Nitely cannot really see the duo from his spot behind the column and is only half listening anyway. Another murmured prayer and the name "Anthony," said a little louder than the rest of his muttering. Deep respectful bow at the votive stand, cowboy tip of the hat to the picture of Mary. Two feet move quickly towards the door, a faint grin for both females as he waves. "Imma go keep investigating and stuff. And got pirate training soon so gotta hurry. See you later...hope you find your pencil Jaina." The door's kicked open with a dirty sneaker, the word "Hiii-ya," almost giggled as he departs. Almost.
Darkness Odigaunt stares at her slightly, "Jaina..." she doesn't even know where to go from that. "Hunny, I'll always be your friend. You never have to worry about anyone taking you away, or selling you, or anything. And I don't think it will make Conor mad." She waves as he leaves, "Enjoy your stay."
Jaina Lefevre watches Conor leave and sighs. "See? He is mad. He only likes Caty and that new girl. River's my friend 'cause he don't got no others, but he does really stupid stuff and I can't keep watchin' out for him all the time. And I don't want 'tootles' (tutors) I wanna go to school with kids but those other kitty kids are mean and I don't got ears so...."
Darkness Odigaunt shakes her head, "No, hes not leaving because of you. And don't worry about the kittens... trust me, I'll squish out any specism I can find." She bites her lip slightly, "Niyol... You need to meet Niyol."
Jaina Lefevre tips her head and looks at Sister. "Who is that?"
Darkness Odigaunt raised her hand way up above her head, "Big tall kid... He's the Big Brother of all of Midian. He has tutors too, and he's really nice."
Jaina Lefevre wrinkles her nose. "He's not my brudder. All mine got burneded up."
Jaina Lefevre: Yes..the kid has a thing for the bluntly macabre.
Darkness Odigaunt closed her eyes briefly, "Not a literal big brother, the way I'm not really your sister. Hunny? I think some day we need to sit down for pizza and talk about families."
Jaina Lefevre watches her for a moment. "Why?"
Darkness Odigaunt shakes her head, "No reason in particular, really... I've been asking all of the students about them." which was part truth anyway.
Jaina Lefevre frowns. "I was a jar baby. Now I gots a Mama and a Mommy. Tha's it. Everyone else is dead or smushed or burneded up or lied."
Darkness Odigaunt looks down to the carpet, unsure how to handle this one. "I'm glad you have a family, Jaina.... I really am." She tries offering a hug again, "You have two mommies and friends who care about you."
Jaina Lefevre figures SIster D must really need a hug and no one else is around so she gives her one, then steps back. "For now.' she says softly. "Stuff changes. Really fast it changes."
Darkness Odigaunt shakes her head, "Not everything changes, hunny. I'm living proof of that. As long as you want me to be, I will be your friend, no matter what happens."
Jaina Lefevre gives her a weak smile. "Uh huh. Always changes, Sister D. You're not gonna like me when you finds out I'm too smarts."
Darkness Odigaunt shakes her head again, "No. The building you're standing in... The Church itself... Well, it hasn't changed in centuries. And no matter how smart you are, or what you do. I made a promise, Jaina."
Jaina Lefevre gives her a 'Yeah, we'll see' look and shrugs. Too cynical.
Darkness Odigaunt sighs, in over her head now. "Well... Maybe if things do change, they'll be for the better." she murrmers.
Jaina Lefevre just looks at the nun for a moment, then heads for the door. "Bye Sister D. See ya." She seems to barely touch the door and it flies open, banging off the stone. She pauses a moment, staring at it, then shrugs and starts down the steps.
Darkness Odigaunt just stands there, looking heartbroken and lost. She opens her mouth to say something as the door closes her off. She turns for the cloister, dejected.
blog.sina.com.cn/s/blog_5d4ef39c0100et3a.html
Armageddon
How many times must we start again
The creation of the world from beginning to end
What will it take before we learn
We gotta wake up now and show some concern
What will the future hold
How many untold stories will be told
Just what will the future bring
How many species of birds will have a song to sing
Man 'n' man can't even get on
'N' man 'n' women's been at war for far too long
Superior race, all this black and white vision
Catholic, Muslim there's too many religions
Too much hatred, too much greed
Ignorant people pollute the air that we breathe
We gotta wake up now before it's much too late
Hungry people need food on their plate
People bein' killed for just a few pence
an you justify that, cause it makes no sense to me
You're growin' up much too fast
The destruction of mankind. How long would it last.
Perfect - that's what I'm strivin' to be
The next best thing won't do for me
I do my best, you disagree
Holier - than - thou holier - than - me
Commitin' crimes with no remorse
As good as gold, now an evil force
One word description is a dis
You lick a boy down for his bag of cheese n onion crisp
Whatever happened to the dinosaurs could make us all extinct
And you don't even stop to think
I'm bein' judged by the clothes that I wear
We gotta educate those with a grudge to bear
But I'm content to a certain extent
You're condemned for life, it's too late to repent
Inna - most beauty, such a terrible waste
Caught between a rock 'n' a hard place.
Be judged by accordin' to what you've done
Live this life, the next is a better one
Eat the fruit from the tree of life
Cause if you live by the sword..... you'll die by the knife
How great and wonderful are your days
How right and true are your ways
No more death, grief, cryin' or pain
Cause only the good things will remain.....
Heed my words 'cause what I'm sayin' is true
Treat them exactly as they treated you
Wipe away the tears from your eyes
Be proud, lift your head up - reach for the skies.
Condemned for what you did to them
Now see how quick they fall to worship him
There's a place in my heart that makes me understand
Prepared 'n' ready like a bride dressed to meet her husband
Treat life like a learning process
I said turn right, so you took a sharp left
Wake up and we'll all sleep peacefully
The sun shines but it still seems bleak to me
You tell a lie and convince me it's the truth
I'm well mannered but you still call me uncouth
I believe that there's got to be much more
I hope I'm ready when death comes knockin' on my door
Maybe tonight, maybe as I sleep
It can drive you mad if you think too deep
But don't have a breakdown because I called you a clown
You threw a punch 'n' missed, I killed you with a kiss
What on earth will you be then
The hour of your death amen
'N' all the prejudice that I've sustained
I know it sounds funny but I just can't stand the pain
I feel like a kid looking up at giant piñatas. No stick to beat the candy out, but I wouldn't swing if I had one. Fuck the candy. The waves are all washing away away away from me. The sand. The animals. Everyone I know just wants to drink alcohol. I see sunshine when she's around. I see all the sunshine we've ever seen when she's close to me. So many directions with her. Every direction at so many speeds down highways, strange roads over mountains through rains and sunsets and coastlines into future distant landscapes. So many directions and reasons and only one reason: travelling together. Trees and colors and wonder whizzing by - stopping where all is silent...yearning for some new fear. So damn exciting and perfect every time. Listening to the happiness in her voice. Just that sound. Feeling so complete knowing that she's enjoying the ride. The ride!
I had a little goldfish when I was a kid. Maybe a little over an inch long. I decided one day that she needed a bigger home in a real world, so I took her down to the little seminary pond and let her go. She darted off into the water plants. I watched her coast and bubble around for a while, then we said goodbye. After that day I'd walk by the pond periodically to check on her; see that she was alright. She always seemed fine. Then some months went by / I stopped checking. Then more months went by. After a long while I made it back. I spotted her right away; about three inches long. She was just below the surface. As I got closer and knelt down I started doubting it was really her: She had bloomed the most arrogant and useless fins! Her tail trailed long behind and drooped like an anchor. Her body waved back and forth, but she wasn't going anywhere. Just slowly twitching at the surface. Crippled by her enormous new expression. I looked for the white spot on top of her head...yeah, it was her.
Many years later I helped save an old man's life. A large crowd had gathered around a burning vehicle. Everyone stood safely away as they yelled at the scene. Two of us ran in, to find an old guy sitting there just driving down the road! Smoke and flames rapidly consuming him. The situation was a struggle. Death was certainly in the air. I've always wondered about the difficulty of this "rescue". Why would a ninety six year old man's hands and fingers be so impossible to pry from a steering wheel? And how could a body, one I could so easily lift by myself, become so unmovable? Every limb and inch of him that we strenuously managed to pull out of that car had its own density and determination. His foot would not move, his knee would not bend, his other foot was stuck under him, his coat ripped in my hands...I flew back to the ground...his rear would not separate from the seat, yet he wasn't wearing a restraint. Every limb, every inch, anything touching him was determined to stay inside that car. All the while, he keeps his eyes forward through the smoke, through the windshield, beyond...far beyond! Even as flashover singes his head and heats our faces his hands clamp to the wheel until we pry each finger free. Then every part of him that came away to breach the door goes limp. First his foot, then a leg, his hip, abdomen, his chest, an arm, his other arm, his head. Then lastly, his other leg and foot. The gravity in there! Once removed completely, he goes totally weightless. As we carried him away from the flames it felt more like we were holding him down...keeping him from floating off...like, if we had let go, he would've quickly rushed up into the clouds.
So, I do the goldfish lady a favor. I take her from her tiny cell and release her to all the abundance she deserves. She soon becomes imprisoned by it. And saving the old man? The rescue was already in progress long before I arrived. Seems now the best help I could've offered would've been to keep the door shut rather than open it.
I'm feeling these two stories right now. I'm feeling them in our landscape, and in our future landscapes. They merge: The goldfish and her amplified/inverted imprisonment. The old man wanting to end his life while I can only think to save it. Driving down whatever road he sees, maybe old memories...smoke and flame. All of existence supports her so thoroughly but simultaneously cripples her....the physical laws of the world shift to assist the old fella with his departure. There's something in the crowd. Countering forces. Pulled from his capsule BACK into our world through the air...back into the...pushes her like a toy boat into a debilitating future. His eyes looking at me. Her floating at the surface. Not set free. Maybe I won't ever know what this thing is. What is this thing?
Me in my confines, you in yours. Sometimes watery. Smoke and mirrors. Abundance and anemia all merged together and totally separate and totally looking in opposite directions. Rescue and salvation. Polarization. Release and captivity. Acceptance and determination. I'm wagging at the surface. Your fingers are clamped to the steering wheel. My fins are beautiful and numb. I'm alone in this pond. You're staring out through the windshield. Your coat rips in my hands. You don't want to live in that tiny bowl anymore, and neither do I. You coast through the plants, awaiting your future. I stop visiting. Capture and release. My knees won't bend. I'm stuck to the seat. You pull, you fall away. I think I'm rushing into the clouds, but it's really just this burning car / irrelevant salvation. Carried off down to the pond. Staring into your face, you staring straight through me. Back and forth just below the surface. Fresh air fills lungs: failed rescue. I can't close the door. Kneeling down. Is that really her? Gotta keep moving. Freedom at last: No freedom at all. The pulling. The breathing. The smoke. So heavy. The clouds. Dense limbs. The surface. Arrogant fins. The parking lot. The living pond. The tiny bowl. Your comforting hands suspended between releasing, supporting, and holding me down...and my hands are the same for you.
...
I got a blender for my birthday, and it's really been paying off. I've been wanting to explore soups and sauces for awhile now and after reading Thomas Keller's advice on soup I decided it was high-time. So the first soup I made was something I called "Three Root Soup" and I'll write that one up after a bit here, but the second go-round was less planned. I was making pasta sauce as I usually do and decided to throw it in the blender.
This was the result!
INGREDIENTS
--------------------------------
2-4 T. olive oil
2-3 T. bacon fat (or 1/2 cup of pancetta rendered)
2-3 T. balsamic vinegar
1 head of garlic, finely chopped
1/2 - 1 T. red pepper flakes
1/4 cup parmesan cheese
A pinch of sugar...
1 large portobello mushroom, diced
1 large portobello mushroom, sliced
1 T. butter
1 large can of whole peeled tomatoes (get fresh if you're making this in the summer)
1/2 white onion, diced
1 large carrot, diced
1-2 cups broccoli, quartered
This recipe is mostly inspired from an investigation into trying to make vegetarian dishes that taste amazing. I'm not a vegetarian, but I do believe that humans eat too much meat these days, so I've taken up the challenge of attempting vegetarian dishes that stand up to any dish, no excuses. Also, because I love vegetables.
DIRECTIONS
--------------------------------
SAUCE
So the first thing to do is get the sauce together. It can be made ahead of time and this yields enough that I'd recommend packing it away anyhow. I usually start pasta sauces with three crucial elements. Fat/oil, aromatic (in this case garlic), and heat/spice (red pepper flakes). This way you're flavoring the oil with the intensity of whatever robust flavors you want.
Heat up your bacon fat, or render your fatty pork in a large skillet over medium heat. Then add your olive oil, red pepper flakes and garlic. When the garlic is just starting to turn brown, throw in the onion. Make sure the garlic doesn't get past golden brown and then throw in the mushroom and the balsamic. Continue to sauté; once the mushroom is about 3/4 of what it was add your carrots. Now sauté this for a good bit, making sure the carrots release a little sugar and the mushrooms soak up some of that tasty fat/garlic.
After that pop in the can of whole tomatoes and start mashing them with your wooden spoon. Don't worry too much about size here but you want them opened and cut up so they trade flavors. You might want to turn up the heat just a notch or so here since now we're working with a sauce instead of a hash of sorts.
About 10-15 minutes in you should have what looks like a pretty rustic pasta sauce. This is good, so taste it. It's probably not salty enough, so add the parmesan cheese now. Taste it again, if it needs a bit more salt add some more cheese. It probably needs something else though, that something is sugar. Add a pinch. Better? Don't add too much but sugar will help. You can add some fresh cracked black pepper as well. Interact with your food here and tweak it, it's the difference-maker.
Once it tastes up to snuff, throw it in the blender bit by bit and get-a-blendin'. Taste it again, it'll probably be better because it's more homogenous now. You can still tweak the taste here, maybe it needs a bit more balsamic, or olive oil! Who knows, but you've gotta feel your food. Don't be afraid, just make small changes and test. Now onto the pasta.
PASTA & ETC.
I like thick spaghetti here for this sauce. Because the sauce is blended pretty well, spaghetti or any noodle is a nice choice for a lot of coverage. Ideally I'd love bucatini in this recipe, but sadly America hates bucatini. I have no idea why...
First off though, take those slices of portobello mushroom in a skillet over medium heat with a T. of butter and give them enough space to cook. Think of these guys like strips of meat. Brown them on both sides, toss with some salt and fresh-cracked pepper and you'll be eating these like candy.
Boil a big pot of water into a raging boil. Next add a handful- yes a handful of salt. It should taste like seawater. I'm not kidding. To save time, you can actually blanch the broccoli right here in the same water you're going to cook the pasta in. So just throw the broccoli in, after no more than 2 minutes, get it out with a slotted spoon. If you're picky about color, throw it in an ice-bath to stop the cooking process, otherwise just leave it out on the cutting board like I do.
Next throw your pasta in the water. Now, I'd of loved to make my own pasta here, but I'm still working on making my own noodles taste proper consistently. For this thick spaghetti it should take around 5-7 minutes to cook. Fish out a noodle from time to time and bite it. Look at it. In the center you should see a faint bit of lighter color, it's pretty much done there. Turn off the burner, pour the pot into a colander and put the drained pasta right back into the pot you were cooking in. Put a cup of sauce or whatever you prefer back into the pot with the pasta (not over a burner or anything) and mix it up.
Toss the broccoli in there and plate. Lay the portobellos over the pasta like you see in the picture and then sprinkle some more parmesan over the whole thing. Booya, you're done.
DIFFICULTY
--------------------------------
I know this is seems like a lot of work; it is; but this a good amount of sauce and will out last a mere box of pasta. You'll get a good 5-6 meals out of this recipe and the sauce keeps very well. I made this a week ago and I still have one serving left. Plus, it's full of vegetable goodness. It's pretty deep and meaty tasting with all the mushroom in there. Give it a shot! :)
Speaking of.. It really is a small world. We ran into Casey Abay tonight at IHOP. We went there for post-poker munchies after Heroes. He happens to be friends with this guy that knows Brian from T-Mobile who sat with Brian, Jason and I in our booth and talked our ears off about how wonderful Brian was for what seemed like an eternity. Ugh. I get it already!
Anyway, it was so weird! To hear this guy rave about Brian.. It was nuts. It was like he worshipped him. Must've been the pot (and when I say pot I'm not referring to coffee) because the guy was totally stoned out of his ass.
The funny thing is that Brian would always tell me stories about reps lining up and trying to compete to get into his team because he is so fuckin' awesome. He would tell me how all the reps just admired him and thought highly of him and everyone wanted to be on his team. I'm like, "Whatever." We're all deluded in one way, shape or form. I never really fully believed him until now, when I witnessed this guy just praise Brian out the ass.
Don't get me wrong, I know Brian is wonderful but I didn't think he was THAT wonderful.
I had to ask if Brian put him up to it or paid him to say all those things - or something. But then when that wasn't it, I had to wonder if Brian somehow buttfucked the fella without my knowledge because of all the compliments that he was giving Brian. At one point the dude actually goes everyone at T-Mobile sucked except for Brian and then he realized that Jason works at T-Mobile and he had to back-paddle really quick and say that Jason was cool too because he was the IT guy who worked behind the scenes and made sure that everything worked. But that's really all he had to say about Jason. Brian was his main focus, his IDOL! He was like a child meeting his hero for the first time. It was very, very weird.
At one point, the dude actually goes "I WANTED TO BE YOU!" Brian is all embarrassed to shit about the adulation so he's trying to keep this guy's ranting and raving level. Jason and I gave each other a look which pretty much said, "If you only knew."
When he found that Brian had gotten fired, I thought he would cry. And then he's like, "So what are you doing now? You're probably working some place else where you are ten times more successful, right?" Brian told him that the termination of his employment just happened recently and he was still looking for a job. The guy is like, "They're all assholes anyway." And then he proceeded to tell us about he was screwed over by T-Mobile because this blonde supervisor with huge tits promised him that he would get a Monday to Friday schedule and he didn't. He also said that he was told he was being hired on as a senior rep and then he was really just a regular rep. He's like, "I wouldn't have left my previous job that paid $22 an hour if I would've know I'd be answering phones!" Senior reps don't make $22 an hour, mind you. So I'm not sure what he's talking about.
He then went on to tell us how messed up it was that he had his masters degree and he was answering phones for T-Mobile. He must have brought up the master degree thing like a dozen times during the whole weird encounter. I guess he had greater ambitions than getting drunk and getting baked? Who would've thought?
This is what we get for spending almost three hours BS-ing at IHOP. Never again.
Next time we're taking the food back to your house, Jason!
Brian commented that this is the weirdest night he's ever had and he's even sober! He added that he never had weird nights like these even when he was a stoner. It must be Jason then! The dude seems to be a magnet for weird-ass situations!
Speaking of Jason, I just realized that counting the time we spent at IHOP, we spent almost ten hours with the guy today. The sad part is that after we dropped Jason off at his place and we arrived home, the three of us proceeded to get on Yahoo! Messenger and chat. Very, very sad.
Anyway, the boring part where I narrate the evening's events come next so feel free to stop here. You will get bored, I promise.
So you're still reading, eh? Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you.
This is how the weird night began. We went to pick up Jason around six-ish at his place. Of course, we spend several minutes looking for his freakin' wallet which he misplaced and turned out to be in the coat closet - of all places! We decide to go to Arby's for dinner. It's cheap. As soon as we get out of the car, Jason's blackberry starts vibrating. It's Jill (Jason Dill), Jason's "boyfriend." Jill's like, "I'm at your place, where are you?" Jason tells Jill we're fixing to enter Arby's. It turns out that Jill had gone to grab some Arby's to bring to Jason. How sweet! His boyfriend bought him dinner.
After BS-ing for a while at Arby's the clock strikes seven and we agree it's time to head to Heroes. On the way there I get a call from Nick questioning whether there is, in fact, poker at seven thirty. I flip out because I'm thinking that I could've been playing racquetball instead of going to Heroes this early if there's not an early session. That's the only reason I agreed to skip racquetball. This is what I get for believing a bunch of drunk guys!
We get confirmation from a couple of people that there is, in fact, a poker game at seven thirty and when we arrive we see the poker coordinator setting up tables. Some of them were already setup even. I don't know what Nick was smoking but apparently it impaired his vision because he didn't see all the poker paraphernalia when came in the door. There were a few people that came who I recognized from poker at Jason's the night before. And then Jeff was there, too. He used to play with us at Fingers. He said he's going to start playing our Tuesday night poker game at Jason's so that should be fun! I like Jeff.
Incidentally, I found that Jeff and Jen went to school together. He goes, "I asked her out in eight grade and she said no." I go, "Maybe she could tell the future?" And then laughed hysterically. And then I realized that wasn't very funny. Ouch! There's a line that divides witty and mean.. And I crossed it. I really shouldn't have said that because I like Jeff. He's likes to bet a little happy but he's a really nice guy. As soon as I realized what I'd said, I told him I'm sorry and that I was only joking and then gave him a hug.
Bad, bad Ching! I hope he doesn't hold it against me and still comes to play with us next week. I'm a really good person. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. It just happens sometimes. You know the phrase open mouth insert foot? (Or open foot insert mouth, as I say when I'm really, really spacey.) I am prone leaving my mouth open when it should really be shut. All sorts of things, other than just my foot, end up getting inserted. Okay, that didn't come out right but we are moving on..
Mano, Jeff and I were the final three. Mano took third and I got second. I won an APL shirt for Brian. Go me! When we got home I actually asked Brian, "Isn't it supposed to be the guy who wins the girl a teddy bear at the fair?" To which he replies, "Yes but we've already determined who the man is in our relationship." LOL! I guess we kinda-sorta have. Add gender issues to all the other issues on my list.
We also found out that I qualified for the in-house tourney on January 26. All the people who finished in the top five positions did. I've already marked my calendar! I'm going to miss class especially for the event but it will be worth it. There's no entry fee (you just gotta qualify first) and it's a $300 prize pool. First place pays $150, $100 for second place and $50 for third.
Second session was a bust. I think we were all distracted by this one guy's sidekick. She was this chick with ENORMOUS boobs and she would sit next to him as he played. I mean, they were huge! If you were there, you probably know who I'm talking about. They were so huge that Jason was totally enamored by them. He was so enamored that he actually got caught staring! Typical.
How I got knocked out of second session is a story that I have already told at least half a dozen times so I will spare you the gory details. I went all in on pocket As and I actually lost! I was robbed!
Okay, I take that back. I will tell you the story because it is messed up! Here's the scenario. The blinds are $2000 and $4000 at this point. The guy to my right only has $1000 left so he goes all in with his last chip. I look at my cards and I find pocket As, so naturally I go all in with my last $8500. The small blind folds. The guy in the big blind position just happened to be the chip leader and it was only $4500 more for him to call and so he does. It was the smart thing to do, given that he was holding a pocket pair himself.
The flop comes 8 3 2, or something similarly crappy. We all reveal our cards at this point. The dude that was all in for $1000 had pocket 4s and it turns out chip leader had pocket 8s, of all the cards in the world! All I could hope for was another ace to trip me up. The turn and river card are both 4s, so the guy who had $1000 left now has $4000 because he caught runners to win the main pot. The side pot where all the rest of my chips were went to the guy with the pocket 8s who was already the chip leader, thus only adding to his already huge stack. And I was the only one who got screwed over by that hand. And to think I had the MONSTER pocket pair! It was so lame! I hate it when that happens but I guess my luck had to run out eventually.
Speaking of pocket pairs, we had three people with pocket pairs at Jason on Tuesday night as well. The guy with the highest pocket pair actually won so the hand actually played out pretty fair. The remarkable park, however, is that all three pocket pairs tripped up. They were pocket 7s, Js (my favorite) and Ks going against each other. The flop comes 4 10 K. The turn is a 7 and the river is a J. I'd never seen that before. It was really amazing. But of course, the guy with the set of Ks takes the pot, naturally. As it should be. As I should've on the hand that was my undoing. It was totally unlucky!
Last night was probably one of the most interesting evenings we've had in a long, long time. I must say, it was worth skipping racquetball over. I gotta work out tonight though because I didn't yesterday. But it works out because poker at either Zach's or Jason's house (depending on whether we can get a hold of Zach or not) won't start until ten thirty or well after. Anyway, I'll let you all know where we end up so you can come play with us if you want. It'll be super duper fun!
River Grau runs inside, zigzagging through the adults as he tries to get to Jaina. Some sort of baked good wrapped in clear plastic tied with a bow was closely held to his chest. Skidding to a stop, he looked over to where his friend was, eyes trying to figure out what was wrong with her if he could. “What happened!? What happened!?!?”
Chameleon Blinker puts a hand on River's shoulder. "Calm down, it's okay, everyone's okay."
Jaina Lefevre watches Sister. "Bye Sister." She looks up at River as he comes running. "Youaysee." she says. "Rai and Kimi saveded me."
Koami Silvercloud opens and closes the back door of the clinic as quietly as she can and nods to the other lady in the room before going towards the other room, looking worriedly over to her sister.
Kimani Silvercloud looks at river silently and nods at Jai's statement exausted from retelllimhg what happened, and from the events of the day
River Grau looks up at Sid as the hand in placed on his shoulder. He frowned as he heard UAC iwas who did this... "What was the person's name, Jaina? The one that hurt you, do you know it?" He wasn't sure what to do with the pastry in his hands and just stared down at it.
Darkness Odigaunt reached out her arms, then dropped them, utterly defeated. She turned to the door, "Proud of how well you did.... Love you both." She moved out the door, almost at a run.
Kimani Silvercloud waves to the sister
Koami Silvercloud takes a few more steps before grinning widely towards Kimi and skipping the rest of the way over, "I've been lookin' for ya all day. Go figure yer in here again."
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "Dunno, Rivers. He was big. Whatcha gots?" She isn't moving much, covered with bandages and scratches. She glances at Koa and then back to River.
Kimani Silvercloud looks at her sister "I aint hurt, I promise!"
River Grau reaches out to place the pastry next to Jaina on her bed. "It's a tart. It gots fruit and stuff, no sugar. In a pie thingie. It's for you.. It even gots a blue bow 'cause you wear blue a lot." He tilted his head to the side, "What color hair he got? Did what hair cut?"
Chameleon Blinker pats River on the shoulder again. "Well, kids, I'll leave you be now if you'd like. River, you got my number?"
Koami Silvercloud loses her smile as she sees Jaina and gives a small polites curtsey, then turns and curtseys to the other two people in the room. Koa then glares at her sister, "Cha, other people are hurt though, you could've been hurt!"
River Grau shakes his head at Sid, or Denny, or whatever he has been calling her. "No.. I never got it." He pulled out his phone from his pocket to program it in.
Kimani Silvercloud "but I wasnt luckily, I helped" she is too tire to argue
Jaina Lefevre smiles at the tart. "Tha's really neat, River!" She reaches out and touches the tart, awed by the gift. "Thanks youse." She looks up at Cham and waggles the dolly at her, then tucks it back under her chin.
Chameleon Blinker gives River her number, and looks up to wave at Jaina. "Take care kids, just call if you need help."
River Grau programs the number into his phone and nods to Denny, "Yeah, thanks. See yah later.."
Koami Silvercloud leans over Kimi's chair worriedly and looks over her carefully again before giving a slow nod, "Okay..." She waves to Cham then puts a hand on Kimi's shoulder protectivly, "Ya need anything then? I ain't seen you all day."
Kimani Silvercloud "no I don' need anything" she replies rubbing her eyes
Jaina Lefevre watches her and then looks to River. "They tried t'kill us. Me 'n Kimi and Rai. But they got them t'let me out." She is tired and hurting and waiting for Mom to log on...
Koami Silvercloud wiggles back and forth before nodding again, "Okay." Her ears then perked up as she listens to what Jaina is saying,
River Grau 's attention turns back Jaina, "They say why they did that? The UAC..? I.. I dunno... who to ask 'bout that."
Kimani Silvercloud "yeah, they scared us, and were really mean to Jai, cause they hurt her"
Jaina Lefevre mumbles. "Mommy's gonna fix them." She smiles at the tart. "What kindsa fruit is it, River? You made this your ownself?"
River Grau frowns, "Did it happen at the UAC place..? Or.. Or someplace else?"
River Grau nods to Jaina, "Aunt Saki helped me by tellin' me what to do. It gots kiwi, oranges, grapes, strawberries.." It was a rather large tart.
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "S'all my fault, even though Miss Portia and Sister D said wasn't. He was helpin' me with my aim and was bein' nice...but then he said I hadta join the Youaysee and I said I was gonna be like my Mommy, a Major..and he said mean things about hers so I shotted him with a ball bearing and it hitted his armor. He got mad and pulled out his gun when I was gonna shot the other targets again and he shot the gun at me and I let the balls go by accident 'cause I got scared and I ran. He said I shot a claymore mines at him but it was jus' ball bear-rings and I ran and Rai ran and he did a big boom thing..and couldn't see..and hear...and it got dark and then he throwed me in a cage and..." she's out of breath.
River Grau paused. So it was someone in armour? That still didn't help much. He just listened closely and nodded, trying to get more clues of who it could be. Not that he knew many UAC..
Jaina Lefevre smiles at the tart. "I'm gonna eats it when I can sits up, okay River? It looks nummy." She closes her eyes and shivers a little. "Don't wanna close my eyes. I keep hearin' the shots." She looks at Kimi. "You too?"
Koami Silvercloud grits her teeth as she hears the story of what happened today and kept ahold of her sister's shoulder. Glaring dangerously at the wall since there was nobody to truely be mad at, she tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, "Ya gotta have like, a discription of the person who did all this? One of you must..."
River Grau nodded to Kaomi, "Yeah, do you know what he looked like, Kim? What hair, what face, etc?"
Kimani Silvercloud "yeah, I don' wanna sleep, I am gonna think I am getting killed again even though it is fake killed, he had like caremel skin, and dark hair, and he was being told what to do"
Jaina Lefevre whispers. "He had big boots and he laughed when I smushed on the wall."
Muggles busts thru the door looking for something * finds her*. " Jaina!! Its all over the street.. what happened??" Eyes River " What are U doing here??"
Jaina Lefevre looks at Mugs. "River is Tengu, and he's my friend. Be. Nice. I gots a lotta aches so don't wanna be mad too."
River Grau rolls his eyes at Muggles, "Whatcha think I'm doin' hear?" He nodded at what Jaina said, quickly looking away and to the other children.
Koami Silvercloud cutseys to the new person who walks in then chews on her lip for a moment, trying to put together a pciture in her head, "And he was in UAC so he had a uniform? Was he tall too? Or short?"
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "I'm short so's everyone is tall."
Kimani Silvercloud "big and tall" she replies spotting Pixis
Belldandy Ghost doesnt speak or anything, just stays put outside the curtain, watching Jaina, wondering if she had recovered any since the event earlier.
Muggles eyes falling on Jaina's wounds," Who was it Jaina?," Looks around the room," Where is Nells, Blue Shoes and RaI?? "
Muggles torn between concern and anger lets concern win over," Alright .. " Not so happy he ignores River
Kimani Silvercloud heres her nickname and sits up, "I'm right here"
Koami Silvercloud nods as she makes a mental picture of the mysery guy and stretches her arms before making fists with both her small hands and growling, "Okay, I'm gonna go find him." She stomps a few steps towards the door before gasping and turning to curtsey so she isn't rude.
River Grau had been glancing around the room, so noticed Belldandy behind the transparent curtain. Stepping over, he clasps his hands behind his back and watches her for a moment. "Friend or foe?"
Kimani Silvercloud looks at her sister "dont leave!" she says "bad decision, you will be hurt"
Belldandy Ghost shifts her glance to River and looks at the child for a moment "If Pixis as an enemy, Pixis would have crushed you the moment Pixis entered the door...."
Koami Silvercloud waves her hand to the side dismissing her sisters complaints, "I'll be fine, I ain't accident prone like you. Ciao!"
Jaina Lefevre: "Rai went t'do scoutin'. Don't know where Nellie is. River made me a tart. It's gonna be fruits and nummy when I'm sittin' up." She looks over at Koa. "No..you gotsta wait. We're gonna do it t'gethers. Like put glue outside their doors...and drop bricks on their heads...and pull out th'manholes when they get close...gurry-lilla warfares it's called. I read 'bout it in my books."
Kimani Silvercloud "wait, dont go without me" she would rather she not go alon "river take over sitting watch over Jai, okay?" she gets up
Koami Silvercloud shakes her head to Jaina, "I'll do that too," She then glances over to her sister getting up and quickly darts to the door trying to get far enough away that Kimi can't catch up.
Muggles looks at Koami," then back at Jaina," I don't know her but I can go with her!! They need to be BEANED!!!!"
Jaina Lefevre: "Tha's Kimi's sister."
Kimani Silvercloud "we will just follow him!"
River Grau quickly gets distracted from the woman in front of him as Jaina talks about what she wants to do to the UAC. He steps over there, head shaking, "No, no, don't go near. UAC will kill you..! Have your Mommy do stuff. They kill."
Jaina Lefevre nods to Mugs. "Go...Kimi got shotted at once already. Don't want her gettin hurts." She looks at River. "I know. I was in that big see-mint place."
Clyde Gemini looks to Jaina, sighs and nods," Ok "
Kimani Silvercloud "I am going with her too" she says firmly "she is my sister"
Jaina Lefevre nods. "Tha's what I meant, Kimi...you guys go togethers."
River Grau pauses as he tries to think about what Jaina is saying. "The place with the barricades..? Alllll the way past the park in Apoc..?"
Belldandy Ghost speaks up, even though she wasnt being psoken to "confirmed Location....Apoc//UAC Compound....." she would know, she had mapped the ro ute she too to get there
Jaina Lefevre uh huhs. "It was really scariest."
River Grau face-palms. He just couldn't help it. "And RAI was there too?" He was ten and knew the UAC place was somewhere a hybrid should never ever be. "Jaina.. Don't go there. Don't never go there again. Bad people. LOTS of bad people."
Jaina Lefevre sighs. "I was in th'park, on the wall. The soljur was nice. He was helpin' me with my aims. And then he said I hadta join the Youaysee and I said no...was gonna be like Mommy..and he called mommy bad things and I shotted him with my slingshot..but he had armors, so it just bounced. He shotted at me with a gun and I ran in the park and Rai was there and we hids and they threw a bang thing (flashbang) and it got all dark."
River Grau frowned, "Don't trust UAC, they're bad." His eyes were wide, and he held his arms around himself. "Make girls do stuff they don't wanna. With knives. And break tails and they're bad. Don't go near 'em."
Jaina Lefevre watches him and holds out her hand to him. "River, it was really bad. I'm tryin' hard to be braves but I wanna cry. Lots. But girls shouldn't cry much. It's not good."
River Grau reaches out to hold Jaina's hand as he slides onto the seat next to him. "You can cry, Jaina. It ain't bad to cry. Adults probably do it too." He wondered if his parents ever cried as he said this. He hadn't seen them ever do it, and the thought of his father crying seemed so silly. "Portia was cryin' when I asked you where you was. So it must be okay to cry."
Jaina Lefevre looks at him. "Miss Portia was cryin? Is she okay?"
River Grau shrugs, "Dunno.. she told me where you were.. and.. and.. I ran here as fast as I could."
Jaina Lefevre holds his hand, her arms covered with little cuts and scratches from the cement wall shrapnel. "Think I can break off a bite of this thing and taste it?" She looks from the tart to River. "I'm kinda hungries."
River Grau holds Jaina's hand while his free left arm goes to unwrap the tart. He first slips off the blue ribbon before carefully unwrapping the clear wraper to reveal the fruit tart beneath. "How much yah want?"
Jaina Lefevre lets go of his fingers a moment and reaches to break off a little bit of the tart crust with some of the fruit goo on it. She scoops up more of the fruit and eats it, eyes going wide. "Ooh..tha's really good! You should be a cook-person when you get bigger!" She gives him a big smile and dips her finger in to get a little more, licking it off her finger. "Okay..don't wanna mess it up so's I can share it, but it's really nummy."
River Grau smiles slightly and nods. "Aunt Saki is a baker and she's been teachin' me how to make some stuff. Maybe I will.. When I grow up."
Jaina Lefevre: "You wanna taste?"
River Grau nods and breaks off a peice of the tart with some of the fruit on it and eats it. "It's okay. I guess." He says while chewing with his mouth open.
Jaina Lefevre grins and then reaches over to tug the wrapper a bit and her hand is shaking. She pulls the little rag dolly close and whispers. "I was glad we wasn't fightin' no mores." she offers softly. "I didn't want you sad if I got deaded and we was still fightin'."
River Grau nods at Jaina's words, "I ain't want you to get all dead even if we was fightin, kay?"
Jaina Lefevre uh huhs. "Me neever, but they made me feel like I was deaded."
River Grau sighs, not sure what else to say. "Yeah, but we ain't fightin' no more."
Jaina Lefevre: "Nope. We ain't fightin. But they can't do that kinda stuff. Kimi fainteded and Rai was brave. He tried t'get them to shot him and let us go."