MONKEYSAYS

A CONSULTATION

2006-09-14T08:25:00.000-05:00

Mingling at a social function, I found myself next to The Eye Doctor.

"How are your eyes?" he asked.

"Fine," I said.

"You're getting up there," he said. "You really ought to come in for an exam."

"I'm fine," I said.

"Can you read small print?" he asked.

"It was getting fuzzy," I said. "So about a year ago I went to the drug store and bought a cheap pair of reading glasses off the rack. Now I'm fine."

"If you say so," he demurred, "but you really should have them looked at."

"Why," I asked. "Is there anything you can do to reverse the process?"

"Not really," The Eye Doctor said. "It's a natural function of age; the eyes progressively their ability to focus. We can't change that."

"So, all I can hope for is that I die before I go blind," I said.

"Right," he said.

"I don't think I'll be coming in," I said.

"You could have glaucoma," The Eye Doctor said. "Do you ever feel any pressure"?

"I do," I said. "But not on my eyes."

NO REPLY

2006-09-07T09:06:00.000-05:00

"I have a question," I said.

"Yes," LZ said.

"I went to a clothes store at lunch time," I said.

"My God," LZ replied. "What could have possessed you?"

"That impending wedding," I said. "I can't go in cargo shorts and a faded golf shirt, can I? And aren't I the one with the question?"

"No and yes," LZ said.

"What's the difference between a sport coat and a blazer?" I asked.

"Is there?" LZ parried.

"They're in different sections, so there must be a difference," I said.

"I think a blazer is probably gayer that a sport coat," LZ said.

"Then which one should I buy?" I asked.

I'LL TAKE HOW TO LOSE FRIENDS AND ALIENATE PEOPLE FOR $200, ALEX

2006-06-01T10:47:00.000-05:00

"You know, we play trivia every Thursday in the staff lunchroom," FR said.

"Yes, I know that," I said.

"You really should come and play," FR said.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Why not?" FR asked. "It's all in good fun."

"That's what I heard," I said. "That's why I'm not coming."

"What do you mean?" FR asked.

"I would humiliate all of you," I said. "And then you wouldn't be able to enjoy trivia any more."

FR gave me a fake shocked look and reared himself up.

"That's a first," he said. "Usually, people, if they don't want to play, say they're not smart enough, or that they don't want to embarrass themselves."

"For me it's the opposite, like I said," I said.

"All right then," FR said. "Forget it. Just forget about it. Forget I asked."

"OK," I said.

A SIGHTING IN AISLE 3

2006-04-23T11:21:00.000-05:00

"Guess who I saw at the FoodMart?" I asked.

"Who?" LZ responded.

"Chase Utley," I said.

"Who?" LZ repeared.

"Chase Utley," I said once more.

"I heard you," LZ said, "I meant, who is Chase Utley?"

"He's on the Phillies," I said. "Plays second base, I think."

"And he was in the FoodMart?" LZ said.

"Buying Pop Tarts," I said. "They were on sale."

"Hmm," LZ said.

"He's very pasty, a little overweight, and has bad skin," I said. "You wouldn't know it from tv."

"A fat man with bad skin who plays for the Phillies was buying discount Eggos in the FoodMart down the street?" LZ stated.

"Pop Tarts," I corrected.

"How can you be sure it was him?" LZ asked.

"He was wearing a Phillies shirt," I said. "The striped version, and his name was on it."

2006-04-07T08:40:00.000-05:00

HOMELAND SECURITY

LZ calls me at work.

"Is it possible that you forgot to lock the door this morning?" she asks.

"Hmm," I reply.

"Not only was it unlocked, it was actually left open a few inches," she says.

"Um," I say.

"Do you think you went to work and just left the door wide open?" she asks.

"What room are you in?" I ask.

"The dining room," LZ replies.

"Do me a favor," I say, "and walk to the living room."

"What now?" LZ asks.

"Look around," I say. "Is our stuff still there? TV? Computer? DVD player? Stuff like that."

"It's here," LZ says.

"Then I guess it was me who left the door open," I say.

2006-04-05T09:54:00.000-05:00

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL SHERIFF

"Is that all today sir?" the woman at the counter of the local farm/feed store asks, as she points to the 10 lb. pound of dog food I have set on the counter.

"Yes, that's all," I say.

"You know we have the bigger bags," she says.

"I know, " I say, "but I don't have the bigger money today."

"But, it's a better buy," she says.

"That's OK," I say. "This will be fine."

"You see," she explains, "if you buy the bigger bag, you can save more money."

"If I were really interested in saving money I'd go up the highway to the Giant PetFoodWorld, now wouldn't I?" I ask. "Instead of shopping here in town."

"Hmphf," she growls as she rings up the dog food.

2006-03-13T15:27:00.000-05:00

THE END OF THE DARK AGES

"Did you have Centers when you were in school?" T2 asked.

"And what exactly are Centers?" I asked.

"Special places in the room where you can go for Art, Music, Computers and Games, and things," she explained.

"Well," I said, "we didn't call them Centers, but we had most of those things when I was in school, except computers."

"I know you didn't have any computers," T2 said, "because you didn't have technology back then."

"Oh, we had a little technology," I said. "For instance, I took a bus to school instead of riding a horse."

T2 laughed out loud. I could see she'd formed a mental picture of me off to school on horseback.

"And we had televisions, and phones, of course," I said.

"And I know you had lights," T1 interjected. "Because Thomas Edison invented the light bulb."

"That's true," I replied. "I'll never forget that day. We were sitting home, in the dark, and there was a knock at the door. It was Tom Edison himself, with a bag of light bulbs in his hand. 'Here.' he said, 'take these and screw them in.' That way you won't have to sit around in the dark all the time.' So we did."

"Is that true?" T2 asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "That's just the way it happened."

"We better ask Mommy," T1 said to her sister. "She's more seriouser."

2006-01-18T13:29:00.000-05:00

CRAPPY CONVERSATIONAL GAMBITS FAIL

I walk over to the office window and look out. It's raining.

"Beautiful day," my coworker says.

I say nothing.

"Ha, ha, real nice day," my coworker says.

I say nothing.

"Nice day for ducks, I mean," my coworker says. "Ha ha."

I walk back to my desk and sit down.

"So wet even ducks don't like it," my coworker says. "Ha ha."

I get back to work.

2005-12-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

LORD OF THE FUNGI

"I joined a club at school," T2 said.

"Really," I said. "I didn't know they had clubs in 1st grade."

"This one is at recess only," she said. "It's called the Popular Club."

"Who made up the name?" I asked.

"Samantha and Sabrina made it up and they asked me Tiffany to join," T2 said.

"Listen," I said. "I'm glad you're having fun, but there shouldn't be any meanness involved."

She furrowed her brow.

"I hope Samantha and Sabrina aren't just having a club so they can decide who's popular and who's not," I explained. "Can anyone join?"

"Yes," T2 said. "Anyone can join, but we are the only ones who want to."

Then, proving her point, she walked over to her sister. "Do you want to join the Popular Club?"

"No thanks," T1 said. "I can't. I'm in charge of the Mushroom People."

"What was that?" I asked.

"The bus is coming," T1 said.

"Bye" they yelled. They ran down the driveway.

2005-11-28T13:28:00.000-05:00

"Burgess just pulled up," someone said.

"Who invited him?" I asked.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Burgess said as he walked in the door.

"Who invited you?" I asked.

"Ha," Burgess said. "Ha."

Burgess looked around. "You know, I don't think I've ever been here before."

"Sure you have," some people said.

"Don't you remember that party last summer?" someone asked.

"I wasn't here," Burgess said.

"What about the Christmas before last? That big get-together?"

"Nope," said Burgess.

"Oh well," I said.

--------------------------------------------------

The turkey was eaten. Afternoon turned to night. Pies were chopped up. Coffee was poured. People dispersed. The children were putting on a puppet show in the tv room. I heard Burgess in the kitchen discussing pottery with some hapless guest.

"I've got some nice pieces," he said. "I've been buying them up for years at sales and flea markets. You can get good stuff around here. Lately I've been going on eBAy, seeing what they're worth."

"Let's go," I said to LZ. "I've had enough Thanksgiving."

"Leaving already?" Burgess shouted. "Wait a minute.

"What is it,?" I asked.

"We're playing tomorrow night," Burgess said.

"Thanks for warning me," I said.

"Seriously, why don't you guys come out?"

"I would," I said, "but I don't like the blues."

"Blues?" Burgess said. "I fired that band; I'm a crooner now."

You don't say," I said.

"I've got JH and Larry playing with me now," Burgess said. "It's great."

dmsmddd----

2005-11-24T08:43:00.000-05:00

CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF

"She was going on and on," I told JA. "This was a good pinot, that was a great pinot. I'd never heard of any of them. For a minute I thought she was really on to something, then I realized she was talking about pinot grigio, not pinot noir."

Buck leaned forward and slapped his head.

"That was your joke?" he said. "You call that a joke? I can't believe what I'm hearing. What happened to you?"

"I was talking to JA, not you, " I told Buck. "I thought he'd appreciate it."

"What happened to both of you?" Buck said. "Look around. Is that the type of think you should be talking about here?"

We were in FDR park, down the street from the football stadium. Thousands of tailgaters in full Eagles regalia were cooking, eating and drinking. Psyching themselves up for the game. The primitive aspect was magnified by the fact that it was a night game, the rituals were being carried out in almost total darkness. Illumination came only from a few street lights, stray headlights, a flash from a grill.

"Contrary to popular belief," I said to Buck, "the Philadelphia sports fan is actually an urbane and tolerant species. To prove my point, I think I'll introduce myself to that group over there and try my story out on them."

I pointed to a group of eight or so face-painted savages huddled around a crackling, smoking grill.

"Don't do it," Buck said. "I won't be responsible."

"OK." I said. "I'll let it go."

"I always knew you were a chardonnay sipping fag," Buck said.

"We better get moving," I said. "I don't want to miss the national anthem."

2005-11-16T20:36:00.000-05:00

AT THE CANTINA

"Can I get you something to drink while you're looking at the menu?" the waitress demands.

"What do you have on tap?" I counter.

"We don't have any Bud Light," she blurts.

"That's OK," I iterate. "What do you have?"

"We have Dos Equus," she announces.

That's fine by me, I muse. I look up to order the Dos Equus.

"And we have Yin Ling," she carefully enunciates.

"That settles it," I declare. "I'll have a Yuengling."

"And I'll have an iced tea," LZ interposes.

"That sure tastes like a Dos Equus," I advance, after tasting my beer.

"Are you sure?" LZ insinuates.

"I'm sure it tastes like a Dos Equus," I equivocate. "I'll find out later."

"Would you like another beer?" the waitress suggests at the appropriate moment.

"I would," I agree.

"Dos Equus, right?" she hesitates.

"Yuengling," I correct.

"Right," she nods. "Yin Ling it is."

"She's going to bring me another Dos Equus," I prognosticate.

"You're right," LZ concedes.

2005-11-01T15:57:00.000-05:00

A LESSER EVIL

MONDAY MORNING

We are waiting for the school bus, the Things and I, and the stick-chewing dog.

“We have to back in and get changed,” T1 says.

“Why?” I say.

“We are supposed to wear red, white and blue today,” she says.

“Oh, yeah,” T2 says.

“Get out,” I say.

“We have to,” T1 says. “Really.”

“And why is that?” I ask

“It’s for Bad Drugs week,” T2 says. We have to wear red, white and blue to show that we are against bad drugs.”

They are wearing green and brown. The yellow school bus rounds the corner.

“Here comes the bus.” I say. “You’ll have to be against bad drugs tomorrow.”

MONDAY EVENING

“We have to bring bears to school tomorrow,” the girls say. “Only bears that can fit in our backpacks.”

“Is this for Bad Drugs week?” I ask.

“Yes,” T1 says.

“Why bears?” I ask.

“Bad drugs are unbearable!”

TUESDAY MORNING

“We have to go back in,” T1 says.

“Your bears are in your backpacks,” I said. “I checked.”

“But we need our ribbons pinned on,” T2 says.

“What ribbons?” I ask.

“We have red ribbons to wear, to show we are against…”

“I know, I know,” I said.

“They’re left on the table,” they shout. “We forgot to pin them on.”

“Here comes the bus,” I say.

LATER THAT SAME DAY

“I almost forgot to tell you,” I say to LZ, “if you have any bad drugs lying around, be sure to hide them. The school will probably have notified the authorities by not that we’re not with the program. We should probably be expecting a search.”

TUESDAY EVENING

The Simpsons are on. A blind man opens the door to a policeman and a dog. He thinks it’s some sort of companion animal, but I can see what’s coming.

“Girls, girls!” I call. “Quick. Look.”

The dog is sniffing the man and noses a baggie from his pocket.

“What is the dog doing?” T1 asks.

“He’s sniffing for drugs,” I said.” “He works for the police; he found bad drugs.”

“What is it?” T2 asks.

“It’s called marijuana,” I say.

“What does it do?” she asks.

“People smoke it, and it makes them act silly,” I say.

The policeman cuffs the blind man and takes him away.

“Where is he taking him?” T1 asks.

“To jail,” I say. “The man is being arrested.”

“Arrested!” Ti exclaims. “Can you be arrested for acting silly?”

“Well,” I explain, “they say it is bad for your health too.”

“But he didn’t even smoke it,” T1 says. “Can you be arrested just for having it in your pocket?”

“Yes,” I say. “You can.”

“That’s not fair,” she says. She stomps out of the room.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

“And what is it today?” I ask.

“Silly socks and slippers,” T2 says.

“Should I ask?” I ask.

“Sock it to drugs and slip away,” she says.

“Is this Bad Drugs week or Bad Jokes week?” I ask.

“Hmph,” T1 snorts.

“I don’t make the rules,” I say. “Don’t snort at me.”

WEDNESDAY EVENING

“Tomorrow we need money, the coins kind,” the girls say.

“I give up,” I say.

“Drugs make no cents!”

“I’ll put the money in an envelope and I’ll write drug money on it,” I say. “And you can take it to school. How’s that?”

LZ glares at me.

“ I better write money for bad drugs, so there’s no mistake,” I say.

THURSDAY MORNING

“I put your drug money in your backpacks,” I say. “You’re all set.”

FRIDAY AFTERNOON.

“Look at the candy we got in school today,” the girls say.

“Why would they give you all this candy?” I ask.

“Life is sweet without drugs!”

“That may be,” I say, “but you’re not eating all that candy. It’ll make you sick and rot your teeth. It’s really not good for you. Not good for you at all.”

2005-10-25T08:17:00.000-05:00

THE ARREST

I was sitting in the conference room. It was quiet. I started to read a magazine. Eventually the police came. "You'll have to come with us," one of them said, almost in a whisper. I didn't resist. They cuffed me and took me away. At the station I was put into a green room with a metal table and three metal chairs.

THE INTERROGATION

"What happened?" one of them asked.

"I killed them all," I said. "One after the other. I won't deny it."

"With your bare hands?" the policeman asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You must have been out of your mind with rage," the policeman suggested.

"Oh, not really," I said. "It was just one of those things."

"Were you on any drugs?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I quit a long time ago."

"That's too bad," the policeman said. "It might have helped your defense."

"Oh," I said.

"Well, why then?" he asked.

THE WHY OF THE INCIDENT

"At first, I wasn't paying attention," I said. "I try not to hear what is going on."

"So, you are not a team player," the policeman said. He began scribbling in his notebook.

"No, I guess not," I said.

"Go on," the policeman said.

"Anyway, the meeting blather began drifting into my consciousness. There was some plan they all liked. It was a "homerun." But first they had to "touch base" with the clients to make sure everyone was on the "same page." But it was hard. They'd been forced to "play phone tag." Someone said it was like "herding cats."

"And..." the policeman asked.

"And, I killed them all," I said.

"Was it the herding cats comment that sent you over?" he asked.

"Not really," I said. "I think it was that everyone nodded in agreement as if something profound had been said. That's when I knew they had to die."

"No one resisted?" the policeman asked.

"They couldn't," I explained. "It wasn't on the agenda, so everyone just sat there."

THE TRIAL

"I sorry," the judge said. "But "temporary sanity" is not a valid plea.

"Oh," I said.

'I'm giving you twenty to life," the judge said.

"No problem," I said. "I have just one request. Could I be placed in solitary confinement?"

The judge laughed. "They don't have solitary confinement where you're going," he said.

THE AWAKENING

I heard JC calling to me from the next cubicle. "Hey let's go. No daydreaming. You're going to be late for the afternoon meeting."

2005-10-19T11:11:00.000-05:00

GRAY KITTY THREATENED

"What did you in art today?" I asked.

"We learned the primary colors," T1 said.

"No, we didn't," T2 said. "That was last week. This week we learned the secondary colors."

"We learned the primary colors first," T1 shouted.

"That wasn't learning. That was a review," T2 countered.

"And what are the secondary colors?" I asked.

"Green, orange, and purple!" they shouted together.

"Hey!" T1 said. "He asked me."

"No. He didn't. He asked me," T2 replied.

"I asked both of you," I said.

"What comes after the secondary colors?" T2 asked.

"I can't remember the name," I said. "I'll have to look it up."

"Is it the ordinary colors?" T2 asked.

"She asked the art teacher that," T1 said.

"Mrs. Melchior said there are no ordinary colors," T2 said. "But there are."

"We don't have ordinary colors in art class," T1 said.

"It is a word like ordinary," T2 said. "Maybe ordin-dary."

"Ordindairy!" T1 exclaimed. "That would be colors that cows could see."

"I said it was a word like that," T2 said.

"Cows in a dairy barn would have ordindairy colors, not people," T1 asserted.

"If you don't stop laughing, I am going to cut open gray kitty and pull out all of her stuffing," T2 said.

T1 was nonplussed. "Hey!" she yelled.

"It's tertiary," LZ called from downstairs. "And that's enough shouting."

"When are we going to have potatoes again?" T2 asked.

"What?" I asked.

"I said, when are we going to have potatoes at dinner?"

"We can have them soon, I guess," I said.

"You always say that, then we have pasta or rice," she replied.

"We can have potatoes," I said.

"And I want real potatoes only," T2 said.

"What do you mean, real potatoes?" I asked.

"She means big potatoes from the oven, not the smashed up kind in a bowl," T1 explained.

"We can have them," I said. "Soon. Just don't hurt gray kitty."

2005-10-10T15:36:00.000-05:00

DOG STORY

"Would you like to hear a weird dog story?" LZ asked.

"I would," I said. "Unless the dog dies, then no."

"I wouldn't tell you a dead dog story," LZ said. "Don't you know that by now?"

"I almost know it, but I had to be sure," I said. "Go ahead."

"I was having lunch this afternoon with the new teacher, Nastassia, and we got to talking about dogs, and Nastassia told me this weird story about her dog."

"This is that story, then?" I asked.

"It is," LZ said.

"With a name like Nastassia, I would assume the dog is an exotic of some sort," I said.

"No," LZ said. "It's just a German shorthair."

Is a German shorthair an official type of dog, I wondered, or is there more to it.

LZ was back into the story before I could ask. "Nastassia lives in Bardentown," LZ said.

I'll have to remember to find out about the dog breed, I thought.

"I really like Bardentown," I said. "Good restaurants, old buildings, the river area."

"Nastassia doesn't live in that part," LZ said. "She lives across the highway, in the developments. Almost on the border of Exwicks"

"Oh," I said. "That's not as good. I may have to change that if I need local color."

"What do you mean change it?" LZ asked.

"If I decide to tell it, I may need some spruce it up a bit by moving Nastassia over by the river."

"Wait a minute," LZ said. "Whose story is this, anyway?"

"Everybody who wants one gets a version," I said. "That's just a fact."

"You won't be able to do it," LZ said. "Where they live is part of the story."

"We'll see," I said. "Go on."

"Nastassia lives in a regular suburban house with a regular yard, and in between the house and the yard is a back door, and in this back door is a dog door, and the dog door is really subtle. Unless you knew it was there, you would never know it was there."

"I guess the important thing is that the dog knows," I said.

But it turned out that there was probably something much more important about the subtle dog door. Its subtlety may, in essence, have precipitated the whole incident that became this story. At least I thought so.

"It's a small fenced in yard, the dog would go in and out as it pleased," LZ said.

"Nastassia didn't worry?" I asked.

"No, not at all," LZ said. "The dog was getting on, and it wasn't a jumper, a digger, or an escape artist of any kind. He liked the yard. He wouldn’t try to leave."

"But something happened," I said.

"It was the Martin Luther King holiday, a bitterly cold day," LZ said. "Nastassia was home with the children and she realized she hadn't seen the dog in a while. She looked in the yard, the dog wasn't there. She checked the house from top to bottom. No dog. She went outside one more time. No dog. She bundled up the children and walked around the neighborhood. No dog" "'Hermie!' she called. 'Hermie!' But the dog was nowhere to be found."

"Hermie?" I asked. "The dog's official real name is Hermann von Something," LZ said. "They call him Hermie."

So it is a real breed, I thought.

Many of this type of dog stories end at this point," I said. "Dog disappeared, never heard of again."

"Not this time," LZ said. "Nastassia didn't give up. She looked everywhere. She rode up and down the town. She made up fliers and put them on poles. She posted them in stores. She promised a reward. She had a once a week routine of calling every vet and animal shelter in the county. This went on for three months at least."

"That's dedication," I said.

"Then one day Nastassia got a call. A woman claimed to have information about her dog. She asked to meet Nastassia at the BiggerMarket, in the deli section. The woman would be wearing a red cap."

"I guess we're into the weird part now," I ventured.

"Pretty much," LZ said. "So Nastassia went to the market and the woman wass there, just like she said she would be."

"What kind of cap was it?" I asked. "A baseball cap, a trucker’s cap? A tam? What?"

"I didn't get that," LZ said. "Does it matter?"

"It could," I said.

"The woman told Nastassia that she thought her boss has Nastassia's dog. She gave Nastassia one the missing dog fliers with an address scribbled on it, and she took off."

"Did Nastassia follow her?" I asked. "Get her license plate number or anything?"

"No, LZ said. "By the time she thought of it, the woman was gone. Vanished."

"Lot of disappearing in this story,” I said. "Too much, really"

"Nastassia recognized the address. It was in Exwicks. No more than a mile or so from her house. She went right over and knocked on the door. A woman let her in. When Nastassia walked in, she was shocked. The whole room, and the room behind it, at least as much of it as she could see, is full of stacked cat carriers, four or five high. And they were full of screaming, mewling cats. And she could hear dogs barking."

"I never liked the name Exwicks," I said. "I think I'll change it."

LZ rolled her eyes.

"What happened next?" I asked, moving the narrative along.

"The woman in the house was a caretaker for the cats. She tended them all day, feeding, watering, changing the litter, whatever else you do for cats. All day long, while the owner was at work, she was on cat duty. Nastassia showed her a picture of Hermie. The woman thinks, yes, Hermie could be in the basement, with the other barking dogs. But the woman is the cat person only. She doesn't take care of the dogs. In fact, the basement is locked and she doesn't even have a key."

"That strains credulity," I said.

"That's how the story goes," LZ said.

"Then...." I said.

"Then Nastassia went right to the Exwicks police station. The police knew all about the guy. But they were unsympathetic. The guy’s sort of a local character. He’s liked. The police wouldn't help. No laws have been broken that they know of. There's no proof Hermie is in the house. And even if he is, the owner hasn't refused to surrender him. In fact, Nastassia hasn't even spoken to the owner. She's on thin ice coming into Exwicks and maligning a law-abiding resident taxpayer."

"The police sergeant looked at Nastassia. 'This guy, this animal guy,' he said, 'he's a little off, maybe, but he's an animal lover; he doesn't abuse the animals. In fact he fancies himself as sort of an animal savior, rescuing abused and neglected animals.' "Then the sergeant stopped talking and really stared at Nastassia with one of those blank, yet mean, police-authority type stares.. There's a moment of silence. Nastassia realizes that the policeman had turned the tables and was somehow implying that she had brought this on herself by mistreating Hermie. She got all red, embarrassed and angry and the same time. She couldn't say anything; she didn't know what to say. She turned and almost ran from the station."

"So the police were protecting their hometown nut?" I asked.

"Apparently," LZ said.

"We'll make that the end of part 2," I said.

LZ ignored me.

"Nastassia was determined to get Hermie back, of course," she said. "So she called her ex-husband, and he came over with his brother, a big guy, and the three of them went back to the house in Exwicks that night."

"Now the ex-husband," I asked, "what's the relationship there?"

"I didn't ask," LZ said. "It's none of my business."

"It must be fairly close," I said. "For him to come right over, and with his brother. Or maybe it's loyalty to the dog. Was he close to the dog?"

"I guess," LZ said.

"So off they go to the crazy house in CrossKeys," I prompted.

"Exwicks," LZ said.

"OK," I said. "Exwicks. For now."

"They marched right up to the front door and rang the bell. Nastassia was a holding one of those fliers. A guy opened the door, looked at the three of them, looked at the flier in Nastassia's hand. He held up his index finger in that just a minute gesture, turned and walked back into the house. A second later Hermie charged through the room and out the open door right into Nastassia's arms. She grabbed up Hermie and they ran to their car and took off."

"That's it?" I asked.

"Pretty much," Z said.

"No one said anything to the guy?"

"No," LK said. "They were just so surprised and happy to see Hermie that they never looked back."

"Damn," I said. "Now I'm going to have to make up some stuff."

"Like what?" LZ asked.

"Like a lot of stuff. There’s just too many unknowns," I said. "It's dissatisfying. Did Nastassia even say what the guy looked like?"

"Just normal," LZ said. "Nothing remarkable."

"We'll make him mid 40's," I said. "Pasty. Was skinny, but not any more. . Still has the white, skinny legs. The beginnings of a pot belly. Wearing stupid colors. Green pants. Pale yellow sports shirt. Green cardigan. Light brown hair. Stringy and lank. Glasses. How's that?"

"I'm going to check on the girls," LZ said. “I'll be right back.”

“I’ve heard of these people,” I said when LZ got back. “These animal collectors. It’s a regular pathology, or syndrome. I’m pretty sure an official condition. But usually it’s an older woman with cats. I never heard of cats and dogs together. That’s a new angle.”

I thought on that.

“And as for why, how’s this?” I asked. “He’s a guy, a nut, with this animal collector thing. But he doesn’t know he’s a nut. He thinks he’s a hero, an animal savior. So there’s a little bit of that grandiosity thrown in too.”

“He’s got a job, a pretty good job, if he can hire someone just to stare at cats. But he’s out stealing dogs on a Monday morning. Is he off from work for the holiday?
No, and that’s the whole point. Government workers and teachers get off on Martin Luther King day. Not the private sector. It’s like half a holiday. And he’s in the private sector because the woman in the BiggerMarket called him her boss. In government work they always say supervisor.

“So he’s in the private sector. Self-employed. Maybe he has a little real estate office, something that keeps him on the road. Doing his job and watching out for the animals.

“And he’s out in Bardentown, checking out a listing on a freezing morning and he sees Hermie in the back yard, a short-haired dog out in freezing weather. And he forgets that it’s a holiday for some people. He’s unmarried, childless. He doesn’t think about school holidays, semi-holidays. All he sees is an unattended dog, freezing in a yard. He assumes the owners are at work and have left the dog out for the day. He doesn’t notice the subtle dog door: the fine workmanship obscures it. He saves Hermie.

“Pretty good, the way I worked it all out. Don’t you think?” I asked LZ.

“It is logical,” LZ said. “But it sort of takes away the ethereal uncertainty away when you connect the dots like that. Doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean,” said LZ, “that it was all there already. The short haired dog. The subtle door. The boss reference. If you have to spell it all out, maybe it wasn’t that good a story to start with. If you take a regular short haired dog story and try to make it into a shaggy dog story, well, then….”

Ethereal uncertainty, I thought. That’s pretty overblown. LZ’s really gotten full of herself.

“I see your point,” I said.

.

2005-09-30T08:36:00.000-05:00

COLD COMFORT

We are waiting for the school bus, the Things and I. It is a crisp morning.

"It's cold," T1 says.

It's not cold," I say. "It's crisp, that's all."

"It is cold," T2 announces definitively.

"Maybe a little," I say.

"I'm freezing," Ti says.

"That's impossible," I say.

"I need to put my hood on." T1 says.

"No hood!" I shout.

"But I'm freezing," T1 repeats.

"No hood," I say. "Mommy said it will mess up your hair."

T1 starts to whimper.

"Have you gone crazy?" I ask.

T1 glowers at me, continues whimpering and makes to shiver.

"That's it," I say. "I specifically told them at the baby store that I didn't want any crazy ones. And here you've gone crazy. I may have to take you back and ask for a refund."

T1 is shivering into her jacket, not acknowledging me, but T2 is suddenly paying close attention.

"How much do you think I could get for your sister, if I returned her in this condition?" I ask.

T2 guesses high. "Twenty dollars?"

"Twenty dollars!" I say. "I'll do it! I'll return her right after school and the two of us will go out for hamburgers and ice cream with the money."

T2 is grinning from ear to ear. This is a promising development.

T1 has slunk behind the car. She is not happy. Her face is beet red; she looks as if she may burst into tears.

"I was just kidding," I said. "I wasn't really going to return you."

She doesn't respond.

The bus is due any second. If she gets on crying the mom grapevine will find out and spring into action. Somehow they'll blame me, and rumors will spread that my parenting skills are lacking, that I'm inappropriate. It will get back to LZ. She won't think it is funny.

I bend over and whisper to T1. "I told you I was just kidding. It's really your sister I'm returning. Keep it a secret."

She nods and smiles. Crisis over.

"Here comes the bus," I say. "Have a good day."

2005-07-26T05:54:00.000-05:00

MARCUS AND THE ROBBER

In this story we have Marcus, his beat up VW squareback, and a young robber. I'm trying to remember the car (it was a long time ago); I think it was dark orange, rust colored, but I can't be sure.

Marcus was out early one Saturday morning, in a bad part of town. And why? He was just passing through, taking a shortcut (the interstate wasn't finished yet, people actually drove through cities to get to the other side of them, so it's plausible, at least).

Well there was Marcus, stopped at a red light, minding his own business, when who should step up to his window but a robber. A young black kid with a gun, a gun pointing right at Marcus.

"Give me your money, right now," the kid said.

Marcus dug around in his pockets, came up a with a handful of change, maybe two dollars, maybe not even, and offered it to the kid.

"This is what I've got," Marcus said.

"What's this shit?" the robber asked. "I want your wallet, your asshole."

"I don't carry a wallet," Marcus said.

"Bullshit."

"I don't," Marcus reiterated.

The kid got a little flustered. "Everybody carries a wallet. Don't give me that shit."

"I don't have one."

"Where do you carry your license, your papers?"

"I don't have one," Marcus said. "I don't have a license."

"That's bullshit," the kid said. "You don't have any papers, any license, you'll get tickets."

"I know," Marcus said. "Look."

He bent over to the glove compartment and popped it open.

The kid stuck his head in the window. He was appalled by the mess he saw. The car was filthy. There were empty cigarette packs, candy bar wrappers, soda cans, newspapers, and more junk piled up everywhere. And the glove compartment was overstuffed with traffic tickets.

The kid pulled his head out of the car and stared at Marcus. "What's wrong with you, you crazy or something? I ought shoot you just for that. Put you out of your misery."

Marcus shrugged his shoulders.

The kid put the gun back in waistband. He maintained eye contact but bagan backing away from the car and down the sidewalk.

Marcus looked around. There on the floor, in the back, was a half buried basketball. It's been there since, since before Marcus joined the band, since before he started drugging, since before he smashed his ankle, since before he dropped out of college.

"Wait," Marcus yelled.

The kid was maybe twenty feet away. He froze. "What?" he says. "What do you want, crazy?"

Marcus grabbed the basketball and stepped out of the car. "I've got this, you want it?"

"That's all right," the kid said, and resumed backing away.

"Really." Marcus said, "Just take it. I don't need it. You guys like to play basketball, don't you? Here."

He cocked the ball and prepared to throw it.

"You are fucked up," the kid said. He turned and ran down the sidewalk, around the corner and out of sight.

Marcus looked around. The street was deserted. He bowled the basketball down the center line, a leisurely slow roll, and watched as it slowed and angled toward the curb. The ball kissed the curb, rebounded an inch or two, and stopped. Marcus got back in his car and drove away.

So it all came to nothing and that was that.

I never cared about about the truth of the story. I knew Marcus wasn't exactly George Washington in that department, and besides, I'd only heard it second-hand, so I wasn't about to track Marcus down and grill him on something he'd never tried to convince me of. And even if I had, and he had, that would only have been the half of it. We would never know what the two dollar robber would have to contribute.

-----

The other night LZ and I went out to a late dinner. On our way to be seated we passed a table of people who looked vaguely familiar, but something was out of kilter. The couples didn't match up as I remembered. Then I thought, separation, divorce, dating, cheating, remarriage, business, whatever. I just nodded as we went by. I had no desire to know who was who, or why they were with whoever else, instead of whom they might be expected to be with. I just wanted to eat.

We were seated fairly close to our semi-acquaintances; I had my back to their table. The restaurant was emptying out, it got quiet enough to hear stray phrases, unmoored sentences....
And I realized one of them was telling a story.

"... and Marcus was driving a beat-up cherry red Chevette...." (a chuckle or two from the listeners)

"It was late, probably after midnight, who knew what Marcus was doing out there..." (the snarky drug reference, a knowing laugh)

"...then Marcus looked around, saw a dime on the floor...." (So the basketball had been edited out. I guess the implied racism that underlied that section had to go.)

"The street was full of people , but no one bothered Marcus as he walked back to his car." (a bit of mythmaking, compensating for the loss of the basketball)

LZ hadn't heard any of it. I didn't bother to tell her. She's got no use for Marcus, or for that past.

As they got up to leave, I heard one last bit.

"I'm, not sure, rumor has it he ran off with babysitter and is living in a cottage in Wales, by the coast, in one of those towns you can't spell, much less pronounce."

Not even close, I thought. But not a bad ending, considering.

2005-06-10T08:08:00.000-05:00

UNDER THE SEA

The Things and I were spending a lazy Sunday morning watching The Little Mermaid. Suddenly T2 jumped up and pointed to the screen.

"That's wrong," she shouted. "That's wrong!"

I jumped up too, in confusion.

"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"Look," she shouted. "Look! The ocean floor is not in the sunny zone. The movie is wrong."

"I think they call it artistic license," I said.

T2 looked at me disdainfully. "There's the sunny zone, the twilight zone, the dark zone, the abyss, and the trench," she said. "And the ocean floor is not in the sunny zone."

"The mermaid, the talking fish, the singing crab," I said. "That's all OK with you?"

"That's different," T2 said. "But it's not wrong."

"I'm going to put the movie on pause, and let your mother know about this," I said.

LZ was suitably impressed. "Her first anachronism," she said. "You must be proud."

"I know they call all movie mistakes anachronisms," I said. "But there's got to be a better word. One that means out of place, instead of out of time."

When I got back, the girls were practically bursting with informatiom.

"In the abyss, it is so dark that the fish can't even see their food. They just swim around with their mouths open and eat whatever crawls in," T1 said.

T2 topped her: "In the trench, there are no fish at all. Just tubeworms."

"My god," I said. "I really didn't want to know that."

T1 made an exaggerated fish face and zoomed around the room gulping and swallowing enthusiastically.

"I'm in the abyss, trying to get some food," she said.

"Aren't we all," I concurred.

"Can you put the movie back on?" T2 asked.

2005-03-30T11:09:00.000-05:00

Q AND NO A, II

"Daddy, are we really mostly made of water?" T1 asks.

"That's what they say," I reply.

"Who says we are made of water?" T2 asks.

"I guess scientists," I say.

"How do they know?" T2 asks.

"They study these things," I say.

"I know we are not made of water," T2 says, "because we are not falling apart."

"I always had trouble with the concept myself," I concur, "but apparently it's true."

"Then where is the water?" T2 asks.

"All through your body," I say. "In all your parts, in your skin and in your blood."

T2 holds up her hand. "If I go like this, is all the water going down from my hand and arm?"

"I think it stays," I say. "It's caught."

"Is it pond water we're full of?" T2 asks.

"No!" T1 shouts. "We are full of well water, not pond water."

"I'm full of very expensive bottled water, myself," I tell them. "Now go to sleep."

"Daddy, I have another question," T1 said.

"Just one?" I ask.

"How do people learn Chinese words?"

"Well, you could study to learn it, but most people learn the language their parents speak. If their parents are Chinese, then they will learn to speak Chinese."

"But daddy, after the China children learn the Chinese words, do they ever say, 'now teach us the regular words'"?

"To them, the Chinese words are the regular ones," I say.

"Chinese words are not regular words!" T2 shouts.

"Time for sleep now," I say. "Good night."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are they asleep yet?" LZ asks, as I barrel down the stairs.

"Almost," I say.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" she asks.

"To the kitchen for a drink," I say. "That Chinese food makes me thirsty as all get out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

related link

2005-03-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

Q & No A

"Why is there a world?" T1 asks.

"I don't know," I say. "But I'm glad there is. If there were no world, then we'd have nothing to do. We'd just be sitting here in the dark."

"We are part of the world," T1 says. "If there was no world, there would be no us either."

"If there 'were,'" I say. "Subjunctive."

"Why is there life, then?" T2 asks. "That is the question."

"That certainly is the question," I say.

"But why?" T2 persists.

"No one knows," I say.

"Maybe we could ask the man," T1 says.

"What man?" I ask.

"The restaurant man, on the computer," T1 explains.

"Oh," I say, "that man. "He's dressed up as a butler, not a waiter."

"What's a butler?" T2 asks.

"Can we just ask him?" T1 complains.

"He doesn't know," T2 says. "No one knows."

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask," I say. "Maybe there's some new information that I've missed."

"He won't know," T2 states once again.

"Here's what I've got," I say. "The first two answers deal with the meaning of life. That's not what we want, is it?"

They shake their heads.

"The next two tell what life is, but we already have a handle on that, don't we?"

They shake their heads.

"Meaning of life, meaning of life, irrelevant, irrelevant, meaning of life, irrelevant."

I shake my head.

"Wait a second," I say. "Let me click on this one. This guy may have something."

link

"Oh, never mind," I say. "It's just a long posting refuting some crackpot creationist lecture."

They look at me blankly.

"Time for bed?" I hazard.

"I knew he wouldn't tell us," T2 says. She turns and stomps up the stairs to bed.

"What's a crackpot?" T1 asks.

"One who holds eccentric or lunatic notions," I say.

"Like Eli, at school," T1 says. "Yesterday he wore a pajama top to school instead of a shirt."

"He certainly sounds eccentric," I say. "He just may be a crackpot."

"Why do I always have to go to bed and she doesn't?" T2 calls from the top of the steps.

"To bed with you," I say to T1. "Tell your sister we'll continue our inquiries tomorrow."

--

2005-02-23T13:11:00.000-05:00

D, ME, AND THE BLUSTERY DOCTOR

--

I was vaguely aware that D had been complaining of dizzy spells for a couple of days.

"It's a good thing you are off today," LZ said. "D has to go to the doctor."

"What for?" I asked.

"He was throwing up half the night," LZ said. "How could you have missed all the commotion?"

"I guess I was sleeping," I said.

"You have to get an afternoon appointment," LZ said. "He's got the play this morning."

"He's at school?" I asked.

"He felt well enough to go, and he didn't want to miss the play, but I still think he should see the doctor."

"OK," I said.

"Just call the office, make an appointment, and make sure you get to school in time to sign him out and get him to the office. It could take a while for them to page him and for him to get his stuff. Get to school at least 45 minutes before the appointment."

"OK," I said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How do you feel?" I asked D.

"I think I'm fine now," he said.

"No more dizziness? I asked. "No throwing up?"

"I said. I'm fine," D said.

"So this doctor visit, it's probably a waste of time, then," I said.

"Probably," he said.

"Well, let's get going," I said. "We wouldn't want to be late."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I remembered the doctor from when the Things were born. She had burst into the hospital room and made a few pronouncements in a thick East European accent.

"Now, the hard part is just starting. You think it is over, but no. Now the hard part starts. You mark my words."

"Come see me in a week or so. Maybe ten days. You make the appointment."

"Do not use wipes on the bottom. Paper is fine. Wipes. Bah. A waste of money."

She burst out.

"What in the name of God was that?" I asked LZ.

"She's our pediatrician," LZ said.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were in the examining room.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Dr. GN again," I said to D.

"You know her?" he asked.

"We go way back," I said.

And as if on cue, Dr. GN exploded into the room and began barraging D with questions.

"So, you are sick."

"And what is the problem?"

"Dizziness? Dizzy spells? How often? And you did not faint?"

"And the vomiting. How many times? Before meals, or after? Do you feel nausea now"

"Headache? Pain anywhere?"

"Appetite? You have appetite?"

"Is the throat sore? I'll check now. Open wide. There is no strep. We don't have to test."

"Now we check your brain. Because of the dizziness."

"Stand up straight. Now put your arms out like monster. Like zombie. Now, with eyes closed, count to fifteen."

"No. No No. Arms must be out straight, and also hands. Like this. Watch me."

"One, two, three, four.... Now I am dizzy. Maybe I faint. Maybe my brain is wrong. Ha."

"Now I am fine. I will just sit down for a moment. In one moment I will feel better."

"And you, your brain is fine. You have a little congestion. Maybe a virus. Who knows what goes around. Take decongestant. I have samples. In one week, maybe ten days come back for recheck. You make appointment."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You were right," D said, "that was a waste of time."

"Better safe than sorry," I said. "Let's get home."

2005-02-02T16:18:00.000-05:00

UNE HEURE DANS L'ENFER
or,
ANOTHER TYPICAL BLOG NARRATIVE

The Characters:

ME: Me
CUC: Credit Union CLerk
HELEN: The Supervisor
WOMAN: The Woman Behind Me In Line
MAN: The Man Behind Her
THE LINE: Starts out as a quiet inconsequential charcter, grows steadily during the course of the narrative, eventually turning into a loud, unruly beast.

The Dialogue:

ME: I'd like to take my money out of this account.

CUC: You can't take out any money without an ID.

ME: Here it is.

CUC: This account is moribund.

ME:

CUC: You can't withdraw money from a moribund account.

MAN: Is that you?

WOMAN: Lordy.

ME: Why not?

CUC: Because it's moribund.

MAN: How long has it been seen I seen you? Six months? When we used to smoke outside the building.

ME: If I can't withdraw my money, I'll just close the account.

CUC: First I have to reopen the account.

WOMAN: It's longer than six months, because I quit smoking seven months ago.

MAN: You didn't!

WOMAN: Yes, I did.

MAN: You didn't.

WOMAN: Over seven months.

ME: OK.

CUC: I can't reopen accounts. I have to get my supervisor.

ME: OK.

MAN: Now why you go and quit smoking?

CUC: Helen!

WOMAN: For the health. It's bad for the lungs.

MAN: Bah.

CUC: Can you reopen this account?

WOMAN: And for the kids. They wouldn't give me no peace. Couldn't smoke in the house. Couldn't smoke in the basement. Couldn't even smoke on the stoop without them saying something.

MAN: What they say?

HELEN: He has to fill out this form to reopen it.

CUC: Fill out this form.

WOMAN: I told you. They say it's bad for the lungs.

MAN: Bah.

WOMAN: So, I just quit.

MAN: You just quit?

WOMAN: I told you that.

ME: Here.

CUC: Now fill out this form.

ME: What is this for?

CUC: To close the account.

MAN: I smoke all the time. I feel fine.

WOMAN: What you gonna do when your lungs are damaged?

MAN: I'll get one of them artificial ones.

ME: I changed my mind. I don't have to close the account. I'll just withdraw all my money except for a dollar.

WOMAN: What you gonna do if your lungs so damaged you can't wait to get the artificial ones?

CUC: You told me you wanted to close this account. I already put it in the computer. Now you have to fill out this form or we'll have to reopen the account again.

ME: OK.

MAN: Woman, don't you know? If your lungs are damaged like that, you go right to the head of the line.

WOMAN: You sure? I don't think I ever heard that.

ME: Here.

CUC: It won't let me take out the money. Helen!

MAN: I don't have no lung damage. I can run five miles any time.

WOMAN: Five miles!

MAN: And I don't smoke on weekends so my body heals itself from smoking.

HELEN: I'll have to override this. There.

CUC: It still won't let me take out the money. Helen!

WOMAN: They say it takes your body ten years to heal itself from smoking. You can't heal yourself over the weekend.

HELEN: There.

CUC: You got four cent? I need four cent.

ME: No. No change.

MAN: I've been smoking for over twenty years and never on the weekends. My body's been healing itself for more than twenty years already.

CUC: Helen! I need change.

HELEN: Here.

WOMAN: It don't work that way.

MAN: Five miles.

CUC: Sign this form.

ME: What is it?

CUC: It says you received the money.

ME: But I haven't.

WOMAN: I think I will try running.

MAN: It's too cold for running. You can't run in this weather.

CUC: It's right here.

ME: Can I have it?

CUC: Not until you sign the form.

ME: Shouldn't I have the money before I sign that I do?

CUC: That's not how we do it.

ME: Your policies are a little moribund, themselves.

WOMAN: Maybe when the weather breaks.

CUC: Helen!

2005-01-14T15:14:00.000-05:00

IN THE PRIVATE SECTOR

I had a new job. I was to be a driver/messenger for a bank.

They called me up: "You start on Monday. Report to Mister Lucker in Human Resources."

"OK," I said.

I was sitting on a chair in front of a desk, waiting.

The nameplate on the desk said: Horace Lucker, Sr. I remembered a Horace Lucker, Jr. from high school. An unpopular boy with an unfortunate name. I was about to meet his father. I hoped Horace Jr. hadn't mentioned my name to Horace Sr.

"Go to the mailroom," Mr. Lucker said. "There's a separate entrance around back."

"I thought I was hired as a messenger," I said.

"When you're not driving, you sort mail," Mr. Lucker said. "That's what it is."

"OK," I said. As always, I really needed a job.

"Report to Del, he's in the office next to the mailroom," Mr Lucker said. "Just do what he tells you, and don't listen to those other clowns down there."

"OK," I said.

I walked around the back of the building. I passed a loading dock. There was a small, nervous looking man standing there, smoking.

I went up some steps and into the building. I found Del.

"Go out there and ask Archie or Jim what to do," Del said. "They'll fill you in."

"OK," I said.

Del went back to his newspaper and coffee.

I went into the mailroom. "I'm looking for Archie," I said.

A very old man, no more than five feet tall, appeared from behind a big sorting machine.

"You're the new one," he said.

"I am," I agreed.

"I'll be supervising you then," he said. "Come on, we've got lots of mail to deliver, all through the building."

"Oh no, Archie." This from a big gangly fellow with a droopy mustache and thick glasses.

"I'm the supervisor; he's with me, don't you know," Archie said.

"No, no, Archie. He has to learn how to sort the mail first."

The gangly fellow pointed to a gigantic bin of mail and to a wall of pigeonholes.

"Jim, you're a dickhead. This guy is a driver. We need a driver, not another sorter." From a young preppy/frat looking guy at a corner desk.

"I'm Scott," he said. "You can ride with me until you learn the routes."

"OK," I said.

"Let's go," Scott said. "I want to get the car with the cruise control."

On the way to the parking lot we passed two mean looking black guys who were leaning up against the side of the building.

"That's Veldon and Charlie," Scott said. "They're OK. They're drivers too. They stay outside until the last minute so they don't have to help sort the mail. Jim's supposed to be in charge, but he's afraid to make them help. He thinks they'll kick his ass."

"Would they?" I asked.

"Only if he tried to make them work," Scott said. "Otherwise, probably not."

"Who was that guy just standing in the corner, muttering?" I asked.

"That's Bill," Scott said. "He's fucked up. Even worse than Jim."

"Is that why he was wearing the engineer's outfit?" I asked.

"I guess," Scott said. "He wears it every day, all filthy too."

Scott pulled onto the interstate, rammed the car up to 70, turned on the cruise control, and started fumbling in his cigarette pack. He finally extricated a big joint.

"Want a hit?" he asked as he lit up.

"No thanks," I said.

"So, you're straight?" Scott asked.

"I refuse to categorize myself so early in our relationship," I said.

Scott gave me a sideways look.

"You can make jokes with me," he said, "but don't try any of that shit when you go out with Veldon."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Veldon hates fags worse than narcs," Scott said. "He'll fuck you up, seriously, if he thinks you're one or the other."

"Thanks for the warning," I said.

"I'm not joking," Scott said. "Veldon was in the Army, in a special squad. He's a trained killer."

"I get it," I said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took over an hour to get to the South Branch and make our pickup and delivery. Then we were back in the car.

"This bank doesn't have many branches," Scott said. "But they're all over. You only have to make like two runs and it takes up the whole day. And on the way you can get high, eat, drink, whatever you want. It's a great job."

"I guess it is," I said.

"Did you see the customer service girl, with the long hair and the nice tits?" Scott asked.

"Yes, I did," I said.

"I fucked her," Scott said. "Last Halloween."

"Good for you," I said.

"Did you see that big guy, with the crewcut and the white socks, in the corner office?" Scott asked.

"I saw him," I said.

"He played pro football, maybe in the 60's or 70's," Stan said. "But he got all injured, so he had to become a banker. He's a real nice guy."

"I bet," I said.

We sped back up the interstate.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I went to a pizza place for lunch, by myself. When I pulled back into the bank parking lot, I saw Scott, Veldon, and Charlie, sitting in a beat up Camaro. The inside of the car was thick with smoke.

Scott got out and called me over.

"You're doing the afternoon run with Veldon," he said. "I have to go up north."

"OK," I said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were in a Ford Escort, with no cruise control. Veldon gripped the steering wheel as if he were wrestling a small, vicious animal. Eventually, the beast subdued, Velson relaxed and pulled out a joint. He took a hit and attempted to pass it to me.

"No thanks," I said.

"Scott told me you were straight," Veldon said.

"Scott told me you were a trained psychotic killer," I said.

Veldon laughed out loud.

"I was in the Army for a while. In the Rangers. But I got out when things started getting heavy. Know what I mean?"

"Sure," I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.

Veldon nodded and turned his attention back to the road.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We made our delivery at South Branch and got back in the car.

"See that bitch sitting at the front desk?" Veldon asked.

"I saw her," I said.

"Scott said he fucked that bitch."

"I know," I said.

"You think he fucked her?" Veldon asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Scott's full of shit. No way she gonna let Scott fuck her. I don't believe that shit for a minute."

"Oh," I said.

Veldon narrowed his eyes. "Would you fuck her?" he asked.

"Yes, I would," I said.

"So, you're not a fag, then," Veldon said.

"No, I'm not," I replied.

"Good," Veldon said. "I don't like riding around with fags."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We got back around 4. Mr. Lucker was waiting in the mailroom.

"I've got some news," he said. "Del is leaving us." He pointed to Del's empty office.

Apparently Del had already left.

Then he pointed to a robust looking gentleman standing in the corner of the room.

"Effective, tomorrow morning, Mr. Frank T is the new supervisor."

Mr. Frank T gave a wave. "Glad to be on board," he said. "I'm looking forward to running this ship."

"And one more thing," Mr Lucker said. "We got a call from Bob, his car broke down at Central Branch. We'll need someone to go pick him up. Time and a half."

Mr. Lucker and Mr. McT left.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'll go," I said, "if someone gives me directions."

"You're not going," Scott said. "You don't want to ride all the way back with the nutcase Bob."

Scott looked around. "You go, Jim," he said to the gangly guy.

"I don't have to drive anymore," Jim said. "Del put me in charge of the mailroom."

Veldon cleared his throat and looked at Jim. Jim hung his head.

"I'll go," Jim said. "But just because I need the money."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"There's a bar right down the road," Scott said. "They have half price drinks till six. We usually go over there and get fucked up after work. Are you in?"

"OK," I said.

It felt good to be back in the workforce.

2005-01-14T09:25:00.000-05:00

THE NIGHTMARE AFTER CHRISTMAS

I heard a clunk in the night. Then footsteps in the hall. Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"I'm worried," I heard a voice say as if from far away.

"It'll be OK," I said. "I think I figured out a way to pay the holiday bills and buy a little food."

"Daddy, I said I'm worried."

It was T2.

"Sorry, I said. "I thought you were Mommy."

"Daddy, I'm worried that a big black bug, or a big spider, is going to come and take away striped kitty and unicorn."

"Were you dreaming that?" I asked.

Her eyes widened. "Yes!" she said. "Yes I was!"

"It'll be OK," I said. "You were just dreaming that because of the scary movie we watched before bed. It was just a bad dream, not real."

"Take that movie back," T2 said.

"OK," I said. "In the morning."

I walked T2 back to bed. She fell asleep almost instantly.

I was almost back to sleep myself when I remembered that we needed oil. I hadn't figured that into the bills. $300 short. I tried to put it out of mind, but I couldn't. I tossed, turned, and finally sat bolt upright as my own, less gruesome, but just as compelling, nightmare vision unfolded.

2005-01-12T08:59:00.000-05:00

6 O'CLOCK SEATING, NEW YEAR'S EVE

"It's almost quarter after," I said. "Anyone hear from Lewis and Sandra?"

"Lewis is always late," someone said.

Appetizers came and went. Then soup.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" I asked. "Maybe someone should call?"

"It's all right," someome else said. "Lewis is always late."

Louis came in halfway through the salad.

"Where's Sandra?" someone asked.

"Sandra won't be dining with us this evening." Lewis said.

There was silence for a second. Lewis dug into his salad.

"And why won't Sandra be dining with us this evening?" someone asked.

Lewis stopped chewing and sat up. He looked around the table. Finally he spoke:

"For years, for years, people have been saying, 'Lewis is always late.' But I have been ready. I should not have been late. All these years I have been waiting for Sandra. Sandra is always late. But no more waiting for me. That is my resolution. I told her, 'If I'm ready, I'm going,' and she didn't believe me. But then she saw. I was ready. And I went."

Lewis returned to his salad.

2005-01-10T10:10:00.000-05:00

CHAIN OF COMMAND

--

T1 had a question.

"Is D's bedtime sometimes before ours?"

"No," I said. "His is after yours."

"But he is in bed now," T1 said.

"Sometimes he goes up early to his own room, but not to bed," I said. "He stays up and plays on the computer, or watches tv."

"Is he allowed to do that?" T1 asked.

"Yes," I said. "I guess."

T1 pounced on my carelessly indecisive answer.

"So," she said. "It's really Mommy that is in charge. And you are only in charge when Mommy is not here. Is that right?"

"I guess," I said.

2005-01-05T13:32:00.000-05:00

THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

I hear a strangled shriek coming from the dining room.

"My God," LZ says. "Where did this monstrosity come from?"

link

2005-01-05T10:36:00.000-05:00

A FEW QUESTIONS AND A COMMENT FROM T1

T1: How do you know when it is time to take a baby out of a crib and into a real bed?

Me: In your case it was when I came into your room and found you climbing over the rail, almost falling on your head. We went out and bought beds that very day.

T1: And what keeps roofs together and stuck on houses?

Me: Usually they nail them on.

T1: With hammers?

Me: Exactly.

T1: Do they have to use long nails?

Me: I guess some of the time.

T1: If we get a new roof, can I help you hammer it on?

Me: Of course.

T1: I wish I could see into the insides of every person.

Me: Why is that?

T1: I would like to know what is in there.

Me: Oh.

2004-12-24T08:12:00.000-05:00

--

FROM THE ANNALS OF BADNESS

The Things had been at each other all day. Complaining, carping, and tattletaleing had escalated to yelling, pushing and hitting. Their errant behavior even continued in the bath as they jockeyed for position, grabbed toys, and splashed indiscriminately.

I reached one of my many breaking points.

"You know," I said. "it's like I don't even have two nice little girls anymore. What I have are two snarling biting rats."

They stopped for a minute and took stock.

Then in a low pitched snarl that reminded me of Jack Palance in Shane, One replied, "You have one rat daddy. One rat only."

And she fixed her sister with a baleful stare.

Two stared right back.

And under her breath, she hissed "That's right, there's just one rat in this house. One rat."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I continued the conversation with One a short time later.

"Do you see how I am sitting?" I asked.

"Yes," One replied warily.

"Well in the old days, parents would take misbehaving children and put them right over their knees, right like this. Then they would whack them, with their hand, or maybe with a hairbrush, until the child cried."

One has never heard of such a thing.

"Is that true?" she asks.

"Very true," I replied. "It was called a good spanking."

One doesn't like the term.

"It is not good to hit children," she says.

"Well," I said, "that is the current thinking. But, I was wondering, do you think your behavior would improve if you were afraid of being spanked?"

"Yes," One blurts out. Then, realizing she has fallen into trap, she bolts for her room.

I hear her yelling at Two as I walk down the stairs.

2004-12-22T10:01:00.000-05:00

FAMILY MAN

Since LZ has reentered the labor force, my own hiatus from the quotidian has been ended rather rudely. No more hiding out for me. It's back to running errands, back to the mall on weekends, back to way too much enforced contact with my fellow drones.

"I know you have a lot to do," I said to LZ. "I can help out with the Christmas shopping today, or babysit, or do anything whatever you need."

"Won't you be watching the Eagles?" she asked.

"How can you bring up football?" I said. "Christmas is coming. We have a lot to do. I'm committed to this family, not to a bunch of hopped up homicidal lunatics."

So off we went. It was typical, brutal.

And after a long day of shopping, we had a quick dinner, chased the kids to bed and sat down in front of the television.

"I'm exhausted, but still wired," LZ said. "I hope there's something funny on, something not too challenging, so I can just unwind."

"Oh," I said as I paged through the tv section, "look at this. Seems the Eagles play tonight; they're the Sunday night game. And it's just about ready to start. What a stroke of luck."

2004-12-16T14:53:00.000-05:00

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER

"Anyone call for me while I was out?" I asked LZ.

"No, no messages," she said.

Somebody called me on the phone
Said, "Hey is Dee Dee home?
Do you wanna take a walk?
Do you wanna go cop?
DO you wanna go get some Chinese Rocks?"

2004-12-13T10:06:00.000-05:00

FOUR SHORT SCENES

Afternoon.

The girls are pummelling each other.

LZ: Girls, stop that! I can't believe what I just saw. Don't you know that Christmas is almost here? Santa Claus is watching everything you do.

The girls look around. T1 looks out the front windows. They look at each other and shrug. T2 goes up the stairs to her room, then calls down to her sister:

T2: Come up here. He can't see in our room.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bedtime.

T2 has a question:

T2: Can Santa see colors?

Me: What do you mean?

T1: She means can Santa see colors. Or can Santa just see gray and black and white.

Me: You mean is Santa color blind?

T2: What do you mean?

T1: She means can Santa see like a regular person or like an animal.

Me: I'm pretty sure Santa can see colors. He saw Rudolph's red nose, didn't he?

T2: But dogs can see red. Gray and red.

T1: She means, when Santa looks, he sees like a dog sees.

Me: Oh.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting in the car.

T1: Daddy is Rudolph real?

Me: Everybody buckle up.

T2: She said, is Rudolph real.

Me: What do you think?

T1: I think he is real.

Me: Good. I think so too.

T2: Rudolph is not real!

T1: Yes he is. Even Daddy said so.

T2: There are no reindeers with red noses.

T1: Rudolph had a red nose and he is real.

T2: No!

The commence pummelling each other.

LZ: Girls, stop that this minute. Santa is watching.

They stop, look out the car windows, look at each other, shrug, and continue pummelling.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

First thing the next morning.

T1: Daddy, can we go to the North Pole?

Me: It's too far too drive.

T1: We could take a plane.

Me: It's very cold there.

T1: We have coats, and our new gloves.

Me: I don't think they have any hotels there. Where would we stay?

T2: She wants to go to Santa's house.

Me: I don't think Santa allows visitors. He's very busy.

T1: We could go after Christmas. Then Santa won't be busy.

Me: I wanted to go somewhere warm, with hotels, for our vacation.

T1: I just want to stay at the North Pole for a minute, then we could go on a regular vacation.

Me: It's OK with me if it's OK with Mommy. Ask her after school today, when I am at work.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-12-04T11:15:00.000-05:00

WHAT DO I GET?

When FW and I decided to split up, officially and for real, there came the ritual known formally as The Dividing Up Of The Stuff.

For the most part, this went pretty well. FW had always had a pretty good handle on our stuff. She knew where everything came from, she knew who bought what for whom. She also had (somewhat presciently, it seemed) always insisted that we keep our books and our music collection unmerged. One Buzzcocks CD of unknown provenance was disputed, but I commandeered it.

As for the rest: There was enough furniture to go around. And there were enough extras, duplicates, or different versions of the common household stuff to forestall any problems. She wanted the espresso machine, I took the regular coffee maker. I wanted the toaster oven, she was happy with just the toaster. And so it went, down through the dishes, the mugs, even the cutlery.

It was one of the more civilized afternoons we had spent together in quite some time.

There was one final matter.

"Who gets the friends?" FW asked.

I'm sorry," I said. "But I'll be keeping them."

"That hardly seems fair," FW said.

"You've got a whole new crowd," I said. "You have them."

"But you want nothing to do with them," FW said. "I'm talking about all the friends we made in common, over the years."

I thought on this for a minute.

"You can take Jurvoz," I said. "I've had enough of him."

"How do I go about it?" FW asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe you can have your lawyer send him a letter."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I guess the lawyer never got around to it. I'm stuck with Jurvoz to this day.

2004-11-30T15:01:00.001-05:00

CONCATENATION

I had a pair of dark brown pants and an armful of sport shirts. "Which shirt should I wear with these pants?" I asked LZ.

"They're all OK," she said. "But where's the one I bought when I bought you those pants? It matched perfectly."

"It was supposed to be an outfit, then?" I asked.

"I guess so," LZ said. "Why do you ask?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------

We were three couples sharing a borrowed beach house over a Memorial Day weekend. FW and I were getting dressed for a walk on the beach. I quickly rummaged through the old gym bag that was serving as my luggage for the weekend (the actual concept of real luggage was out of my grasp at that time; I was probably only a year or so removed from stuffing my travelling clothes into a brown paper grocery bag) and pulled out a blue pair of shorts and a blue and white striped shirt.

"I'm glad to see you're wearing that outfit I bought you," FW said.

"An outfit?" I said. "I can't wear an outfit. I'm definitely not the type of person who wears outfits. I'll have to find something else."

I went back to the gym bag.

"It's not really an outfit," FW said. "It's just clothes that match."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

Of course," FW said.

"I'm going out," I said. "I'll meet you down there."

I was in a hurry because I wanted to say hello to LZ as an independent person, not as part of a couple.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

JA and my sister were walking out by a jetty. I waved to them. I saw LZ and WHN sitting on a blanket by the ocean. LZ waved and walked up the beach. We met about halfway.

"Hi," I said. "Long time no see."

"Hi," she said. "That's a nice outfit you've got on."

"I knew it," I said. "I knew this was an outfit."

And I did know what had happened. FW had deliberately sent me out in a nice outfit as a way to humiliate and control me. Of course I knew there was little possibility that LZ would leave WHN so we could run off together, but I had hopes. Now that she had seen me outfitted, in an actual outfit, there was no hope at all. In my hurry to get to the beach I'd let my guard down for a second, now I was exposed as some sort of domesticated animal, all dressed up for an afternoon promenade on the beach.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was so mortified that I had to laugh. Outfoxed by FW.

Maybe next year then, I thought.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-11-09T10:09:00.000-05:00

A SUPER SUNDAY, SOME YEARS PAST

"Bugel called," I said. "He wants us to come over for the Super Bowl."

"I thought you didn't care about the Super Bowl if the Eagles weren't in it," FW said.

"That's true," I said. "I don't care about it at all."

"Does Bugel care?" FW asked.

"I can't see it," I said.

"What time are we supposed to go over?" FW asked.

"Early," I said. "We don't want to miss the pregame extravaganza."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's open," Bugel yelled. "Come in."

Bugel waved us and shushed us in one motion, without taking his eyes off the television. He was engrossed in something that looked and sounded suspiciously like a John Wayne movie.

There was an open bottle of tequila on the coffee table, but there were no glasses. Bugel must have been swigging straight from the bottle.

"What's that one?" I asked, pointing to the television.

"It's Pals of the Saddle," Bugel said. "One of the Three Mesquiteers series."

"Questionnable counterprogramming," I said. "Do you have any shot glasses?"

Bugel pointed toward the kitchen and refocused his attention to the movie.

I walked back into the kitchen and started to poke through Bugel's cabinets. I finally found some dusty shot glasses shoved way in the back of a cabinet overhanging the stove.

"Do you have any limes?" I yelled in to Bugel.

"I don't do condiments," he said. "If you need to chase the tequila, there's beer in the refrigerator."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I grabbed the shot glasses and a six pack and made my way back to the living room.

"Where's Megsy?" FW asked.

"I sent her out to get some snacks and some other shit," Bugel answered. He gave me a quick look, to clue me in.

"You're very subtle," I said.

"I'm not trying to be subtle," Bugel said. "It's just the way I talk."

"Hello," yelled Megsy, from the kitchen.

"How'd she get back there?" I asked.

"She parks in the alley and comes in the back," Bugel said.

"Is that more convenient?" I asked.

"I don't know why she does it," Bugel said. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Hi everybody," Megsy said. She set down a bowl of chips and crackers on the coffee table.

"Did you get it?" Bugel asked.

"No problem," Megsy said.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was almost halftime. The tequila was almost gone, the beers were gone, the chips were gone.

"Let's go do some more lines," Megsy said.

We all got up and went into the downstairs bedroom. Megsy expertly cut eight lines on the upended mirror that was lying on the dresser. She did hers quickly and handed the rolled up bill to FW. I noticed that FW took the razor blade and fussed a little. Straightening, making the lines longer and thinner, then sliding some back and fattening them up again. Bugel did the same. When it was my turn, I inhaled without ceremony, and without altering Megsy's presentation.

"The game is boring," Bugel said. "We should do something else."

"What?" I asked.

"We could have an orgy," Megsy said.

"I think, with four, it's just group sex, not an orgy," I said.

"Then we could have group sex," Megsy said.

I looked at FW. She looked a little annoyed, but I could tell it wasn't about the sex. She was mad because she'd been taken by surprise. She had been half paying attention all night, lulled along by her lack of interest in football and her decided interest in the free drugs. She hadn't been thinking any farther ahead than her next line. Essentially, she'd listened to Megsy proposition me, and would now either have to go along, or end the night prematurely, and on an awkward note.

I wasn't worried. I knew FW's pique over having been outthought wouldn't be so great that she would miss a chance at some deviant activity.

At the same time, I appreciated Megsy's approach. I'd been thinking about her a lot recently, comparing her, favorably, to FW. They were both the same physical type, were both intelligent, and were both tightroping between borderline sanity and pure craziness. Yet lately, FW had seemed to fuzz along the edges to me, while whenever I pictured Megsy, she was sharp and bright. Her maneuvering and timing in the matter at hand were just more evidence of how she seemed like a quicker, improved version of FW.

"Let's get to it," I said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bugel and FW left for another bedroom without saying a word.

"So it's down from an orgy, to group sex, to swapping," I said.

"Are you complaining?" Megsy asked.

"Not at all," I said. "This will be just fine."

And it was. I was enjoying myself immensly, yet appropriately, I felt. But as we went on, I could sense that Megsy was crossing some line. Eyes rolled back, gasping for air, she was disconcertingly wild. If I were a little more naive, or a little less self-aware, I'd have been flattered. But, unfortunately, I knew that it really wasn't me that was getting the reaction from Megsy. It was the situation that was making her night. The deviance, the drinking, the drugging, it all fitted her own craziness like a key in a lock. That was what was setting her off.

I had the feeling that if I were a one-legged dwarf in a Nixon mask, Megsy would have liked it that much more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Megsy, a sheet half wrapped around her, was at the bureau preparing to cut out some more coke.

"We should get together, for real," she said. "It could work."

I knew it really couldn't work, but that didn't bother me. What bothered me was the sudden disruption, a disruption I wasn't prepared for. Apparently, Megsy was even farther ahead of me than she was of FW. The problem was that I thought of myself as being in a story with FW, and even though I knew it wasn't going to end well, I was enjoying the twists and turns along the way. It just didn't seem right to end that story prematurely; I would have felt I'd cheated myself as surely as if I'd read the first two thirds of a decent, though not great, novel, then thrown the book away.

And what about Megsy anyway? First Andy. Then Bugel. Now me. I wasn't at all sure I wanted to jump into her story.

"A tempting offer," I said. "But I think I'll pass."

Megsy laughed. "What's stopping you?" she asked.

"I don't trust your taste in men," I said.

"Well," she said, "you have quite a pedantic streak, but I was willing to overlook that."

"Can you cut me one more quick line?" I asked. "Then I want to go see what the score is."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-11-08T13:33:00.000-05:00

ON THE LIMITS OF TECHNOLOGY

I've been slowly working my way through the iTunes music store, downloading a song here and a song there, concentrating on ones that appear on cd's I know I'll never buy. I did the same thing when I was a kid, pawing through the singles at Woolworth's, even then looking for transcendence for less than a buck. Thirty plus years later and I'm at the same place, only without the turtle tank.

"Girls, listen to this one," I say.

It's Clarence "Frogman" Henry's "Ain't Got A Home." I put it on so loud that they are forced to turn from the tv and listen.

It ends. "Did you like it?" I ask.

"Yes. Can you play it again?"

"Sure," I say. "And try to listen to the words this time."

They listen enough to sense that something unusual is going on.

"Play it again!"

"Listen, he's singing like a girl!"

"Now he's singing like a frog!"

General hilarity ensues. The girls dance wildly, then drop down and hop around the floor like frogs.

"Again!"

I afraid I'm losing control of the situation. If LZ comes down and finds me whipping up the girls (once again) "right before bedtime," there will be heck to pay.

"Last time," I say.

The wild rumpus continues, but mercifully winds down as the song ends. The girls are on the floor, still half-laughing, but mostly gasping for air. Two crawls over to me.

"Now make him sing like a pig, Daddy."

2004-10-20T12:57:00.000-05:00

FALL FUN FAIR

"Where's LZ?"

"Is LZ around?"

"Where's LZ?"

LZ was busy with D at an all day band competition, and I'd taken the Things out to the local community event. As someone who is fairly well read and fairly well immersed in popular culture, I'm very much aware of the possibilities when a dad has the kids for a day in a sea of moms. Another mom is invariably intrigued by the fish out of water and casts a hook. This then leads (depending on whether one is the high art or the low art sort) to anything from an erotic entanglement ending in disaster, or to a series of comic blunders of the Mr. Mom variety.

Apparently we don't live in that kind of town. Or mabye I'm just not the right type of dad.

The other moms appeared irritated with me for showing up in public without LZ, as if I had forbidden her to leave the house, or even forcibly restrained her in some way. A few kept looking past me, scanning the crowd, as if willing LZ to appear over the horizon and save their afternoons.

I saw Amy's mother. She didn't look especially happy to see me, so I walked over to her.

"I'm glad to see Amy's recovered," I said.

"Recovered? Recovered from what?" she asked.

"Why the girls told me that Charlee Anne had cut Amy in half and put her back together," I said. "Looks like it went off without a hitch." I gestured to Amy, who was obviously in one piece.

"We've got to get going," she said. "Amy wants to paint a pumpkin."

Someone was tugging on my sleeve. "Daddy, can we paint a pumpkin?" T2 asked.

"Sorry," I said. "Our religion forbids the creation of graven images. Especially at five dollars a pop."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The girls threw some plastic balls in the general direction of some peach baskets.

"They get a small prize just for trying," the woman at the stand told me. "Would you like to buy some more balls and let them try for a bigger prize?"

"I hope you're not trying to hustle me like some two bit carny," I said. "The small prize will be fine."

The woman made a sour face at me as she pointed the girls to a basket containing the small prizes.

"That was Callie's mom," T2 told me as we left the stand.

"Uh oh," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I took note of the prizes. T2 had a bag of Skittles. T1 has a pack of something called candy sticks. It took me a second to realize that they were oldtime candy cigarettes, renamed for the new world.

"Look Daddy, I'm smoking," T1 said. She had one of the candies expertly drooping out of the side of her mouth.

Two more moms passed by. One stopped, hands on hips, and glared at me as if I had personally fired up a Marlboro and forced it on T1.

"How do you know about smoking anyway?" I asked.

"From TV," they both said.

"Oh," I said. Then I remembered: "Wait a minute," I said. "They don't smoke on TV, especially not on the shows you watch."

"We saw it on The Simpsons," T1 said.

"D lets us watch it with him, in his room," T2 added.

Oh," I said.

"Can we trade some candy?" T2 asked her sister. "I want to smoke too."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We came upon a raffish looking man with slicked back black hair and an aggressive mustache.

"Hola, muchachas," he said as he passed.

"Hola, senor," the Things replied.

"What was that?" I asked. "Who was that?"

"Our Spanish teacher," they said.

"You have a Spanish teacher? In kindergarten?" I asked.

"Si senor," they giggled.

"Daddy," T1 said. "El cielo es azul."

"And Daddy," T2 said. "La hierba es verde."

"I believe you," I said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We watched a small boy roll down a big hill. He got up and ran right toward us. He pointed to himself, and shouted "Arriba." Then he ran back up the hill, laughing hysterically all the while.

"That was Kenny," Ti said.

"I thought you didn't like Kenny," I said.

"The Mean Kenny is the one we don't like," T2 said. "That one is the Silly Kenny."

"We like the Silly Kenny," Ti said. "Even though he is a nut."

"Why do you think he is a nut?" I asked.

"I think he watches too much TV," T2 said.

"Well, I think it's too much sugar," T1 opined.

"Too much sugar?" I said. "Where did you come up with that?"

"It's what the bus mom said about me and Charlee Ann," she answered.

"Oh," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I came upon a big burly man shepherding two little, though burly, children through the refreshment line. He looked vaguely familiar.

"Long time, no see," he said.

"Baseball season?" I guessed.

He gave me a bonecrushing handshake.

We stood there in silence.

A black standard poodle walked by unaccompanied.

"I'd rather carry my wife's handbag than be seen with a dog like that," he said.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Me too" seemed a little lukewarm as well as unoriginal. I tried to picture any of LZ's handbags but couldn't conjure any up. I could have pointed out that the dog appeared to be alone and doing quite well. Then I remembered that we had a dog that, in certain quarters, could be seen as even worse than a poodle. Did the burly guy know that? Was he insulting me?

"Oh," I said.

"Daddy, can we eat on a stack of hay instead of a picnic table?" T2 asked.

"Sure," I said.

"See you around," I said to the burly guy.

He didn't hear me. A couple of the moms had attached themselves to him and were hanging on his every word. I though I heard him say "handbag," just before the moms broke out in waves of laughter.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What a great day," I said as we were leaving. "I guess you girls saw all your friends."

"Yes, daddy," they said.

I sprung the trap. "I was hoping to meet Charlee Anne," I said. "But she wasn't there, was she?"

"Daddy," they said, "we already told you. Charlee Anne can't come. She had to go on a secret trip."

"I knew nothing about this," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LZ was waiting for us at home.

"What went on at that fair?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Eve called. She heard you weren't letting the girls do any of the activities. You told them they were Jewish and weren't allowed to participate."

"There's been a lot of misinformation about this Fun Fair," I said. "And I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

2004-10-13T12:11:00.000-05:00

THE WHEELS ON THE BUS

We were standing in the driveway, The Things and I, waiting for the school bus.

I saw it round the corner. "Here comes the bus," I said brightly.

Without a good-bye or a backwards glance The Things charged up the driveway.

"Me first," said T1.

"No. My turn," said T2.

When the bus door opened they charged and stuck, cartoonlike, shoulder to shoulder, backpacks swinging.

"Me," said T1.

"No," said T2.

She twisted a little and broke free, but stumbled. T1 adroitly stepped over her and attained the bus first.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did they get off all right?" LZ asked.

"Fine," I said. "But there was quite a scrum about who would get on the bus first."

"Apparently there's a new girl, a Charlee Anne on the bus."

"Oh," I said. "Do we have any more coffee?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was on my way to the farm market with T1.

"Can we buy a pumpkin?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I'm just buying tomatoes. It's still summer for me."

"Look," T1 yelled. "There's Charlee Anne's house. She showed us from the bus."

I noted a big new brick and vinyl monstrosity dropped into what had been, until recently, a fine field.

"That's quite a house," I said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I saw Charlee Anne's house on the way to farm market," I told LZ.

"I doubt it," she said. "Unless you took a very odd route. I'm pretty sure she lives in Eve's neighborhood, not out by the market."

"Hmm," I said.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Charlee Anne lives all by herself," T1 said.

"No parents?" I asked.

"They had to go to jail," T2 said.

"Why was that?" I asked.

"For stealing. Money."

"Does Charlee Anne have any brothers or sisters?" I asked.

"Daddy, you weren't listening," T1 said. "I just told you, she lives all alone."

"Here comes the bus," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did you know the parents were in jail?" I asked LZ.

"There may be something to that," she said. "Something's going on. Eve told me. She doesn't know all the details, but there is a chance that someone is in jail. She's trying to get the scoop."

"Oh," I said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was big news at the dinner table that evening.

"Charlee Anne had to leave school early," T2 said.

"And why was that?" I asked.

"I don't know," T2 said. "She didn't tell me."

"I know," T1 said.

"Tell us," I said.

"Charlee Anne had to leave school early," she said. "Her deer was in the hospital and she had to go visit it."

"Charlee Anne has a deer?" I asked.

"Yes, Daddy," they both chimed in. "We told you already."

"What happened to the deer?" I asked.

"It was bitten by a big animal, like a bear," T1 said.

"We don't have any bears around here." I said. "I'm sure of it." (I was pretty sure.)

"I said a big animal LIKE a bear, not a bear," T1 said.

"What kind of animal do think it was, then?" I asked.

"It was an animal bigger than a dog, but not a dog. Like one of the animals we see on television," T1 said. "I don't know the name of it."

"And how is the deer?" I asked.

"It was bitten on the leg only," T1 said. "It has a bandage and it will be all right."

"Good," I said. "Oh, by the way, how did Charlee Anne get to the hospital? Don't tell me she drives a car."

The Things laughed at my credulousness. T1 laughed so hard she spit up some food and was severly admonished by LZ. I was given a warning look as well.

"Her grandparents took her," T2 said. "They are not dead yet."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"In the summer," T1 said, "Charlee Anne cut Amy in half and then put her back together again, and she wasn't hurt at all."

"Who wasn't hurt? Charlee Anne?" I asked.

"No, Daddy, Amy wasn't hurt."

"Who told you this, Charlee Anne, or Amy?"

"Charlee Anne," they yelled.

"Aha," I said.

"Here comes the bus," they yelled. And they were off.

But as they charged I was right behind them. As they ran up the steps and down the aisle I leaned into the bus and motioned to the driver, Miss Ricki.

"Could you do me a quick favor?" I asked. "Which one of those girls is Charlee Anne?"

Miss Ricki laughed loudly, and, I felt, inappropriately.

"Charlee Anne," she roared. "No Charlee Annes on this bus!"

She reached for the crank and began closing the door. I stepped off the bus. As it pulled away I could see that Miss Ricki was still laughing, her head bobbing and weaving as she bore down on the next stop.

I stood there for a minute trying to puzzle it out. Then I felt a chill. Summer really was over. I went back into the house.

---------------------------------------------------------------

"We have to talk," I said to LZ.

What about?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I said.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-10-08T13:01:00.000-05:00

THREE'S AN INSURRECTION

"Daddy, where's the water pistol?" T2 asked.

"I put it away," I said. "I don't think it's a good tub toy."

"Why not?"

"First of all," I said, "there's only one of them. There's too much whining about whose turn it is, and there's been grabbing and hitting. You two don't seem to be able to share it properly. And also, whoever's getting squirted gets angry and there's a big commotion. That's why we won't be using it in the tub any more."

"Just think Daddy," T2 said, "if we were triplets, we'd be even madder."

2004-09-24T13:30:00.000-05:00

BUGEL INVESTIGATES

"I need a favor," Marcus said.

"Not a chance," I said.

"That house you're renting with Joe H. It has three bedrooms, doesn't it?" Marcus asked.

"I never noticed," I said.

"Well, the thing is, we hired a new soundman for the band, and he needs a place to stay."

"Why would you hire a homeless soundman?" I asked.

"He's not homeless," Marcus said. "It's just that he's from up north and he'd have to move down here to work for us."

"Why didn't you get a local guy?" I asked.

"This guy has a lot of equipment, plus he was the only one to answer our ad," Marcus said.

"I don't think I want any soundmen in the house," I said. "They're a weird bunch, in general."

"This guy can pay; he'll even give you a couple of months in advance. That's how desperate he is," Marcus said.

"When can he move in?" I asked.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was working days and going to school four night a week. On Saturdays I tried to catch up with everything and get a little rest. FW was agitating to get married, even though I suspected her of cheating on me while I was listening to lectures on Max Weber or writing papers on the dramatic structures of Restoration comedies. I thought I was at a low point.

Then Bugel started dropping in on Sundays. At first it was to watch the football game, then it became both games. Then it was both games and 60 Minutes.

"What's with that new roommate of yours?" Bugel asked. "Is he gay or what?"

"I don't know," I said. "I hardly ever see him."

"He must be gay," Bugel said. "He never watches football with us."

"He usually drives up on Sundays and visits his family," I said.

"Doesn't that sound pretty gay to you?" Bugel asked.

"I never really thought about it," I said.

"These chips and pretzels aren't doing it," Bugle said. "Don't you have any real food? And we're going to need some more beers too."

I cleaned up the snack mess and went out to the kitchen. I put a frozen pizza in the oven and grabbed two beers. When I got back Bugle was coming down the stairs.

"I proved it," he said. "He is gay."

"How did you do that?" I asked.

"I searched his room," Bugel said. "I found a whole stash of hard core porn that he'd left out in the bottom of his closet, hidden under some clothes, way in the back."

"Gay porn?" I asked.

"No, regular," Bugel said.

"So how does that prove he's gay?" I asked.

"It not only proves he's gay, it proves he's in the closet too, and probably because of your intolerance," Bugel said. "He can't get gay porn because he's afraid you or Joe will snoop around and find it. So he gets regular, but he looks at the guys and not the girls, and he knows if you find it you can't prove anything."

"You should have been a detective, instead of a toilet maker," I said.

"I'm a ceramics technician, and mold former," Bugle corrected. "With full union benefits."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

I ran into Marcus at a local diner. He was eating a big plate of french fries swimming in brown gravy.

"I hear you're living with a gay guy," Marcus said. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"You'll be the first to know," I said. "And how do you know he's gay?"

"He told me," Marcus said. "He trusts me."

"Gay and stupid," I said. "Not a great combination in these circles."

"He asked to keep it confidential," Marcus said. "I told him I would, just in case I could get anything else out of him."

"Did it work?" I asked.

"Yes," Marcus said. "He told me he had feelings for me."

"It's not enough you have to have all the girls after you? I asked. "Do you really need the boys too?"

"It's not my fault," Marcus said. "He wants me. What can I do?"

"I would almost believe you," I said, "but I know he really has his eye on someone else. He's been following Joe around like a puppy dog, laughing at his jokes, fetching him beers, carrying his equipment. He even cooked dinner for the two of them the other night. It's not a pretty scene."

"What are you going to do about it?" Marcus asked.

"I ought to wring your neck for instigating this mess," I said. "That's what I should do."

Marcus laughed.

"But what are you going to do about it?" he asked again.

"I may as well get married," I said. "It can't be any more aggravating than what I put up with from those two and with Bugel hanging around all the time."

"That's the spirit," Marcus said. "And who will it be? FW? Or the new one that you think no one knows about?"

"I haven't decided," I said. "I'll probably just flip a coin. But either way, you're not invited."

"Have a french fry," Marcus said. "They're tremendous here."

2004-09-21T08:49:00.000-05:00

LIFE DURING WARTIME

We were tailgating before the Big Monday Night Game. Our hosts were grilling shrimp and steak, along with the usual burgers and dogs. In addition to the full cooler of beer, a guy had set up a little martini bar on a card table, and was mixing away.

"This is a pretty good deal," I said.

"You're not kidding," Buck said. "These people really know how to put on a spread. Who are they again?"

"I'm not exactly sure what the connection is," I said. "Friends of somebody. Probably JA's. He invited us."

"So, did you have any trouble getting out?" Buck asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"MB gave me a bunch of guff," Buck said.

"But you have season tickets," I said. "Why would she be surprised that you are going to the game?"

"I had the business buy the tickets," Buck said. "I told MB that I would probably be giving them away to clients, not going myself. And then she got a little mad because she asked me to run a few errands this afternoon, which I blew off. She didn't understand why I had to hurry to leave six hours before the game."

"We had a little logistics problem," I said. "It's Back to School night and LZ had to scramble for a babysitter, but it was no big deal."

"Funny you should mention that," Buck said. "I forgot to tell you, not only is MB made at me, but so is my girlfriend. It's Back to School night at her kid's school too. First, she's mad at her husband because he's down here at the game, instead of supporting their kid's education. Then she called me to come over since he would be out late. When I told her I was going to the game too, she freaked."

"Things are pretty complicated in your neck of the woods, aren't they?" I asked.

"Same old, same old," said Buck. "I get by as best I can."

"It's getting time to go in," I said. "Let's hit it."

"Should we chip in for this food?" Buck asked.

"Heck no," I said. "We were invited. It would be an insult to offer these guys money. You don't want to impugn their hospitality, do you?

"Not me," Buck said. "I was brought up better than that."

2004-09-14T14:25:00.000-05:00

WELL ENOUGH NOT LEFT ALONE

"Daddy, I really want to go to that restaurant badly," T1 said.

"It's in Chicago," I said.

"Can we go there?" T1 asked.

"No, it's too far," I said.

"They have good desserts," T2 said. "We saw them on television."

"We are not taking a plane ride to Chicago to eat dessert," I said. "It's out of the question."

"They have other regular food too," T1 said.

"I like plane rides," T2 said. "Don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember," I said. "But we are not going to Chicago for desserts or for regular food and that's final. Now good night."

I walked down the stairs to a chorus of screams and wails.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What's going on? LZ asked.

They wanted to watch The Fairly Odd Parents," I said, "but I couldn't bear it. I told them they could only stay up if we watched something else. I thought The FoodChannel would be all right."

I'll never understand," LZ said, why you insist on getting them all worked up just before bedtime. Don't you know it's a school night?"

2004-09-13T12:30:00.000-05:00

TRIFECTA, CONT.

I heard the phone ringing as I walked into the house.

"It's a man," T1 said. "He wants to talk to you."

"It's me," Jurvoz said.

"Your call is important to me," I said. "How can I help you?"

"You think you're a lot funnier than you really are," Jurvoz said. "Now, listen, did you hear about that new restaurant in CollegeTown? All they serve is tapas. It's a tapas restaurant."

"Sounds great," I said. "Maybe we should go there sometime."

"I've got a better idea," Jurvoz said.

"Really?" I asked. "What is that?"

"We should have our own tapas party." Jurvoz said. "You can go online and get the menu from the restaurant. Then figure out the ingredients and buy what we need. I'll do all the cooking."

"I would do it," I said. "But you know LZ. She's allegic."

"You can't be allergic to tapas" Jurvoz said. "It's impossible."

"Just looking at them, she blows right up, gets all red, can't catch her breath. It's terrible"

"Not from tapas," Jurvoz said. "You must be thinking of something else."

"Oh, I know what I'm of thinking of," I said. "And she's very allergic."

"Maybe another cookout," Jurvoz said. "An off-season bash would be good."

"I'll have to get back to you on that," I said. "My grill is in the shop."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Call the kids," I told LZ. "I've got an idea for where we should go tonight."

2004-09-10T13:01:00.000-05:00

TRIFECTA

LZ called just before I was leaving work. "Can you stop at the MegaFoodGiant on your way home and pick up a box of BetterBurgers? They're on a big sale."

"You know I hate that place," I said. "I can never find anything."

"If you can't find them, just ask," LZ said. "That's why they have Customer Service."

"OK," I said.

I wandered around the MegaFoodGiant's frozen food section until I was. At that point I gave in and went to Customer Service. A blue-haired lady and I get there at the same time. There was no one else in line. I gallantly let her approach first.

"Can I help you?" the Customer Service girl asked.

Blue Hair one was rummaging through her purse. Finally she produced two overstuffed envelopes. They were overstuffed with lottery pick sheets, lists of numbers on white paper, and regular lottery tickets. She dumped the tickets on the desk.

"First, I'll need you to run these and see if there's any winners. They checked them at the office, and I checked my own, but I just want to be sure."

"No problem!" said Customer Service Girl.

That took a while.

"Now I need 50 of the Pick3 and 50 of the Pick4. The numbers are on these sheets."

She dropped two scrabbly pieces of paper on the counter.

"Fine!" said Customer Service Girl.

I was getting a little desperate. I wanted to leave and go look for the burgers again on my own, but I knew it would be futile. In addition, there was a line growing behind me and I didn't want to lose my place. So I waited.

"And here's our cards for the SuperSuperMillions game," Blue Hair said. "There's 200 altogether. I'm buying for the whole office."

"Great!" said customer service girl.

Time and space began to blur around the edges. On reflection, I believe I had entered a sort of fugue state at this point. I could hear words, but they had ceased to make sense.

"Now I need some scratchies. What games do you have back there?"

"We have Harvest Madness, Bouncing Balls, Election Explosion, and Football Kickoff."

"Is that all?"

"That's just the ones on the bottom shelf. Let me get a stool and read the ones up top for you."

"Do you think you could hurry?" Blue Hair asked. "I've got to get home."

"We also have some leftover OlympicsRules, some BackTo SchoolBucks, SoccerSlam, MovieMoolah...."

"Don't you have the Halloween ones yet?" Blue Hair asked. "I bought some GreedyGhoulies and JackpotJackO'Lanterns yesterday at the UltraBiggerMarket."

"Ours haven't come in yet," said customer service girl.

"This store is terrible." said Blue Hair. "By the time you get them, all the big prizes will be gone."

She scooped up her last batch of tickets and stalked off.

"Sir, sir. If you want help you'll have to step up. You're keeping people waiting."

I stepped up.

"Can you tell me where to find the BetterBurgers that are on sale?"

"BetterBurgers aren't on sale this week," she said. "Next!"

"Excuse me," I said. "It's right here in the circular."

She gave me a sharp look.

"That must be last week's. Next!"

"Excuse me," I said. "Look at the date. This is the current circular."

She grabbed the circular from my hand and puzzled it is if it were an ancient hieroglyph.

"The date is right there," I said. "Right at the top."

She slammed the circular down.

"Did you look where the frozen hamburgers are? In the frozen meat section?"

"Yes, I did," I said.

"There's a big cooler in the aisle with the sale meats," she said. "Did you look there?"

"Yes," I said. "I did."

"We are all out," she said.

"But the sale just started," I said. "How can you be all out?"

"The sale has been going on all week, sir," she said.

It's only Monday," I said. "Don't the sales start on Sunday?"

She got a little louder. "I said we are all out. Next!"

"Wait a second," I said.

There was a lot of grumbling in the line behind me. "Hey buddy," someone yelled. "Move along. Give the girl a break."

A young man, maybe nineteen, approached.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He pointed to a plastic nametag tacked onto his shirt pocket: Art F - Asst Mgr.

"Kick him out," someone yelled.

"I just want to know where I can find the BetterBurgers that are on sale," I said.

"They haven't come in yet," he said.

"She says they've sold out and you say they haven't come in," I said. "Which is it?"

"Maybe we do have some," he said. "Follow me."

We worked our way back to aisle with the sale meat cooler. Art pointed to the cooler.

"They're in there," he said.

"No," I said. "There are no BetterBurgers in there. It's just GoodBurgers and BestBurgers. That's not what I want."

"This really isn't my department," Art said. "I'm technically in non-foods. Let me see if I can find an assistant meat manager to explain this to you."

Art wandered off.

I waited for a few minutes, then started to leave myself, but I heard Art calling from the end of the aisle.

"I just found out," he said. "They'll be here tomorrow, or Thursday at the latest."

"OK," I said. "Can I get a rain check?"

"Of course," Art said. "Just go back to Customer Service and get a form. After you fill it out take it back to the meat section and the assistant manager will initial it, then take it back to Customer Service and have them stamp it for you."

"Maybe I could get a whole bunch of those forms and grill them up for dinner. What do you think?" I asked Art.

"Sir, if you are going to continue to be unreasonable I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises of the MegaFoodGiant immediately," Art said.

"OK, then," I said. "See you Thursday."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LZ was waiting for me at the door. Her face fell when she saw that I was empty-handed.

"Where were you?" she asked. "You're almost an hour late and I see you forgot to stop for the burgers."

"Maybe we should all go out tonight," I said.

2004-09-07T09:41:00.000-05:00

LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION

"Whatever happened to Big Fat Obnoxious Guy?" LZ asked. "You haven't mentioned him in a while."

"I guess he's gone," I said. "It's been over a year since I've seen him."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, as these things happen, I ran into him just a few days later. Seem he's got himself a Subworld franchise in Toms River, NJ. The Subworld building is new and clean, but it fronts a blighted strip mall in a blighted area. Business can't be that good.

There was a big sign out front: Now Open For Breakfast.

I walked in but there was no one around. I waited a minute and finally, BFOG emerged from the back of the store.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'll have a coffee," I said.

He exhaled. He gave me a disgusted look. "Just coffee?"

"Just coffee," I said.

He walked back to the storage area. I could hear him banging around, but I couldn't see what was going on. He came back a few minutes later.

"What size?"

"What do you have?" I asked.

"We have small," he said. "And we have large."

"I'll have a large," I said.

He filled a large cup about three quarters full and set it down on the counter in front of me. I could tell he was spoiling for a fight, hoping I would say something about my less than full cup.

I couldn't do a thing. I didn't have the energy for a fight until I'd had my coffee, and if I did drink the coffee, I'd have destroyed the evidence.

"That's $1.06," BFOG said.

I didn't have any change, so I gave him two singles. He gave me another look, worse that all the others put together, as he carefully counted out the change and slammed it down on the counter.

I walked over to the prep area. There was sugar and stirrers and lids, but no milk or cream. I looked back to the counter, but BFOG was gone.

"Yo," I yelled.

"What is it now?" he yelled from the back.

"Do you have milk for the coffee?" I asked.

"Jesus. It's in the cold case with the sodas, practically right in front of you."

I walked over. There was a half gallon jug of whole milk and one of lowfat. Both were well past their expiration dates.

"Yo," I yelled again.

I heard a crash in the back and some curses. "My God. What do you want now?"

"Your milk is expired. I don't want expired milk, " I said.

"That's all the milk we have," he yelled back. "Take it or leave it."

I left it. I walked out with my unfull cup of black coffee and headed to my car. I got in and sat there for a minute, then I got out and walked back into the Subworld. BFOG was still in the back.

"Listen," I said. "This is not my fault. What did you think, that I would buy a million dollars worth of breakfast sandwiches and save your franchise? You make decisions, you make choices, you end up in a certain place. Maybe it was stupidity on your part. Maybe you were led on. Who knows. Imperfect information leads to imperfect results. Right now it's not pretty for you, but it's like that for a lot of people all over. No use begrudging me a cup of coffee."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did he say anything?" LZ asked.

"Not a word. Never even came back out to the counter," I said.

"Could you tell me," LZ asked, "what on earth you were doing in New Jersey? In Toms River?"

"No, I can't, " I said.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

More questions.

1. When is a river not a river?
2. Why would it matter?
2a. And to whom?

2004-08-29T06:44:00.000-05:00

SANDALPHOBE

Three Goths walked by, all dressed in Goth.

"Wouldn't you think they'd be a little hot in those layers and long black pants?" LZ said.

"I don't think they have a choice," I said. "If you sign up, you've got to wear the uniform."

"It's not really that good a look, " LZ said. "Especially when it's in the 90's and the humidity is worse."

I thought this would be the perfect time for me to say, "Remember, it's not the heat, it's the stupidity," but I checked myself. I've said it once a summer for the last few years (always at what I feel is a really opportune moment) but I've never gotten a reaction, so I'm retiring the line.

"You'll notice CB," I said. "You'll never see him in short pants, no matter how hot it is."

"I hadn't noticed," LZ said.

"It's true," I said. "I have noticed."

"I wonder why that is," LZ said.

"Maybe he has knobby knees," I said.

"It's probably some weird guy thing," LZ said. "Like he thinks it's gay for a grown man to wear short pants."

"You could be onto something," I said. "I've got that with sandals. You'll never catch me in sandals."

"There's nothing wrong with sandals," LZ said. "Lots of men wear sandals."

"You know," I said, "if every man I ever saw was wearing sandals, I wouldn't think sandals were in style. I would just think that everyone had turned gay."

"That's ridiculous," LZ said. "Sometimes I think you're becoming a real homophobe."

"I'm not really like that," I said. "It's just this oppressive weather. Making me a little punch drunk. Remember, it's not the heat...."

I didn't get to finish. The phone had started ringing and LZ was running back to the house, well out of earshot.

2004-08-16T09:54:00.000-05:00

TORO, TORO, TORO

"I had a dream," I told LZ.

She groaned and rolled over.

"I'm going to tell you about it," I said.

I heard a whimper from under the covers. I felt a kick.

"We were in Charleston," I said. "I knew it was supposed to be Charleston, even though everything behind us was at the Jersey shore."

"Fascinating," said LZ. "I never knew dreams could be all disjointed like that."

"We were standing on a little sidewalk, with boardwalk and the ocean were directly behind us, but we were looking out on a Charleston street full of restaurants and shops."

"Maybe I should get up and takes notes," LZ said.

"Don't worry about that," I said. "I've got the official transcript. You can refer to that if need be."

"So, there was a Japanese restaurant on the left. It had a purple neon sign. I forget the name. Apparently we had eaten there before and were deciding if we should go there again. To our right there was a ramp. There was a Japanese woman and her daughter, about 15 or so, standing on the ramp. They were looking at the restaurant as well."

"'Do you know this restaurant?' she asked you."

"'Yes,' you said. 'It's very good.'"

"'It has a terrible name,' she said. 'Not Japanese.'"

"'Oh,' you said."

"'Is the food good?' the woman asked."

"'Yes,' you said. 'It's very good.'"

"'It is not good.' the woman said. 'Not real Japanese.' By now she was really yelling at you."

"What were you doing when she was yelling at me?" LZ asked.

"Well, I didn't like it," I said. "But I was being an observer at that point. I wanted to see what would happen if I didn't interfere."

"So you didn't stand up for me?" LZ asked.

"I really didn't think it was necessary," I said. "And I was pretty sure it was a dream by that point, because I knew if it was real life I would have been yelling by then."

"Did you ever study logic?" LZ asked. "Or do you just come by this stuff naturally?"

"Then she asked if you liked the sushi," I said. "You said you did, and she got really angry: 'You don't know sushi, sushi there is like rubber,' she shouted. 'Not real fish at all.'"

'"And the salad,' she said. 'Have you tried the salad?'"

"'Yes,' you said, 'I enjoyed it.'"

"'That was not chicken in the salad,' the woman said. 'They use lizard instead of chicken. It is not a good salad.'"

"At this point you were looking at me for help," I said. "So I sort of jerked my head, like we should leave down the other ramp even though I knew it would be the end of the dream."

"That was very noble of you," LZ said.

"The woman saw us starting to leave. 'And one last thing,' she yelled. 'Did you have the sake?'"

"'Yes,' you said. 'And it was very good.'"

"'It was not good.' the woman said. 'Did you see the label? Freestone. Do you think with a name like that it was Japanese sake? Of course not. You do not know sake at all.'''

"'She was right about that'" I told you," I said. "You're not a big sake expert."

"The Japanese woman was a stand-in for you," LZ said. "Even in your dreams you know I can't stand to be quizzed about things, so you dream up a Japanese woman to do it for you and get the blame, while you stand innocently by. That's why you're defending her about the sake too."

"I'm going to get up and make some coffee now," I said. "We've got a couple of kinds out there. Which do you think is best?"

2004-08-03T15:05:00.000-05:00

I HAVE NO MOUTH AND I MUST EAT

"I've noticed," said LZ, "that the character of you in those blog stories never gets upset. There's craziness and stupidity swirling all around, yet you remain calm."

"Yes, that's true," I said.

"That's how you see yourself?" LZ asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "All of the screaming and yelling I do on the outside means nothing. On the inside I'm as cool and collected as can be."

"I'm glad you cleared that up," LZ said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have realized how...."

"Hold that thought," I said. "I'm gonna go yell at the Things and maybe the dog; I'll be right back."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where were we?" I asked.

"I've also noticed," LZ said, "that the inhabitants of that farm you're running are disproportionately dead, or walking dead, or damaged in some horrible way."

"That is true," I said. "And it's only going to get worse. I'm sending Old Jake Jurvoz and his three brothers over there next. Two of them are already dead.

"And after that, I've got another dead guy with another big head, and a dead slow painter ready to go. Oh, and by the way, I was thinking we should have a cookout over the holiday weekend. How about it?"

"A cookout's fine," LZ said. "But let's keep it on the small side, nice and under control. Not a big blowout"

"No problem," I said.

2004-08-02T15:36:00.000-05:00

JURVOZ THROWS A WINGDING

"So, you're having a cookout over the holiday weekend," Jurvoz said.

"Word gets around, I guess," I said.

"I was talking to Fish. He told me."

"Remind me to thank him," I said.

"Are you having sausage?" Jurvoz asked.

"Yes, probably," I said. "I was thinking burgers, dogs, chicken, sausage, the usual cookout stuff."

"Where are you getting the rolls?" Jurvoz asked.

"I haven't thought it out that far yet," I said.

"For burgers and dogs, the rolls don't matter," Jurvoz said. "I don't really eat burgers and dogs. But for sausage, you've got to get your rolls from Bronzini's Bakery."

"They are good," I said. "But that's all the way up in Little Calabria."

"I'll pick them up for you," Jurvoz said. "How many do you want?"

"Two dozen should be good," I said.

"Only two dozen?" Jurvoz asked.

"It's a cookout, not a sausage party," I said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Who was on the phone?" LZ asked.

"Jurvoz," I said. "He's invited himself and two dozen rolls to the cookout."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's me," Jurvoz said.

"What's up?" I said.

"Have you been thinking about what I said? About the rolls? They've got to be Bronzini's, remember?"

"I thought you were going to pick them up," I said.

"Did I?" Jurvoz asked. "I guess I could do that. As a favor. Otherwise, your sausage sandwiches won't be any good at all."

"Thanks," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

JA stopped by.

"I saw Jurvoz the other night," he said. "Says he's helping you out with your barbeque, sort of like a cohost. Picking up rolls and a bunch of other stuff that you hadn't thought of."

"Like a cohost," I said.

"Jurvoz says it's going to be quite a wingding," JA said.

"He said that? Wingding?"

"Those were his words," JA said. "Sounds like it's going to be quite an affair."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do I look like someone who would have a wingding?" I asked LZ.

"No," she said. "You don't."

"I didn't think so," I said. "But apparently I'm to be involved in one."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John K was on the phone. "Jurvoz called about the big blowout you're having. Just wanted to let you know we'll all be there. The whole gang."

"Great," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I called my brother. "On your way over tomorrow, can you stop at Bronzini's and get a couple of dozen rolls for sausage sandwiches?"

"No problem," he said.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cookout was in full swing when Jurvoz pulled up. He handed me a white grocery bag.

"SuperFood Giant," I said. "What's this?"

"The rolls you wanted," Jurvoz said. "I didn't have time to get over to Bronzini's, so I stopped at the supermarket. Don't worry, these are just as good, probably better. Bronzini's has been going downhill."

"No problem," I said. I stashed his supermarket rolls in the kitchen and brought out the Bronzini ones that my brother had picked up.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jurvoz was holding court from a lawn chair strategically placed between the grill and the keg. He waved me over.

"These sausage sandwiches are great," he said. "This is my third one. I was just telling these guys here, the key to a sausage sandwich is the roll. You've got to have a fresh roll with the right consistency. It's all in the roll."

"I hadn't heard that," I said. "Thanks for bringing me into the loop."

2004-07-25T08:26:00.000-05:00

LAWS ARE PRESCRIPTIVE, NOT DESCRIPTIVE, HE EXPLAINED

"It's Jurvoz." LZ said. "She held the phone in two fingers, arm stretched out as far as possible, as if the phone itself were contaminated.

"What does that nut want?" I asked.

"He wants you," LZ said.

"Good," I said. "I was hoping he'd call."

LZ set the phone down and backed out of the room.

"Jurvoz," I said. "What's up?"

"I heard that nut comment," he said.

"What's up?" I said.

"I was thinking," Jurvoz said. "Are you still getting out to the track a lot?"

"Not really," I said. "What with D and his activities, and the Things, and the two jobs, and all the blogging, I haven't had much time."

"All the what?" Jurvoz asked. "What's blogging?"

"You'll see," I said.

"I was thinking," Jurvoz said, "we should go out there tomorrow night. I hear there's a promotion going on, like half price valet parking, or something else good."

"Great," I said. "I'm free."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jurvoz pulled something out from under the driver's seat. "I brought this for the ride," he said.

"A flask?" I said. "What is this, 1920? Who drives around with a flask?"

"I find them very convenient," Jurvoz said.

"My God," I said. "What do you have in there? It smells terrible?"

"I think what you're smelling is my hair," Jurvoz said. "I loaded up with Vitalis."

"Vitalis," I said. "I didn't know they still made it."

"I'm not sure they do, " Jurvoz said. "I bought a couple of bottles at a flea market. They could have been leftovers."

"Except for the smell, the effect is sort of lost," I said. "What with the big hat."

"This big hat is a Stetson," Jurvoz said. "A Diamante, to be exact."

"What's a hat like that run?" I asked.

"I know they're pricey," Jurvoz said. "But I couldn't tell you exactly what they go for."

"Why is that?" I asked. "Fall off the back of a truck?"

"No, off a careless cowboy."

So what's in the flask, then?" I asked.

It's a blend," Jurvoz said. "Mostly bourbon, some scotch, and topped off with some brandy to smooth it out. Have a swig."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're not buying a program?" I asked.

"I don't know why you'd waste your time trying to figure all that stuff out," Jurvoz said. "Everyone knows it's all fixed."

"I know there have been some incidents," I said. "But it just as wrong to think that they're all fixed as it is to assume that none are."

"You keep believing that," Jurvoz laughed, as he settled himself in.

I only had time for a quick look at the first race, but I thought I saw something, so I got up to bet.

"Are you going to get drinks?" Jurvoz asked.

"I don't want to drink a lot," I said. "I'm trying to concentrate. Maybe I'll just get a beer."

"As long as you're going, get me a glass of whiskey." Jurvoz said. "And make it a triple, that way you won't have to keep going back and forth to the bar."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You haven't hit a single race yet," Jurvoz said. "I thought you said you knew what you were doing."

"I'm having trouble concentrating for some reason," I said. "Maybe we should just head out."

"Next time," Jurvoz said, "you should just bet by the names, or your favorite number, like that. Save yourself a lot of aggravation."

"You think that would work?" I asked.

"Look at me," Jurvoz said. "I hit that eighty dollar exacta just from what I overheard in the bathroom. Making money here, it's easy, as long as you don't overthink."

"Is that my problem?" I asked. "Overthinking?"

"For instance," Jurvoz said, "the next time you come out here, you should pick one jockey and just bet on him in every race. Then you wouldn't have to waste your time with all those numbers and calculations."

"Drivers," I said.

"What?" said Jurvoz.

"They're called drivers in harness racing, not jockeys."

"No difference," Jurvoz said. "But see how you get hung up on all the technicalities - no wonder you can't relax and pick a winner."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jurvoz fishtailed out of the parking lot in a shower of sand and gravel.

"Are you sure you all right to drive?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Jurvoz asked. "I only had a couple of drinks."

"Three triples and a flaskful," I said. "To be technical."

Jurvoz was quiet for a second. "I guess I have had a bit," he said. "But I'm fine. Look how big I am. A guy my size can drink as much as he wants. It's physiology."

Jurvoz sped past our exit.

"Physiology," I said. "You just missed our turnoff."

"I know what I'm doing," Jurvoz said. "I hear there's a new club up north a few miles. They said the girls get totally naked. We should check it out."

"I haven't heard of any club around here," I said. "This is all farm country."

"You're telling me farmers don't like naked women?" Jurvoz said. "I doubt that."

"I don't know much about farmers," I said. "But I do know there's no naked club around here. There's no naked clubs in this entire state. It's against the law."

If you believe things don't exist just because they are against the law, then you are either in deep denial or hopelessly naive," Jurvoz said. "Look at me: Totally hammered. Speeding. No license. No insurance. It's all supposedly against the law."

"Jesus," I said. "No license?"

"What you don't understand," Jurzov said, "is that the laws are just guidelines for people to follow. They're not real things."

"No insurance either?" I said.

"They sent me some sort of notice, demanding I surrender my license," Jurvoz said. "I never got around to mailing it back, but I did think to cancel my insurance. There's no way they would cover someone on the suspended list anyway."

"Sound logical," I said.

"I'm serious about the farmers," Jurvoz said. "My uncle, Old Jake Jurvoz, he was a farmer, and he was the biggest pervert you ever saw."

"I don't believe I ever met him," I said.

"You wouldn't have," said Jurvoz. "He's in a home for the criminally insane. In Idaho."

"Jumping Jesus," I said. "What did he do?"

"There were the usual charges," Jurvoz said. "And a few others added on. But he was so bonkers they never even had a trial. So, legally, he hasn't done anything."

"That's a mercy," I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jurvoz careened down one unlighted country road after another in search of the mythical farmer's strip club.

"You know what I need to straighten up?" he said.

"I couldn't guess," I said.

"A couple of lines," Jurvoz said. "No more than half a gram. You got any?"

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't realize it was my turn to bring it."

"I think I'll drive into the city," Jurvoz said. "There's an after hours joint where the bartender owes me some. "

"I've had it for the night," I said. "Maybe you should just drop me off."

"That's really out of my way," Jurvoz said.

Not really," I said. "You should be coming up to a county road that will take us back through Aytown. Then we can get back on the highway for there."

"I guess I could do that," Jurvoz said. "If you really have to go home." He gave me a pitying look.

"Just be careful going through Aytown," I said. "The speed limit drops with no warning and the police are notorious."

"Don't worry about it," Jurvoz said. "I know how to handle those yokels."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir, you were going 48 mph in a 25 mph zone," the Aytown cop said. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration."

Jurvoz fumbled through his wallet, trying to come up with the bogus documents.

"Have you been drinking, sir?" the cop asked.

Jurvoz sat up straight and stared directly at the cop.

"Of course," he said. "Early on."

"Please wait in the car, sir," the cop said. He walked back to the cruiser.

"Hang on," Jurvoz said. "When he gets in his car to run the plate, I'm gonna bolt."

"Are you sure that's the best option? I asked.

"Absolutely," Jurvoz said.

I snuck a look back. The cop stopped at the door of his car, hesitated, then leaned through the window and pulled out a citation book. He walked back to us.

"I'm going to let you off with a written warning, Mr Jurvoz," the cop said. "Have a nice evening."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LZ was waiting up. "How was it?" she asked.

"The usual," I said.

"Did you get what you needed?"

"It'll do," I said.

The phone rang. It was Jurvoz on his cell.

"That cop, I didn't like him," Jurvoz said. "He was giving me the hairy eyeball the whole time. I'm thinking of reporting him. Did you get his badge number?"

"Sorry, I missed it," I said.

"Jeez," Jurvoz said. "You don't drink, you don't gamble, you've got to be home for the eleven o'clock news, you're afraid of the police...."

I scratched the mouthpiece with my thumbnail. "You're breaking up," I said. "Gotta go."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-07-18T10:32:00.000-05:00

LZ GETS RELIGION

"I'd like some wine," LZ said.

"We have a some Yellowtail left, and a bottle of Clos Du Bois. Which should we drink first?" I asked.

"Let's finish the Yellowtail, then open the new bottle," LZ said.

"That's just how Jesus would have done it," I said. "Of course, he was going against conventional wisdom as well."

LZ just stared at me.

"WWJD," I said. "What would Jesus drink? It's a big deal with a lot of people."

I could see that was going nowhere, so, as a gambit, I decided to tell the truth.

"I meant," I said. " from the wedding feast at Cana. In the Bible. Jesus and his mom are at a wedding and they run out of wine. So his mom gives Jesus a nod and a wink, so he knows what to do. At first Jesus doesn't want to do it, he wanted to save his first miracle for something more than a party trick, but he also knows his mom wants more wine, so what can he do? He changes a big bunch of jugs of water into wine and saves the wedding.

"The punch line is that the guy running the wedding, I guess an employee of the banquet hall, calls the bridegroom aside and gives him a quick lecture on how to run a party, telling him, and I quote:

Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the quests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.

"Is that really in the Bible?" LZ asked.

"Speaking of drinking, did I ever tell you about my great grandfather and The Miracle of the Rubbing Alcohol?" I asked.

"If you don't get us some wine soon...." said LZ.

"How about I pour you one glass of each and we have a little taste test?" I asked.

LZ shot me a look.

"Ok," I said. "Never mind. I'll just get a glass at a time."

"Praise Jesus," LZ said.

"Just one more thing," I said. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to tell you about my great grandfather after all. I'm sending him over to the character place. That's where he really belongs. You can read about him over there in a day or two."

"Are you sure this is the Yellowtail?" LZ asked.

"I swear on a stack of Bibles," I said.

2004-07-18T08:40:00.000-05:00

CHARACTERPRISON DOT BLA BLA BLA

"I started a new blog," I told LZ.

"What's this one called?" she asked.  "I'm a lunatic dot bla bla bla?"

"No, it's not," I said. "You should know I always use made up compound words as my blog titles."

"You're starting to remind me of the Hunt brothers," LZ said. "And you know what happened to them."

"The who brothers?" I asked. "And what did happen to them?"

"What's this one about?" asked LZ.

Well, it's sort of complicated," I said. "but as you know, I've got all these characters, or fragments of characters, running around in my head. I haven't made a real effort to get rid of them because I thought they may come in handy some day."

"Go on," LZ said. "This is almost fascinating, in a subclinical sort of way."

"Well," I said, "I decided I've got to make some room in my brain for other stuff, like where I put my sunglasses, and how can I make some more money without really working too much. Stuff like that.

"So, I'm going to sort of emancipate them. I'm going to let them out of my brain, but not let them get away entirely. I'll let them roam around their own blog, where they won't be bothering me, but I'll know where they are if I need them."

"Sounds like a minimum security prison," said LZ.

"I was thinking of it more as a farm," I said. "But prison wouldn't be too harsh, considering how they've tortured me year after year."

2004-07-15T10:45:00.000-05:00

BEGGING THE QUESTION

"I've got that post up on the other site," I told LZ. "The one inspired by Two."

"Should I read it?" LZ asked. "Is it funny?"

"I once read that Kafka thought his stuff was funny," I said. "He would read it out loud to his friends and laugh hysterically."

"But did the friends laugh?" asked LZ. "I think that's the important question."

"It didn't say," I said. "Or it did, and I don't remember."

-

2004-07-14T12:33:00.000-05:00

ROLL OVER JOHN RITTER

Two and I were watching television on a morning just like this one.

"Clifford is not real," Two said.

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Dogs don't grow that big," she said.

"Clifford did," I said. "I see him right there. He's as big as the house."

"That is not a real dog. That is a bunch of men in a Clifford suit," Two said.

"Oh," I said. "So that's how they do it."

---------------------------------------------------------
RECIDIVISM

LZ was looking over my shoulder. "So, you finally get to a computer and this is what you come up with?" she said. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Exploiting your own children for cheap laughs. It's Art Linkletter stuff. And you know how he ended up."

"No, I don't," I said. "How did he?"

"Whatever happened to the Technology Summit?" LZ asked. "Shouldn't you be using your limited computer time to make fun of coworkers and strangers instead of your own family?

"It's not exploiting if I'm not being paid for it," I said.

"It's perversity, then," LZ said. "Plain and simple."

"I think you're on the right track," I said. "But it's more than that, well actually it's less. I've got no evidence that anyone actually reads this thing. In fact, I have some evidence that no one does. No one reads it, no knows who I am, no one can know who the Things are. And as for you, you don't even really exist. At least this version of you, this version of you having this conversation doesn't exist. It's a device of mine. You've got nothing to do with it at all. In fact, as I'm sure you know, your name isn't even really LZ."

I though I may have gone too far with that one, but LZ didn't seem annoyed. In fact, she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

"What I was doing," I said, "was trying to use the Clifford thing as a setup to a topical post. I was just feeling my way. It was not meant to reflect badly on Two."

"I thought," said LZ, "that you weren't going to use this one for topical stuff. I thought that's why you set up the other one."

"I wasn't thinking," I said. "I'll put it up over there as soon as I work it out."

2004-06-28T08:25:00.000-05:00

ALL POLITICS IS LOCAL

The Things have been staging an insurgency over the last few months. It came to a head this weekend. There were temper tantrums for no reason, unauthorized raids on the refrigerator, pitched battles over television access, pet maulings, and other offenses too numerous to mention.

Then, to top it off, Thing Two stayed up till all hours last night, making repeated forays downstairs when she should have been sound asleep.

So, in a surprise move, I transferred sovereignty to LZ very early this morning. This was done in a low key manner, with no fanfare. The Things, though awake, were groggy enough to be taken unawares, and the transfer was accomplished without incident or protest.

I then left the premises for a day at work, confident that the action I have taken will prevent any future uprisings and that peace will prevail.

2004-06-04T09:24:00.000-05:00

PROLOGUE

"Should we go see Shrek today?" I ask.

Chorus: "It's not Shrek, Daddy. It's Shrek 2."

IN THE THEATER

Thing One watches intently, never taking her eyes from the screen.

Thing Two squirms and ducks as if under attack.

IN THE CAR

"Daddy, can we go buy the DVD for Shrek 2 now?" asks One.

I explain the industry's position on theater grosses and release dates for DVDs.

"Then can we go back to the theater next week and watch Shrek 2 again?"

"We'll see about that," I say. "And how about you," I say to Two. "Did you like the movie?"

"I don't want to talk about it," says Two.

"Was it scary?" I ask.

"I said." (Emphatic pause) "I don't want to talk about it," says Two.

THE NEXT DAY

Two sidles up to me and whispers, "Daddy, when Shrek was a person he looked kind of cool."

"Anything else you want to say about the movie? I ask.

"No Daddy."

LATER THAT WEEK

"So," I ask, "which did you like better, Shrek or Shrek 2?"

"I liked Shrek 2 better," says One.

"And why was that?"

"I liked it when Shrek became a human."

"And what about you?" I ask Two.

"I like the regular Shrek the best," she says.

"And why is that?" I ask.

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

BEDTIME

"One last thing," I say to One. "For yourself, would you rather be a human or an ogre?"

"I don't want to answer that question," says One.

"Why not?" I ask.

"I'm not talking about it," says One. "And I'm not answering that question."

2004-05-28T14:49:00.000-05:00

DIVERSITY AND TECHNOLOGY, OR, BILLG BUYS ME LUNCH

A METAFICTION IN THE CLASSIC MODE

"How was the technology summit?" LZ asked.

(This being the first joke, as LZ knows better than to ask questions like this. As a matter of fact, this upcoming* story is, in a sense, a structured version of what I would tell LZ if she had been careless enough to ask.)

*upcoming - a word much favored by local news newscasters, as in "Upcoming! After this break! More local news!"

Moreover, whenever I hear "upcoming" I see Flounder vomiting on Dean Wormer and then reflexively hope against hope to see a local newscaster/sportscaster/weatherperson projectile vomit Live! But it hasn't happened yet.

"The what?" I ask, pretending to be distracted and not overly interested in relaying the nonsense of the day - if I had actually been asked, that is.

And anyway, I'd already told her the good parts, having called three times during the day.

"The technology summit," LZ said.

"You mean the Directors' and IT Managers Diversity and Technology Summit?" I asked.

(I may have to go back and fix that. I usually have the "I" of these narratives maintain a flat affect. I don't want him going all broad and sarcastic on me. It could ruin the effect.)

"I can't really talk about it now," I said. "I'm going to go write it up for the blog. I'll put your questions and comments in for you, and you can read it later."

(If I want your opinion....)

"You can't go on the computer," LZ said. "The Things are using it to learn how to read."

"Don't they have computers in the preschool for that?" I asked.

TO BE CONTINUED (as soon as I can get to a computer)

2004-05-21T09:02:00.000-05:00

ZENO STUFF

"Daddy, can we get a new house some day?" Thing One asked.

Nascent social climbing, I wondered, or just a vague innocent feeling that she somehow deserved better? I decided to proceed slowly.

"What kind of house are you thinking of?" I asked.

"Daddy, I would like a white house," Thing Two said.

With Two it's always the aesthetics.

"Daddy, I want a house that's not so far away," One said.

She must feel cheated, being so far out in the sticks, I thought. I feel the same way myself sometimes.

"So far away from what?" I asked.

"From school."

"Oh," I said. "Is the bus ride too long?"

"No, Daddy. I like the bus ride."

"The bus ride is too long!" said Two.

"Daddy, if we lived closer to school, we wouldn't have to get up so early, but we could still have a long bus ride."

"I said," stomped Two, "that the bus ride is too long!"

"Did you know," I asked, "that pretty soon you will be going to another school, one that is much closer?"

"Maybe," said One, "we could get another house just for a little while, then move back to this one."

"I would do it," I said. "But you know how Mommy is. I don't think she'd want to go to all the trouble."

They thought on that for a second, then both nodded sadly. Mommy was the fly in the ointment. There was no way around it.

FInally, Two broke the silence.

"Daddy." Two said, "What is fire made of and why does water put it out?

"Look," I said. "Here comes your bus now. You can ask Mommy about fire and water when you come home. Have a good day now."

2004-05-10T12:09:00.000-05:00

BUSTED, CONTINUED

THEY SAY THE KENNEDYS NEVER CARRIED CASH EITHER

I ran into B in the lobby of our building the other afternoon.

"Can I borrow five dollars?" she asked. "Just until I get back upstairs."

I knew it was futile, but I made a show of taking out my wallet and checking. "Sorry," I said. "I only have a dollar."

"Really," she said. "You really only have a dollar?"

"That's it," I said.

About fifteen minutes later B came over to my desk.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you downstairs," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Those people in line, I'm pretty sure they all heard you only had a dollar."

"I'm not embarrassed," I said.

"Really," B said. "I'd think you'd be embarrassed."

"I don't have much of a sense of shame, at least for financial stuff," I said.

"Could I ask you a question?" B said. "How do you leave the house with only a dollar? What if you need something?"

"Well, if something came up I have an ATM card and credit cards," I said. "It's not like I couldn't get money if I needed it."

B was laughing. "Still," she said, "who leaves the house with only a dollar? It's crazy."

"Actually, I didn't really leave the house with only a dollar," I said. "The day's almost over. I got gas this morning, bought coffee, and bought lunch. A dollar's just what I have left."

B laughed even harder. "Only a dollar," she repeated. "Wait until I tell my husband this one."

That got me to thinking. Exactly how much a source of amusement was I to her? What other "ones" had she told her husband about? Was I the office eccentric? I always thought she was providing me with material. Who knew it went both ways? And what to do about it?

---------------------------------------------------------------

On our way out the next morning I brought it to LZ.

"She's right," LZ said. "You shouldn't leave the house with only a dollar."

"With her, it's embarrassment and shame. With you, it's a moral imperative," I said.

"It's not morals," LZ said. "It's common sense."

"Is there a supposition that I have a big bag of money stashed somewhere in the house and every day I peel off one dollar bill and place it carefully in my wallet? I asked. "Is that what the two of you are getting at? And anyway, I told you I didn't start with just a dollar."

"You know what I mean," LZ Said. "It's irresponsible. What if something happened?"

"I can envision this happening," I said. "A guy tries to mug me in the parking garge and he gets enraged because I only have a dollar and he pistol whips and stomps me for being poor. Is that what you mean?

"I thought you said you got gas," LZ said. "Because you're almost out."

2004-05-06T11:32:00.000-05:00

BUSTED, PART 1

Thing Two has a question that comes out more as a statement: "We are poor, aren't we Daddy?"

"Well, Two" I say, "that's a relative term. Do you know what poor really means?

"Yes I do," Two says. "No money left. Spent it all."

"In that case, you're correct," I said. "We're just about out of money. How do you think that happened?"

One is jumping up and down. "I know, I know," she says.

"What is it?" I asked.

One sweeps her arm majestically across the room, pointing out the expanse of stuffed animals, the piles of games, the mounds of books, the colorful plastic toys, the towers of blocks, the monstrous miscellany that has taken over vast sections of the house..

"Look," she says. "We buyed everything!"

2004-04-29T15:41:00.000-05:00

OTHER THAN HIS FAMILY, HIS GREATEST LOVES WERE HIS FRUIT TREES

“Did you ever meet my Uncle Mitch?” I asked LZ.

“Wasn’t he a real famous guy that no one had ever heard of?” she asked.

“That’s him,” I said.

No,” she said. “He was before my time.”

“Did I ever tell you about him?” I asked.

“I don’t believe so,” LZ said. “But your mother has mentioned him from time to time.”

“She told you The Post wouldn’t run his obituary because of fact checking? All the people that hadn’t heard of him didn’t know he was dead either?”

“That’s not exactly how she phrased it.”

“This has been on my mind, “ I said, “because of the way obituaries are now. Have you read any obituaries recently?”

“I don’t believe so,” LZ said.

“They’ve changed,” I said. “They put in stuff that they people liked to do, their hobbies and interests. Sort of a last stab at humanization. Do you want to hear an example?”

“No, not really,” LZ Said.

“How about this,” I read” “S was an animal lover who especially loved dogs. It’s the especially that makes the sentence, isn’t it.” When I looked up, LZ was gone. I found her at the computer.

“She loved lions and tigers and enjoyed reading and crossword puzzles. That’s quite the gamut, isn’t it? I’ve got a mental image of this woman, gray hair, reading glasses perched down on her nose, brow slightly furrowed, just about to pencil in 11 Down. And at her feet, Simba, her favorite lion, and Rajah, her Bengal tiger, have snuggled in for a long winter’s nap.”

“You’re going to be late for work,” LZ said.

HE ALSO LOVED TO GARDEN AND COLLECTING ANYTHING

“Remember earlier this week, when we were talking about obituaries,” I said to LZ. “Well, I’ve been reading them every day. Some are really quite compelling. There’s a whole life and what do you get: Mr. D was a lifelong Yankees fan. Mr. W was very active in model railroading. L is remembered as an accomplished hostess, and lover of outrageous earrings.

“Maybe,” said LZ, “if you family hadn’t been so uppity, if they just put in about Mitch: He liked to play golf and drink whiskey, then the paper would have printed his obituary on time.

“I’ve got to get to work,” I said.

MR. E WAS A DEALER/BROKER IN ANIMAL HIDES AND SKINS FOR MANY YEARS

Later that day I called LZ. “I’ve been thinking,” I said. “When I die, please make sure that you put in my obituary that I couldn’t abide the NASCAR circuit. Can you remember that? And my favorite songs – put them in, will you? I’ll make a list.”

I’ll try to remember,” she said.

“And I like the Phillies, at least I like them better than the Yankees, who I never liked at all.”

“I thought you liked the Braves,” LZ said. “You make me watch all those playoff games with them.”

“I was just rooting for the Braves because they are in the same division as the Phillies,” I said. “I never root for teams from the west, or any American League teams at all, no matter where they’re from.”

“There’s no way any paper will print all this,” LZ said. “You’ll get ignored more than Mitch ever was.”

“I’ll write down the more essential stuff when I get home,” I said.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

V WAS SOBER FOR 34 YEARS

“My mother told you that; she told you Mitch was a golfer and a whiskey drinker?” I asked.

“When she gets going, she doesn’t leave much out,” LZ said.

“I bet she left out the part about my brother having Mitch’s ashes in his putter,” I said.

“Jesus Christ,” said LZ. “It never ends with the bunch of you, does it? This one you can tell me.”

“I’m sort of in a hurry,” I said. “Some other time.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

R WAS ALSO INVOLVED WITH HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW IN AN EXTERMINATING BUSINESS

“Mitch Jr. had told CR no, that they were going to bury Mitch under his favorite apple tree in the back yard, but CR figured they just made that up to put him off. Mitch never cared much for nature and in general, golfers don’t like trees. There was no way Mitch had a favorite apple tree. CR didn’t press the issue so as to not raise any suspicions, but when there was that get-together for Mitch III, he went down. Remember, we got out of that one. When CR got there he checked the hall closet and the ashes were still in a delivery case, behind the umbrellas, right were they’d been stashed how many years back. So he snuck them out toward the end of the night.”

“And what was the point of the great crime?” LZ asked.

“CR thought of it as a liberation, not a crime. He was going to take Mitch back out golfing. Literally. But the thing is, with the kids and all, and all their activities, CR really doesn’t have the time to golf anymore. He’s stashed his clubs in his own hall closet. I don’t think Mitch has been out even once.”

“Thanks for clearing all that up for me,” LZ said. "Now things are starting to make sense."

2004-04-28T14:29:00.000-05:00

-
THING ONE, THE 5 CANONS OF RHETORIC AND A RED HERRING

Thing Two was having a hard time getting up. I rousted her as gently as I could.

“Daddy, you woke me up before I finished my dream.”

“I’m sorry, Two, but it’s time to get up and get ready for school. Do you remember what the dream was about?”

“No. Not any more.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe you’ll remember it in a little while.”

“I had a dream too. And I remember mine,” volunteered Thing One.

“No!” shouted Two.

Mommy was in my dream, and Two, and you, Daddy. You were all in my dream.”

“That’s nice, One,” I said. “But we’re trying to get ready for school now.”

“I can tell you about my dream while we get ready,” One said.

“No!” shouted Two.

“You were very funny in my dream, Daddy,” One said.

“Maybe you should tell us about it then,” I said.

“We all went on train,” One said. “We went on a lot of train rides. We were going to a club. Then when we got there we had fun and we had dinner. I had pasta with meat sauce”

“A club?” I said. “What kind of club?”

“A family club,” One said. “We were going there a lot of times, but the train ran out of grass, so we had to stop and get some more.”

“Don’t you mean gas?” I asked.

“No Daddy, grass. This train needed grass. When it stopped we all got out and picked grass for the train. Then it started working again.”

“Trains don’t use grass!” shouted Two.

“This one did,” said One. “And in the grass field there were cows, and goats and a sheep. And a zebra. All lined up.”

"A zebra is my favorite animal!" said Two.

"Anyway, this zebra was not the kind you like," said One.

“Now I remember,” Two said. “Amy and Kylie were in my dream.”

“I remember Amy and Kylie were in my dream,” One said. “And Melissa and Madison. And Cheyenne”

“No!” screamed Two. “That was my dream!”

“After we left the club we all took a train ride back to our house and everyone came back there,” One said. “We put on music and we had a dance, then we all got on a plane and went to Disney World.”

“No!” screamed Two. “You did not dream that!”

“One.” I asked. “Didn’t you say I did something funny in your dream?”

“Yes, Daddy, but that didn’t happen till after. First I have to tell you about Disney World in my dream. We were in a hotel, then I went swimming in a pool. Two wouldn’t come in the water.”

“No!” screamed Two. “I would go in the water!”

“And I went on all the rides with Amy and Kylie and you and Mommy. We went on Pooh Bear and Small World and the Tea Cups and Buzz Lightyear. But Two wouldn’t go on the rides.”

“I would go on the rides!” screamed Two. She started to sniffle.

“Let’s go downstairs for breakfast,” I said. “You can tell me the rest while you eat.”

LZ was making the coffee. “How’s everything?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. “But Two’s a little cranky. I guess she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After she read this, LZ cautioned me: “I think the red herring was actually a McGuffin.”

"You've been watching too many old Hitchcock movies," I said. "To think that you'd accuse a young child, your own daughter, of employing a McGuffin. I can't believe it."

2004-04-28T08:55:00.000-05:00

EPISTEMOLOGY, THE EXPERIENTALIST, AND ELMO

I was lying on the couch, almost asleep, but Thing One felt like talking.

“Daddy, do you remember the Elmo cups we had when we were little?”

“Elmo cups?”

“Yes, but they weren’t all Elmo cups”

“Weren’t they?”

“No, there was Elmo and Cookie Monster and the Grouch and Big Bird. They were for stacking."

“Oh.”

“But Elmo was the one I broke the window with.”

I sat up. It had been more than two years ago. I’d been upstairs and heard a banging. I thought someone was at the door. By the time I got down, all was quiet. There was no one at the door. Thing One was playing and Thing Two was sound asleep. No one knew anything. Even the dog was confounded. It wasn’t until the next day that I’d discovered a long crack in the upper part of the window over the couch where I was now sitting.

“You mean a long time ago?” I asked.

"Yes, Daddy."

“You were always the prime suspect,” I said. “Your mother and brother were out and your sister was asleep. Why didn’t you tell me that day what happened, when I asked?”

“I couldn’t talk yet,” One replied.

“I think you could talk then,” I said.

“No, Daddy.”

“That crack was very high up,” I said. “How did you break it way up there?”

One climbed over me onto the couch and pulled herself up onto the back. She stood up, holding the window frame for support. “Like this,” she said.

“With one hand holding on, you smashed the window with the Elmo cup in your other hand?” I asked.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And why did you do that?” I asked. “Do you remember?”

“Yes, Daddy, I remember. I wanted to see what windows are for.”

“So, it’s settled now?” I asked. “You know what windows are for?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

2004-04-20T21:35:00.000-05:00

ALL THE BLOGS IN THE WORLD AND

I was in line at the liquor store. The woman in front of had two six-packs and asked for two packs of cigarettes. She made a face when the clerk rang her up.

"You know it's time to stop smoking when the cigarettes cost more than the beer. Haw haw."

"Haw haw," said the clerk.

I see this particular clerk a lot. He's Korean. He's got the decimal system down, and he's got some phrases: "Hello." "Thank you very much” "Good-bye come again." And that's about it. That's why I like to get in his line.

He's smiling and bobbing his head, but it's painfully obvious he has no idea what the woman is talking about.

"You know what I'm going to do? I'm moving down to South Carolina," she says. "At least down there, you can afford to smoke. Haw haw."

"Yes. Yes. Thank you very much. Come Again."

"South Carolina. Haw haw."

I cleared my throat. LZ, waiting by the door, shot me a look. I hesitated for a second and missed my chance. South Carolina was gone.

On the way home I turned off the car radio.

"LZ," I said. "We have to talk. I can't be taking you out with me if you are going to inhibit my intercourse with the people."

"One," said LZ. "A drive to the liquor store is not out, not in any real sense of the word. And two, I never said a word. It's your own guilt about baiting people for that lunatic blog. Don't project your conflicts on me."

"I need material," I said. "I can't just go making things up. The bloggers don't like it. And besides, if anything, she was baiting me and Mr. Kim with her visions of a southern smoker’s paradise. I was just minding my own business. Trying to buy some wine."

“I hear they have those video poker parlors down there, too,” LZ said. “They’ve got pretty much all anyone could want. The supermarkets, they’re non-union; everything’s cheaper. Maybe we should move.”

“I would go,” I said. “Except for the palmetto bugs. They give me the heebies. I’m not moving down there until they get rid of those bugs. Also, the Confederates.”

“When the bloggers read all this nonsense, they’re going to be really mad,” LZ said.
They’ll know this whole conversation was made up.”

“It is made up,” I said. "But it’s still true.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2004-03-28T22:38:00.000-05:00

THE STRANGER

We were sitting on the couch, waiting for a movie to start.

"Oh," I said. “I almost forgot. My mother called. My Uncle Mitch died today.Or, maybe, yesterday; I'm not sure. Anyway, we have to drive down for a service on Tuesday."

"Is this going to be a big deal?" FW asked. "Wasn't he supposed to be some sort of well-known guy?"

"He was well-known in our family," I said. "All the time I was growing up I had to hear about Mitch. He was a spy in the war. He was at the Nuremberg Trials. He played cards with Harry Truman. He knew Kennedy. He was in Berlin when the wall went up. He'd been everywhere and done everything."

"Was any of it true?"

"Who knows," I said. "I've never come across his name in any of the standard histories of the war, or of the OSS, or the CIA. Who knows?"

"So what about Tuesday?"

"We have to drive down to Mitch Junior’s place. Then we all go to the church. Then it's back to Junior's - they're having a ham. Then home."

"That's going to be a long day,” FW said. “Maybe we can leave right after the service and get home at a decent hour."

"I think they'd be insulted if we skipped the ham," I said. "A ham's a big thing in Virginia. It's almost worth somebody dying, because then you get to have a ham."

"So, your mother told you all this stuff about your uncle when you were growing up? About what a great guy he was?"

"Right," I said. "It was pretty constant."

"How did that go over with your father?"

"At the time, I can't say I would have noticed, one way or the other."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were in the church, waiting for the service to start.

"This isn't such a great turnout, for one of the most famous men ever," FW said.

She was right. Mitch's children were there, none with spouses. FW and I. My mother, my brother and his wife. A few other assorted cousins. There were three old men in the last pew. No one knew who they were.

"Apparently, there was a problem with the obituary," I said. "The Post wouldn't print all the stuff Mitch did without independent verification. So they held the notice. It's supposed to appear later this week, if they can get the facts."

"What about Marlene's kids? FW asked. "Surely they heard their grandfather died? Or are they waiting for the official notice?"

"Someone said they took a ride down the shore," I said. "Because it's such a nice day. They'll probably be back at the house later."

"I'm sure," FW said. "Did Mrs. Junior go with them?"

"She had to stay to get the food ready," I said.

"Aren't those hams already cooked?"

"Got me," I said. "But even if, I guess you have to warm them up."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were in the dining room admiring a ham.

“That’s hickory-smoked and spiral-cut,” someone behind me said.

There were a lot more people at the house than there were at the church. There was loud talking and laughing. Some cousins were playing cd's and dancing on the back deck. It was a regular party. A bunch of Mitch Junior’s friends had shown up and he was holding court in the den.

“It’s getting pretty vicious in there,” my brother said.

“How so?” I asked.

“Junior’s carrying on about what a prick Mitch was; he’s getting pretty animated.”

“Anything good?” I asked.

“Just the usual,” my brother said. “Nasty drunk. Yelled at Aunt Nan. Smacked Junior around. Never paid any attention. Never played catch. Blah, blah, blah.”

“None of our business,” I said. “Have a sandwich and relax.”

My cousin Tim was motioning to us from the hallway.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Did you hear the doorbell a minute ago?”

“Vaguely.”

“It was a delivery service. They had Uncle Mitch’s ashes. Junior signed for them, then he just dropped the container on the floor by the door and went back into the den. So, I put them in the hall closet.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I was afraid your mother would see them and get upset. Apparently she’s the only here who had any use for Mitch. I didn’t think it would be right for her to notice him just unattended over there, or maybe even trip over him.”

“Well, thanks for that,” I said. “I think I’m going to head out now.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were sitting on the couch, waiting for a movie to start, when the phone rang. It was my brother.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Am I supposed to say something sarcastic here?” I asked.

“I’m going to call Mitch Junior. I want Mitch’s ashes.”

“You do,” I said. “And why?”

“You know that putter I use? Do you remember that Mitch gave it to me years ago? It always meant a lot to me. Well, what I’d like to do is take Mitch’s ashes and fill the shaft of my putter with them. Then I could take Mitch out on the course with me all the time. It would be a way to honor his memory.”

“You think that’s fitting?” I asked.

“Better than leaving him in the closet behind some busted up umbrellas.”

“True,” I said. “But there are other considerations.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the way you putt it probably wouldn’t matter, but still, the extra weight might mess up your stroke.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” my brother said. “Anything else?”

“This is kind of touchy,” I said. “But Mitch was a country club guy. He didn’t go near the public courses. Do you think he’d like being dragged around those cow pastures you play?”

“It’s still got to be better than the back of a closet.”

“And, finally,” I said. “If you’re serious about this you’re going to have to drive back down there and pick them up. No way that asshole Junior’s going to go out of his way to ship them.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We were just about to go to bed.

“Who was that on the phone earlier?” FW asked.

“Nobody,” I said. “Just some lunatic.”

“You were on the phone for a while, for talking to just nobody,” FW said.

“I’ve known for a long time,” I said, “that you can’t argue with stupid people and make them smart. And I’ve lately come to the realization that you can’t argue with crazy people and make them sane. Of course, everyone knows that instinctively, and as a matter of course, but it’s different when you’re actually in a specific situation. You’re in it before it’s defined, then it’s defined, then it’s crystal clear, and you wish you weren’t there, but you are, and the thing, the argument, if that’s what it is, has its own life and its own momentum, and the escape route, the graceful exit, isn’t right there, it’s just a little farther out in front of you and you can’t just grab onto it, but you think you are moving toward it, but you’re not, you’re just getting deeper and deeper into the insanity.”

“So who was on the phone?’ FW asked. “Your mother or your brother?”

2004-03-23T07:11:00.000-05:00

REEL PEOPLE

"Daddy, the Simpsons is a real cartoon, isn't it?" asked Thing One,

"It certainly is," I said. "But what do mean when you say 'real cartoon'?"

"I mean, real people aren't yellow."

I was thinking of Uncle Will, who liked the bottle, and how he ended up. "Right, " I said. "Real people are generally not yellow."

2004-03-09T21:50:00.000-05:00

HARRY’S PROJECT

TO MARKET TO MARKET

"Let me have a good pound and a half of the steelhead," Harry says, knowing all along that it won't be that simple. There are about six fillets laid out and they are all pretty much the same size.

The fish counterman, (a boy, really) picks one out and lays it on the scale. A pound and a quarter. "How's that?” he asks.

"I really wanted at least a pound and a half," Harry says. "That's not enough."

The boy picks up a second filet, adds it to the scale. Two and a half. "How's that?" he asks.

"That's really too much," Harry replies. "I don't need that much."

The boy stares at Harry. He stares at the scale. He shrugs his shoulders. He is out of options.

"Could you cut one of those pieces?" Harry asks.

"They don't like us to do that," the boy replies.

"I'd really like you to cut one of those," Harry says.

The clerk eyeballs Harry for a long second, exhales slowly, then, very deliberately, takes one of the filets from the scale and cuts it in half.

"Thank you," says Harry. "That really wasn't so hard, was it?"

"The way you say 'really' all the time isn't right. It sounds very disrespectful. You're act like you're better than everybody."

"Thanks again," Harry says. "Really."

RIDE RUMINATION

Harry is a little agitated on the way home. The confrontation was annoying, but so insignificant that there was no way to profit from it. It would barely make an interesting anecdote, even if LZ could possibly want to hear one more, one more, one more what....

Maybe I should get one of those blogs, Harry thinks. People just rant and rave on them about all kinds of nonsense, and they're getting quite popular. I could probably set it up from work, Harry thinks. No one would notice, or even care. I could think of a catchy nickname and get some good graphics. Then maybe I could become a famous complainer, an advocate for reasonable people. Maybe my insights.... Well, doubtful. And what would be the point, after all.

NEITHER FISH NOR FOWL

"When I was buying the steelhead, I saw that flounder was $10 a pound. Who would pay that much for such a nothing fish?" Harry asks.

"The Catholics would," LZ says. "It's Lent, they have to eat fish, but they don't like fish, so they get flounder, because it tastes the most like nothing. And of course the stores know they're coming for it, so they raise the price."

"The steelhead was reasonable," Harry says.

"That's because the Catholics haven't discovered it."

"Well, let's hope they don't."

"I wouldn't worry about it. I think they're OK with the flounder. They eat it for a certain time, then they buy a big Easter ham for themselves as a reward."

"Are you talking theology?" Harry asks. "Or commerce?"

COFFEE BREAK

Harry usually tries to take his coffee alone, but it's become increasingly more difficult. Beatrix, a new woman in his section, has taken an interest in him. She shows up at desk to chat. She rides the elevator with him. She sits with him in the cafeteria.

"How was your weekend?" Beatrix asks.

"Fine, Beatrix. And yours?"

"Call me B," Says Beatrix. "My husband and I went to a Secular Humanist convention in Washington. It was wonderful. You should come to some of their events."

Harry wonders why B thinks he should, but he doesn't pursue it. "We don't get out that much," Harry says.

"It was wonderful to be around so many like-minded people," B says. "Very inspiring. Did you know that I was a philosophy major in college?"

I've got to start writing all this nonsense down, Harry thinks. Maybe I can work it into my blog. Then he remembers that he'd dismissed the whole idea. But still, for a second, it seemed that he did have a blog. The notion had become quite tangible. At least for that second.

Back at his desk, Harry looks up the official Secular Humanist website. He hadn't been aware that Secular Humanism was such an organized thing. There were manifestos, statements, and positions that covered everything from evolution to education to sexuality. Apparently, Secular Humanists were quite the freethinkers.

He wonders about B's motives. Was she some sort of libertine? Libertiness? Was there some oblique something being telegraphed? What did it mean when someone told someone else about Secular Humanism? What went on at those conferences? What events was B referring to? I mean, he thought, To what events was B referring?

CAN WE TALK?
"I hate it when you say that," LZ says. "It's not funny."

"I think I'm being stalked at work,” Harry says. "Well at least shadowed. Or maybe recruited."

"Who's the guilty party?" LZ asks.

"Do you remember that new woman I told you about? The one who sat next to me at the office Christmas luncheon and couldn't find one thing on the menu that she could eat. Finally, she ordered some white bland thing off-menu, then had a big piece of cake."

"This doesn't sound familiar," LZ says. "Are you sure you told me about her?"

"Her husband has the same jacket as I do. The red one."

"You never mentioned any such woman," LZ says. "Or any such jacket. What does she look like?"

"She's small. If you were to see her, you'd say she was elflike, or elfin," Harry says.

"Would I?"

"But she's not really elfin at all. It's an illusion. Brought on by her bright orange hair. She must have dyed it to create that very effect. .And her wardrobe. She wears a lot of muted browns and greens. Woodland colors. If her hair weren't like that, she'd be much more Dickensian than elfin. A Dickensian waif."

"You must have put quite a bit of thought into her," LZ says.

"Not really," says Harry. "I'm just working on my powers of observation. And description."

NIGHT
Harry's lying in the dark, LZ's asleep beside him. Then Harry falls asleep as well.

MORNING
I like the idea of a platform, Harry thinks. But the rest of it, I don't know. He drives to work with the radio turned way up, to drown out his lack of thoughts. He is barely settled in at his desk when B appears.

"We have these neighbors," she says. "A very nice young couple, but they're real fundamentalists. Anyway, they asked us if we want to go see that new religious movie. The one where Christ is beaten and then killed."

"Sound like a night out," Harry says. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them we couldn't," B says. "I told them we're moving this weekend."

"What will you do then?" Harry asks.

"We'll probably go see something else," B says. "Then stop somewhere for a drink."

"I mean," says Harry, "what will you do this weekend when your neighbors see you haven't moved?"

"Oh," says B. "I guess I'll tell them it fell through."

AFTERNOON

Harry calls LZ before leaving the office. "How about we all go out for a pizza tonight” get?"

"It's still Lent," LZ says. "On Fridays in Lent the pizza place will be packed. It's part of the whole Catholic fasting deal. We'll never get a table."

“Right,” say Harry. “Maybe instead, we could get a babysitter, go to a steakhouse, and take in a movie.”

“Have you been talking to that woman again?” LZ asks.

“Which woman?” Harry asks.

“The woodland sprite, the one I can’t remember.”

“I’m sure we’ve talked about her,” Harry says. “Don’t you remember when I asked you about sickening, organic, caffeinated tea and what you would do with it? That was her too.”

“Can’t say it rings a bell,” LZ says.

NEW WE’RE TALKING

“You’ve been moping around the house all weekend,” LZ says. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I was puttering,” Harry says.

“No, you’ve definitely been moping. And I know why.”

“Why?” asks Harry.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve taken people at face value. You never asked or wondered why that act the way they do. You just responded to them as if they really meant what they said. It was almost farcical. At first I thought you were being facetious, maybe trying to act cool, by not reacting.”

“Go on,” says Harry.

“But as the years went by, I realized it couldn’t be an act. No one could sustain a performance like that for year after year. So, I began to see this lack of affect as in integral part of your personality, something almost clinical. It was close to sociopathic.”

“You’re saying,” Harry says, “that taking people at face value, believing what they say, is a sociopathic trait.”

“Certainly,” LZ says. “How else would you describe someone with absolutely no regard for social conventions?”

“Fascinating,” Harry replies.

“But now, suddenly, for some reason, a light came on,” LZ says. You’re going around looking for reasons, for hidden motives, for what’s behind the curtain. But, you got a late start and you’re fumbling around, not sure of what you’re doing. You’re not very good at it and you don’t like not being good at things. Hence the moping.”

This is pretty good material, Harry thinks. Not as good as I’ve been getting from B, of course, but it’ll do once I punch it up a little.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Harry says. “Oh, and while I’m thinking of it, I’ll be staying late at the office tomorrow. I’ve got a project I’ve got to get working on.”

2004-03-01T15:46:00.000-05:00

A GRAPE FIEND

A large woman was blocking my way to the grapes. I couldn't imagine what was taking her so long. Then I realized she was picking some from the bags and eating them. I tried to make eye contact to communicate my disgust, but she kept her head down and continued munching. Must be some sort of grape fiend, I thought. Finally, she shuffled over enough to let me get to the bin. I stared hard at the bags, trying to will myself to pick one that hadn't been pawed through.

"Don't bother," she said.

"Excuse me?" I said. "Were you talking to me?"

"Don't waste your time on the grapes. They're sour."

"Oh," I said.

"The last time they were on sale I bought a bunch and they were all sour tasting. That's why I was trying these. I think they only put them on sale when they're sour. So don't waste your time."

"Thanks," I said. "I won't."

AND ANOTHER

"Did you remember the grapes?" LW asked.

"I didn't buy the grapes," I said. "They were sour."

"If you forgot, you should just say so," LW said. "How could you possibly tell that they were sour?"

"You don't want to know," I said.

"Two is going to be very disappointed," LW said. "She's a real grape fiend these days."

"She'll just have to get over it," I said. "I'm not having sour grapes into this house if I can help it."

TWO'S REVENGE

"Daddy, did you see my setup in the other room?"

"Yes, I did," I said. "It's quite extravagant. What's going on with all the doll furniture and blocks all over the floor?"

"Just the doll children are having a party. They are eating grapes and cake. There is no Mom and Dad."

"Why no Mom and Dad? Where are they?"

"They died."

"How sad. What happened to them?'

"Nothing happened. They got too old and they died."

"The children must be very upset."

Silence.

"Or maybe they're better off."

"They are better, Daddy."

2004-01-26T21:55:00.000-05:00

WORLDS IN COLLISION PART 2

Wes ran awkwardly. His boots were made for walking, not running. He slipped and skittered along the narrow maintenance walkway, windmillling his arms and flailing his elbows as he accelerated and disappeared around a bend.

“He’s going to fall and get run over,” I said. “Then they’ll stop the traffic for real and we’ll never make the show.”

“He’ll be fine,” JJ said. “You worry too much.”

“Actually, I don’t even care if we make it,” I said. “The new album is terrible and I hear the shows have been out of control. No good at all.”

“Let’s go,” JJ said. “Look like it’s clear all the way through.”

AT THE SHOW

“Don’t look now,” I said. “But, over there, it’s Sarah Miles and some guy in an Andy Warhol fright wig.”

JJ grimaced and shook his head. “That’s Sylvia Miles, and…. Never mind.”

“Let’s sit over there,” JJ said. He was pointing at one of the tables in front that ran right up to the stage.

“I was sort of hoping to be in the back, out of the line of fire,” I said.

“Come on,” JJ said.

By the second song, The Patti Smith Group was in full demonic mode. The Poet herself spinning around the stage, chanting nonsense syllables at the top of her lungs. As the band cranked up she took a tentative step from the stage to our table, then began to dance on it. She took dead aim and kicked a mug of beer, sending it flying across the table and onto the floor.

I had a hamburger, a plate of fries and a beer. “If she kicks over my stuff, I’m going to ask for my money back,” I said to JJ.

“I don’t think they give refunds here,” he said.

I looked up. The Poet locked eyes with me. She looked at my food. The perfect target. She gave me a little smile and began to work her way down the table, advancing on me. The band was getting louder, the song moving to a fever pitch. No matter how I tried to shield my food and drink, I couldn’t protect it all. She danced a little closer. I spread my arms around my plate and beer mug and ducked my head down, waiting to be blasted.

Just then a disturbance broke out at the door. A scrum had developed. People pushing and shoving. The band continued playing, but The Poet stopped singing and dancing, her attention drawn to the commotion.

Suddenly, Wes burst through the tangle of bouncers and moved toward center of the room. He looked up and waved, “Patti! Patti! You Hoo, Patti!”

The Poet began to retreat toward the safety of the stage. She backtracked carefully, never taking her eyes off Wes. Even though the band was still playing, the club seemed to have gotten very quiet. It was one of those time stood still frozen moments.

Wes broke the ice. He reached into his bag, grabbed the book he’d brought and flung it. It hit our table, slid across and landed on an empty chair at the foot of the stage. The Poet ducked instinctively, then looked back to where the book had landed. When she saw what it was here eyes widened. She leaned over the table and hovered, almost suspended in mid air for a millisecond. Just when it looked certain that she would fall, she snatched the book and righted herself in one quick motion.

She held it up and waved back at Wes. “Hey, thanks,” she yelled. “Thanks a lot.”

The big smile on Wes’s face disappeared, to be replaced by a stricken look of pure panic. He’d just realized that he’d given his prize possession away. He started moving to the stage. “But, but,” he yelled. It was obvious that he intended to go up and explain the situation, but the bouncers were upon him once again. Wes swung his long skinny arms, and squirmed mightily, but this time they didn’t let go until he was safely hustled away and removed from the premises.

“Well, that was something,” I said to JJ.

“What’s the big deal?” he said.

“The yoo hoo,” I said. “That was a nice touch.”

“What are you talking about?” asked JJ.

“Never mind,” I said. “It’s already like I imagined the whole thing.”

“Really,” JJ said later. “You have to admit that was fun.”

“I do admit that,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s the kind of fun I like to have.”

AFTERMATH

After that fiasco I decided I’d have to start looking elsewhere to fill whatever void in my life had led me to such nights. I began a gradual weaning process that continues to this day. It has been a slow process, however. I thought I’d been totally cured when I turned down a chance to go to a Sex Pistols reunion concert last summer without thinking twice. But the night before last, I found myself playing a Strokes cd, and sneaking looks at the Things, trying to see if they were picking up on it. The struggle continues.

Patti Smith eventually did fall, a few months later, from a stage in Florida.

JJ and I drifted apart. He married and raised a family of earnest liberals. His daughter writes letters to the editor on the importance of voting and good government. His son saves cats.

Wes dropped out of sight. I assumed he was dead, or arrested. I didn’t think about him that much. Then, about ten years later, I saw him selling knock-off Indian jewelry at a roadside flea market. His brown hair had turned a steel gray, but he still wore it down to his waist. There was a flash of recognition, then nothing. He looked at me. He looked right through me. I kept walking.

2004-01-15T21:46:00.000-05:00

WORLDS IN COLLISION: THE HIPPIE DERAILS THE PUNK POET

A PRE AND POST LAPSARIAN TALE

Last spring, Thing One slipped and crashed down the stairs head over heels. She flipped once, slid to an almost upright position, then spiked headfirst to the bottom. I thought she'd come down directly on her head, but her shoulder took the hit. She escaped with only a broken collarbone.

The fall's been on my mind ever since. I was close enough to see it in horrifying detail, but not close enough to do anything to prevent or minimize it.

I started thinking about falling more and more.

I know old people who worry about falling. They know if that fall, they will break their hips and decline and die precipitously soon thereafter. But I know that what they know is out of sequence. It's the hip breaking that makes them fall, not vice versa. Nothing to be done, no need to worry. But I don't tell them. I doubt if it would be much of a comfort.

I heard of a friend and of a friend of a friend who had fallen, one from a roof, the other from a ladder. Serious injuries all around.

I got some roof patching to do myself, but I keep putting it off.

In the interim, Thing Two has taken to spinning. Head back, arms out, she's a little dervish, a whirling top, until she collapses, falls down, into a dizzy, laughing heap.

The conflation of spinning and falling, of falling on purpose, of purposeful derangement, of falling unexpectedly, of close escapes and serious injuries, disturbs me, intrudes upon me, reminds me, and finally sends me back to another time and place, to another unsettling series of events that I'd almost, but not quite, forgotten.

A HIPPIE WITH A KNIFE AND AN ATTITUDE

What I knew about Wes: That was his real name, but we were supposed to call him Jim. He was going by an alias as he was wanted by some authorities. We didn't know by whom or for what, but we had to play along. It was assumed, but never stated, that drugs were involved, not real criminal behavior. So it was OK. He was a real hippie, come from here, gone to San Francisco by way of New York, then landed back here some years later.

He was older than us, an authentic old hippie, a living remnant of a historic time and a place who had come back and insinuated himself into the regular world.

I worked with JJ. He had grown up with across the street from Wes. "I knew him before his hair was long," JJ said. "But he always had that gleam in his eye. Like he knew stuff that we didn’t. Didn't come out much, though. Stayed in his room listening to music and getting high."

"I don't have anything against him," I said. "But still, I've got no use for him. He's got that strange boyfriend who follows him around like he's on a leash. Who showed up the other day with a black eye and bruises on his neck and says he fell down."

"I never knew you were so judgmental," JJ said.

"He also carries a hunting knife in his boot," I said. "What kind of hippie goes around with weapons and beats people?"

"Your problem," said JJ "is that you're inflexible. You can only accept a hippie if he acts in a circumscribed hippie way. Wes is an individual, that's what bothers you. You think you’re liberal, but you’re not. You’ve got all these preconceived ideas about how people should act.”

“And by the way, why do we have to play cops and robbers whenever he’s around?” I asked. “He’s the most recognizable guy in the state. What is calling him by a fake name supposed to accomplish?”

“And by the way,” parroted JJ, “we’re taking him with us Saturday night. I told him we’d pick him up. So come by a little early.”

“Why would a guy like Wes want to go see Patti Smith?’ I asked. I thought he was into Quicksilver Messenger Service, and Spirit and all that hippie San Francisco stuff.”

“You think you’re so smart,” JJ said. “But there’s a lot going on that you have no idea about. Wes was in New York in the early 60’s. He used to hang around with The Holy Modal Rounders; that’s the connection. From them to Sam Shepard to Patti Smith, a straight line. Wes has the credentials. He probably wonders why someone like you is going.”

“I guess it doesn’t bother him so much that he’d take the train,” I said. "And what do you mean, someone like me?"

THE CONVERSE OF INTUBATION

It had been a relatively easy ride, but now we were stopped dead, midway through The Holland Tunnel.

I turned around and looked at Wes, then looked down at the brown paper bag he’d been clutching. "What do you have in the bag?" I asked.

"A turkey sandwich and a Rimbaud book," he said.

"Leftover turkey or fresh?"

"Leftover, what of it?"

”Nothing," I said. "I just didn't picture you as a Thanksgiving dinner family kind of guy."

"For your information, I was at my sister's for Thanksgiving," Wes said.

"When do you plan on eating it?" I asked.

"I'm saving it for later," Wes said. "I'll eat at the club."

I looked over at JJ. He was staring straight ahead, trying not to laugh.

Wes was getting a little agitated. "Something funny?' he asked.

”Not really," I said. "It's just that they sell food there. I don't think you're supposed to bring in your own."

"I always do it," Wes said. "I do whatever I want."

"Were you going to read during the show as well?" I asked. JJ snorted.

Wes's tone turned icy. "This is a very rare edition. I'm going to have Patti sign it for me."

I looked over at JJ. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I saw that," Wes shouted. "I've about had it with the two of you. I know what you're up to. You think you can just drive around like this and make fun of me? I won't put up with it!"

JJ turned around and motioned at Wes. "Calm down, nobody's making fun of anyone."

"You're just as bad as he is," Wes yelled at JJ. "You used to be all right, now you're hanging around with guys like him, and plotting against me. Things sure have changed."

"What do you mean, guys like me?" I asked. Then, belatedly noticing that Wes's eyes were spinning like pinwheels, I had an insight. "Wes, are you on anything? Are you messed up?"

"No, not really," Wes said. But then, with that twisted sense of pride and accomplishment that serious druggies and drinkers possess, he began to clarify what not really really meant.

"Because of the long weekend, I dropped some acid Thursday before I went to my sister's. Then after dinner, I got high with my niece when my sister was cleaning up. I dropped some more acid yesterday morning, but it was shit, so I took a little mescaline to smooth myself out. Since then, nothing, except I've been speeding since last night."

Wes relaxed. He sat back in his seat, and a dreamy smile came over his face as he contemplated the excesses of the last few days.

JJ was starting to look a little nervous.

Traffic started moving, then stopped again. I gestured at the line of cars in front of us. "I can't believe it; we'll never get out of this tunnel."

Wes lurched forward and grabbed my shoulder. "I know what you're up to now. I've seen narcs before, plenty of times. Well you're not going to keep me in here, no matter what."

With that he opened the door, scrambled out, and started running through the tunnel, heading for New York.

JJ stuck his head out the window. "Wes, come back. Everything's cool."

"Let him go," I said. "By rights, he shouldn't even have been in here; he never even chipped in."

END PART 1

2004-01-08T20:55:00.000-05:00

ANDY, SO FAR

Things I Have Experienced, Heard, Read, Or Garnered About Andy (Ex Letter Carrier, Rogue DJ, Drummer/Singer, Sex Offender, Mother’s Boy), Over The Last Twenty Some Odd Years

They told me he was a DJ who played good music, (a novelty where we came
from, especially in that time).

I was prevailed on to go see him. I prevailed on FW to accompany me.

"They say he plays good music," I said.

FW didn't care. "Who goes out to see a DJ?" she asked. (It seemed like an odd notion at that time.)

"We've heard a lot of bad music when we've been out," I said. "Could good music be any worse?"
We went.

"He did play good music," I said on the way home.

"Music's not everything," FW said. "With that white skin and that red hair and that big blotchy head, he looked parboiled."

"I'm not sure I would have used that term," I said. "And anyway, looks aren't everything."

"I'm not going there anymore," FW said. "I don't need it. If you want to hear good music you'll have to go without me."

And I did, sporadically, over the next couple of months. Then I lost interest myself and stopped going. But I still got reports.

Andy's gotten a big head, they told me. He's going to quit his job as a mailman and be a full-time DJ. He’s going to change his name from Andy Thomas to Andy Tomorrow, because he thinks it's cool.

I could have made a joke about the preexisting size of Andy's head, but I didn't.

Then he quit his job and became a full-time DJ and as it often does, it soured.

The club scene cooled down a bit. Andy's been having to take DJ jobs where he has to play what they tell him, instead of good music, I heard. He's even working weddings, they told me. He's a little bitter.

I saw him at a club. He was stuffed into a black suit, white shirt, and had a porkpie hat perched on his head. "I thought there'd be more rude boys here," he said, gesturing out at a sea of blue jeans and black t-shirts. He seemed puzzled and a bit angry.

Then in an attempt to cash in on his local DJ popularity, Andy formed a band. He was the drummer and the lead singer.

"Don't even ask me," FW said.

I didn't.

It didn't go too well for The Andy Band. Apparently, actually playing good music was harder than playing good music. After the novelty wore off, The Andy Band stopped drawing crowds, and appropriately, they disbanded.

I ran into Andy at a party. "Have you heard the latest by The Dead Milkmen?" he asked me. "How about The Meat Puppets?"

I hadn't.

”You don't keep up at all, do you?" he asked, in a disgusted tone.

Later someone told me that Andy had said he had no use for me, or for FW.

I was a little surprised, but tried not to react.

Andy's getting real bitter, they told me. He's jealous of his brothers, for one thing.

"I didn't even know there were brothers,” I said.

Oh yes, they told me, two. His older brother is a successful lounge singer. And his younger brother is in a good band.

"Where?" I asked. "Around here?"

The older brother, he's gay. He moved to New York. This was told to me as if it were the natural order of things, the way that someone is said to have retired and moved to Florida, or gone to Arizona for the dry air.

The younger brother, he joined a band and now they're in Austin. They'll be signed by early next year at the latest. Andy can't take it.

Then, Andy turned from bitter to mean. He snarled at people. He abused his old friends. He stopped playing requests. I heard he beat his girlfriend one too many times and she finally left
him.

She had elephant man's disease, but only a mild case.

She then married a man with an uncommon resemblance to Andy.

He eventually divorced her over her internet addictions.

He now rents out two rooms in his house to illegal Irish immigrants.

He met them while playing darts in an Irish bar.

They are rumored to be on the run because of their IRA connections.

She hasn't been heard of in a while.

But that's another story, or two.

Some time thereafter, I found myself single again, eating pizza in a neighborhood bar, when Andy, accompanied by an entourage of a half-dozenor so young people, mostly female, walked in.

"What's with that?” I asked.

It's Andy and his people, my friends said.

"How does someone like Andy get people?" I asked.

They shrugged their shoulders. It was just a fact.

On the way to the bathroom, I gave Andy a nod. He waved me over to his
table. "What's new?" he asked.

"My car just died," I said. "I have to buy another."

"I had a Civic," Andy said, "but I hated it. I traded it in for a Neon. The Neon I love."

"I wouldn't have thought," I said.

Andy looked to his group. Six eager young heads bobbed in agreement. The Neon they loved.

Andy had made quite a comeback, albeit with a new cohort.

But the love was not all around. One of the female entouragees parent's had taken exception to Andy's interest in his young daughter. Escorting her, underage, into bars and clubs, was apparently the least of Andy's offenses. His prurient interest in her, and activities with her, were
brought to the attention of the authorities. There was an investigation, and eventually, a prosecution.

LW was holding up the local tabloid and pointing to a lurid headline: DJ NAILED FOR TEENY BOPPING. “Don’t you know this guy?” she asked.

"Vaguely," I said. "He used to play good music, a long time ago."

The image of Andy, parboiled in prison stripes, sequestered in the sex offender's wing of some forbidding prison, was one that I found oddly satisfying.

If this were a story, I’d end with that image.

But I left it like that for too long and the narrative lurched forward again.

Last year, at a banquet in a banquet hall, honoring a milestone of a friend of a friend, I saw someone I recognized as an old friend of Andy's. I couldn't remember his name, if I ever knew it. I could only remember him as The Hamburger Man.

"My buddy," I said. "How's it going?"

"Just saw Andy," he said. "He's doing well. He's out of the halfway house and back home with his mother. He has a paper route now, actually two. The kind where you drive around. He’s making pretty good money."

"That is good news," I said. "Give him my regards."

"I was talking to that guy about Andy. Says he has a paper route now," I told LW.

"Maybe from being a mailman he remembers all the addresses," she said.

"Could be."

And then, just the other night, I spoke with Andy himself. He was leaving the local grocery store, leading a very old woman by the arm. I stopped short, unable to get by unobserved.

"It's you," he said to me.

"It is," I said.

Then, "Mother, you know who this is. He lives in the old place right in the middle of the old town."

"I know the place," she said. "Seen the children playing in the yard. Knew you were living there. We drive by there every Sunday."

Andy gave her a sharp look. "We've got to go now," he said. And he half hustled, half dragged her into the darkening parking lot.

2004-01-06T21:02:00.000-05:00

GREEN TEA

Unaware that I was being observed, I grabbed a jug of green tea from the refrigerator and took a big swig.

In walked Thing One. “Daddy, you’re not supposed to do that. It spreads germs.”

“You’re right, One, but I’ve made an exception in this case.”

“Why, daddy?”

“I’m the only one who drinks this drink, so I don’t have to worry about spreading germs.”

“I say it is disgusting.”

“Well, it’s not really for children. It’s a drink grownups drink.”

“When I am grown up, I will still say it’s disgusting.”

“That’s fine.”

About a week later I got to thinking. “Thing,” I said. “Do you remember when we had the talk about the green tea?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You said it was disgusting, didn’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Did you mean it was disgusting that I drank from the container, or that the drink was disgusting?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But how did you know the drink was disgusting?”

“Not that time, but before, when you were walking the dog, there was some in a cup on the counter and I sipped it, but it was disgusting”

“You know you're not supposed to drink grownup drinks from the counter, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy. Grownup drinks are disgusting. And you can get germs from drinking from the container.”

In walked LW. “Have you been drinking right from the container again?" she scolded. "How can we ever expect these Things to act properly when you constantly carry on like this? It’s disgusting.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve been informed.”

2004-01-04T09:22:00.000-05:00

SORRY, RIGHT NUMBER

"It's me again."

"This is getting to be a regular thing," I said.

"Have you thought about what I said?" F asked.

"Yes, I have," I said. "And you are entirely right. I'm going to change
the whole thing. Your name is G now, Young Saint G. And instead of a
strip club in Florida we went to a Bible Camp in Texas and instead of doing
what you did to that college kid, you saved a poor crippled boy who had
fallen into a retaining pond."

"You always were a sarcastic bastard," F said. "That's why you never got
anywhere. Wasting your time making fun of people instead of accomplishing
anything."

"By accomplishing, do you mean getting them to trust you and then taking
advantage of them?" I asked.

"I'm a healer," F said. "Remember that. A healer and a professional. And
I'm well respected in the community."

"Is that the community of people who didn't see your name in that reference
book of questionable doctors and their dubious practices?" I asked.

"The mention," F said, "was a libel and a mistake. There was a retraction."

"I must have missed that," I said.

"I see so far you've taken my advice," F said.

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't written anything else in that one narrative of yours."

"I've been busy," I said. "That's all. Besides, I've been distracted.
I've been getting these fragmentary memories of another night in a
medium-sized decaying industrial type town. There was some sort of an
encounter with some sort of people of the night. I've been trying to get it
all clear in my mind before I write the definitive version."

"That wasn't me," F said. "I was out of the country when that happened."

"You know, the more we talk, the more it comes back to me," I said.

"Gotta go," F said. "But I'll be in touch."

"Sure," I said. "No problem."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked LW.

“What is it?”

“Do you know what a retaining pond is?”

“Yes, I do. It’s something called a retention pond.”

“Do you think they have them in Texas?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“That’s the problem in a nutshell,” I said. “The minute I
start making things up, the whole story goes to hell. I’m
going to have to stick to the facts, no matter what.”

“You do that,” said LW.

“Oh, one more thing. Would you mind if I called you Lupe,
instead of LW? I think it would be better for both of us
in the long run.”

2004-01-01T09:04:00.000-05:00

THING ONE, JUST TWO, WAS STILL HUNGRY

We were at the Norwegian Buffet. LW had taken Two to the bathroom. OB was waiting on a bench outside. One and I were waiting for the check. The table was cluttered with piles of dishes. Young server Lars approached us, gave the table a long cool look, and in a sarcastic tone asked: “Can I get you anything else?”

It took me a second or so to realize I was being insulted. First, there was the implication that One and I had been the sole eaters. Second was the fact that we were at a self serve buffet. The tousled young fellow hadn’t brought anything to the table. We’d done all the hauling ourselves. All he was really doing was pointing out the inefficiency of the staff in clearing the table.

I was about to explain this to Lars, but held myself in check as I envisioned LW’s reaction were she to return to the table and find me in yet another service related imbroglio.

One saved the day.

“Bring mar food! Bring cake!” she directed Lars.

Lars was taken aback. He half smiled and looked to me.

“You heard the lady,” I said. “Bring cake.”

2003-12-12T20:59:00.000-05:00

ENVELOPMENT

"Hello?"

"Yo. Is that you?"

"It is," I said. "And who is this?"

"I can't believe you didn't recognize my voice," F said.

"It's been a while," I said. "Some years, in fact."

"It wasn't that long ago that you don't remember quite a lot about those
times," F said. "I hear you've been writing about them."

"I'd hardly call it writing," I said. "Just little bits I knock off in my
spare time. For my own amusement."

"I hear you've been publishing these 'little bits,'" F said.

"Blog stuff. It's hardly publishing," I said. "No one reads it anyway."

"Some people have been reading it," F said. "I, for example, know all about
it. And I don't think writing about that stuff is such a good idea."

"What I've got up there is pretty harmless," I said. "If not entirely
innocuous."

"So far," said F, 'but I don't like where it's going."

"If you're worried about legalities, there's something called the statute of limitations, you
know," I said.

"For your information, on some things, there's no time limit," F said.

"Jesus Christ," I said. "I was never sure what happened that night. I was
going to take a literary license when I got to that part."

"I'm not saying what happened one way or the other," F said. "I'm just
saying there's no reason to open up a potential can of worms for nothing.
Why would you even consider writing about that?"

"It's practice," I said. "I'm just trying to see if I can sustain a
narrative."

"I think you're feeling guilty," F said. "You're trying to confess like
this, hoping to get caught. Like some sicko."

"Why would I be feeling guilty? I asked. "I never, uh, did what happened.
I doubt I was ever legally even an accomplice."

"They could say you benefited financially from that thing," F said.

"I remember borrowing some money," I said. "That's all really. Just a
loan."

"Did you ever pay me back?" F asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "Surely you remember a night when you got a pizza
delivery and one of the boxes was stuffed with dollar bills?"

"That was you?"

“Absolutely."

"Then what's your angle?" F asked. "How much do they pay you for writing
that thing?"

"There is no they," I said. " And there is no money in blogging."

"I know you're up to something," F said. "And as soon as I found out what
it is, we'll talk again."

"Sure," I said. "No problem. Keep in touch."

2003-12-09T21:56:00.000-05:00

DOPPELGANGER, WITH SCISSORS

"I had a nice long talk with Clifford yesterday."

”With who?”

"Clifford, the guy who cuts my hair."

"Wait, let's back up a little. Since when do you have nice long talks
with anybody? Much less the guy who cuts your hair?"

"Me? I'm very talkative. Besides, he started it. Well, I've got to go.
I'll tell you about it tonight."

THAT EVENING

"You were going to tell me about your conversation with Clifford?

"With who?"

Clifford, the guy who cuts your hair."

"Right, Clifford. He's a great guy."

”A great guy? You never said that before. You said Clifford was gay and
you were going to start going to a regular old time barber instead. You said you were starting to get creeped out going to Clifford."

"I don’t think I would have said creeped out. I rarely get creeped out. I may have said he was giving me the heebie-jeebies. I am susceptible to the heebie-jeebies. You must be thinking of someone else who was creeped out. Anyway, Clifford's not gay."

"What changed your mind?

"What do you mean?"

"The first time you went to him, you told me he was gay. You said he was
wearing a wedding ring as a disguise. The next time you went to him he
told you he had kids. You told me he was still gay, but he just didn't know
it."

"Oh, yeah. Well, I was wrong. Clifford's not gay. He's a big Eagles
fan, just like me. He knows all the players. He turns down the tv sound and
listens to the radio because the local announcers are better. He listens
to the coach's press conference after the game."

"Now I understand."

LATER, THAT SAME EVENING

”You know, maybe you should have married Clifford. He's just like me, and
he has a skill."

"You honestly think that would work in his favor? That he's just like
you?"

"Don't laugh. I said: He's just like me, and, he has a skill."

"Oh, that would make a difference then."

2003-12-04T07:33:00.000-05:00

TOP OF THE MORN

"I was up all night. Couldn't sleep at all. So sick to my stomach I couldn't believe it."

The chatter was coming from the cubicle directly at my right. I ducked down and
pounded on my keyboard, trying to drown out the latest co-worker health
update.

Then, the same voice, now coming from the cubicle one up and one over. "Helen, excuse
me. Helen, do you drink caffeine tea?"

"No, I don't. I never touch caffeine. Why do you ask?"

I checked the time. I'd only been in for five minutes. Too early for a
break. So, I was in for it. I was going to get the whole report.

"The reason I ask is, well, I bought this box of tea. I only drink herbal,
organic tea. And I bought this box of tea, this one right here. And I had
a cup last night and I got so sick. I couldn't sleep a wink. I was tossing
and turning, so sick to my stomach I couldn't believe it."

"Oh, no. How sad. Do you think the tea made you sick?"

"I know it. When I got up this morning I checked the ingredients on the box
and there was caffeine in this tea. I couldn't believe it."

"Caffeine! In herbal, organic tea? That's not right."

"So, I have this box of tea. There were a dozen bags and I only had the
one. I was wondering if anyone would like the rest of the box."

"Oh, no thank you. I never touch caffeine. But you should ask Walter over there.
Maybe he would like it."

I checked my watch. 9:07.

"Walter, excuse me. Walter, do you drink caffeine tea?"

LATER THAT SAME EVENING

”Have you ever used the term caffeine tea?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Have you ever heard of the term?”

“No, I haven’t”

“Could I ask you a question?”

“That depends.”

“Could you put yourself in a situation? Could you imagine that you were a tea drinker?

“OK.”

“A tea drinker, who only likes organic, herbal tea?”

“I guess I could do that.”

“Now, say you had a job.”

“You’re starting to take advantage of my good nature.”

“Just imagine this: You like organic, herbal tea, with no caffeine. One day, you buy a package of tea bags that are organic and herbal, but they also have caffeine, but you didn’t notice. So you make a cup of tea and then you get violently ill. You’re up all night. You’re sick.”

“Yes?”

“What would you do with the rest of the package?”

“I guess I would throw it out.”

“Remember, you have a job.”

“Only for the purpose of this discussion.”

“OK. Now, if you were violently ill and got up all sick and tired and still had to go to work, would you go get the box of tea bags that made you sick and take them to work to offer to your colleagues?”

“Why do you insist on torturing me like this?”

“I’m sorry, but I had to check.”

CODA

“That reminds me, you know we have company coming over this weekend. Can you pick up some Breakfast Blend on your way home tomorrow? And see if the Christmas Blend is out yet, would you? We certainly can't offer anyone that Jumbo Swill you've been buying at the wholesale club.”

“Sure, no problem.”

2003-12-03T06:42:00.000-05:00

DREAMTIME

"Daddy, do you know what Zurg can do with his balls?
Good God, I thought. Where did this come from?
"I have no idea," I said. "What can he do?"
"He has yellow balls that shoot out from his hands. He can swing them and cut Buzz Lightyear in half."
I exhaled. "Oh good," I said.
"Daddy, it's not good. He could cut Buzz right in half."
"Right," I said. "That wouldn't be a good thing. Zurg must be stopped. Time for sleep now."

"Daddy, do I get to go to school tomorrow?
"Yes, tomorrow is Monday."
"Do we all get to go to school?"
"Yes, you are all going to school."
"And you get to go to work."
"That's right. I get to go to work tomorrow."

"But not Mommy. No work for her."
"No, Mommy will stay home."
"Why doesn't Mommy get to go to work?"
"She had to stay home to watch you girls before you were in school."
"But we are in school now. Can Mommy go to work now?"
"Now you are only in school until lunchtime. Maybe when you have school all
day Mommy will have some work."

"Do Mommies work with Daddies or do they work at home?
"Usually they have different jobs, not with the Daddies"
"Can Mommies stay home and work to clean the house?"
"Yes, they can do that."
"Maybe when we are big and in school all day, Mommy will work to clean up
the house."
"That's always a possibility. Good night, now."

2003-11-20T06:57:00.000-05:00

MY BRILLIANT CAREERS (1D.2)

INSTANT KARMA

I got to Eng a few minutes early. I was sitting in my car, listening to the radio, when someone rapped on the window.

"Yes?"

"There's no smoking on school grounds. Exactly what type of example are you trying to set?"

I was in the faculty lot. Except for my tormentor, there was no one else around.

"Sorry," I said.

"I take it you're the music substitute?"

"Yes, I am," I said.

"I'm Mr. Stupinski, Assistant Vice Principal. I'd like to have a talk with you before the afternoon classes. Can you follow me to my office?"

"Okay," I said.

When I got out of the car I took a look at Stupinski. A small, thin man, he was wearing one of those Russian type fur hats, and was sporting a Hitler mustache. A nasty combination, I thought. He looked like nothing but trouble.

Stupinski stared right at me. He was very fair, almost pale, but his cheeks were reddening from the excitement of the confrontation. His mustache was bristling. My God, he's trying to intimidate me, I thought.

"Follow me," he said. He did a rapid about face, clicked his heels, and marched off.

IN THE OFFICE

"Have a seat," Stupinski said.

Now he's going to stand up and try to tower over me, I thought. Must have learned that technique in an assertiveness seminar they made him attend.

Stupinski stood up. He teetered a little as he attempted to tower. I snuck a quick look down. As I suspected, he was wearing built up shoes with thick heels in an attempt to make himself look less short.

"We have some serious issues to discuss," he said. "We've had reports."

My eyes were now about level with Stupinski's mid-section. The skinny back part of his tie was much longer than the front. He'd tucked it into his pants.

"Reports?" I asked.

"Reports about the events of this morning."

"Events?" I asked.

"You may be under the impression that what you do at Chang is separate from what you do at Eng," Stupinski said. "But that is not the case at all. Chang and Eng are very much connected. What you do at Chang follows you to Eng. And vice versa."

"Vice versa?" I asked.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Stupinski said. "Now, do you deny that you altered the lesson plan prepared by Ms. D'Santinence? Did you not play 'Erie Canal' out of sequence?"

Instead of answering, I slowly rolled my tongue across my upper lip and shifted my eyes. Stupinski's face got redder.

"And to threaten the students with Iggy Pop? I've never heard the like!"

I carefully ran my index finger across my upper lip, curled it down my face and under my chin.

"You walked into a delicate situation and made it worse. Mrs. Stalkoff herself reports that the children are all very upset."

Stalkoff, I thought. She never did like me.

"If I had any other options, I'd send you home right now. Why, I'd go in there and teach those classes myself, if only the union would allow it. Do you understand me?"

I could feel my headache coming back.

"Well, why are you just sitting there? Don't you know afternoon classes are about to start? Isn't it enough that you were late this morning?

AND YOU TURN YOURSELF AROUND

Thus chastened, I left for the office to get the lesson plan.

THURSDAY: The Hokey Pokey. (Whole class dances, boys dance, girls dance, row 1 dances, row 2 dances, and so on through the rows.)

I Hokey-Pokeyed properly through the first three classes, helped along by the fact that in the first two classes, the regular teachers, apparently having been forewarned, stayed in the room with their classes.

The stress was taking a toll, however. My headache had become so severe that at one point I dove behind the desk, certain that helicopter gunships were attacking. The students didn't mind. They went on shaking and turning as if I were irrelevant.

I only had one more class to get through.

YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT IN

The whole class danced. The boy in the front of row 1 did an exceptional job. I'd never seen such enthusiasm.

YOU PUT YOUR LEFT FOOT IN

The boys danced. The enthusiastic boy outshone them all.

YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT HAND IN

The girls danced. Enthusiastic boy jumped up to dance with them.

"That was very nice," I said to him. "But it was the girls' turn to dance. Please don't dance out of turn. It spoils the lesson plan."

YOU PUT YOUR LEFT HAND IN

Row 1 danced. Enthusiastic boy hoked and poked.

YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT SIDE IN

Row 2 danced. Enthusiastic boy could hardly restrain himself, but I stared him down for the duration of the song.

YOU PUT YOUR LEFT SIDE IN

Row 3 danced. Enthusiastic boy leapt up and joined in. He was playing to the crowd now, refusing to make eye contact with me.

At the end of the song I spoke sharply to him. "Now that's quite enough. I'm very disappointed in the way you keep dancing out of turn. It won't do."

The boy looked at me, but didn't say a word.

YOU PUT YOUR NOSE IN

Row 4 danced. As enthusiastic boy jumped from his seat, I screeched the needle across the record and stopped the song.

"You. Boy," I snarled. "Move once more and you can Hokey Pokey your way to the principal's office. Do you understand me?"

AND YOU SHAKE IT ALL ABOUT

It got very quiet. Then enthusiastic boy burst into tears. The rest of row 1 followed. In a flash the entire class began sobbing and wailing. In walked their regular teacher.

"What, ah, ah. Ah what."

She's actually sputtering, I thought. I didn't know people really did that.

But she quickly regained her composure. "What is going on here? What have you done to my children? This is an outrage!"

"I guess I'll be leaving then," I said. "Good afternoon to you."

As I pulled out of the school parking lot, I caught a glimpse of Stupinski in my rear view mirror. He was jumping up and down and shaking his fist at me.

THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!

When I woke up from my nap, I could hear FW banging around in the kitchen.

"Listen," I said. "I think I'm going to take Friday off and reassess my situation. This subbing isn't working out exactly as I'd planned. Tell your father thanks anyway."

"My father knows all about it. Parker called him. They won't be using you anymore. They say you played The Stooges to second graders, that you were smoking right in the principal's office, and that you slam danced a little boy who was doing The Bunny Hop."

"It's all true," I said. "Sometimes I just don't know what gets into me."

"Well, just because you won't be teaching tomorrow, don't think you can sleep in. My father needs you to pick up his truck at 6 and take a load of broken asbestos shingles to the dump."

"Great," I said. "No problem."

2003-11-17T22:18:00.000-05:00

MY BRILLIANT CAREERS (1D)

I thought I was free. I was awake and on my second cup of coffee and the phone hadn't rung. Then it rang.

"Babbingham here. Can you do music for the elementary schools today? Miss Dissonance fell down this morning. She's in a bad way."

"Elementary schools?"

Babbingham was exasperated with me. "You do Chang in the morning and Eng in the afternoon. It's quite simple really."

"I can do it."

"You'll have to hurry. They're expecting you in 15 minutes."

"Great," I said. "No problem."

AN OBSERVATION

"You know," I said. "This school system is a mess. Pure chaos. They have two people calling the subs when everyone knows it's a one-woman job. They hire someone named Dissonance, of all things, to teach music, then she falls down. And the schools are named after sideshow freaks. They should really get their act together."

"Her name is Di'Santinence, not Dissonance. And you better hurry; Chang is way out at the end of the township. Practically in the next county."

"Great," I said. "No problem."

CAN I OR ANYONE KNOW

"The music room is at the other end of the school. Go all the way down this corridor, make a left, follow that corridor to the end, make one more left and you'll see the music room from there. The teachers will bring the students to class."

"Great," I said. My head was beginning to throb.

"Here are your instructions. Just follow this copy of the lesson plan."

THURSDAY: Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow. Class sing-a-along and activity. Students in row 4 will take turns being the farmer.

"Excuse me," I said to the office woman. "I don't have an insurance waiver."

"A what?"

"An insurance waiver. Can I touch the equipment?"

She looked at me with puzzlement, then crinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't understand. Why would you need an insurance waiver to play music? If you didn't want to sub, why did you take the job at all? Is that why you're so late? You really didn't want this job, did you?"

"Oh no," I said. "I really wanted this job."

She shook her head. "Well, if you really want to work, you better hurry. Second bell has already rung."

"Before I go, can you explain what this means - about the farmer?" I pointed to the lesson plan.

"I'm sure I could not," she said. "But the students have been working on this all week. They’ll know what to do if you can’t figure it out."

A PROUSTIAN MOMENT

The students were seated, waiting for me. Their classroom teacher stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. "You are very late," she hissed. "Miss Di'Santinence is never late."

"Miss Di'Santinence is not here," I said. "She’s fallen."

"I'm aware of that," the teacher said. "And so are the children. They are all very upset. Please try not to upset them further." And off she stalked.

"Good morning, class," I said. "How is everyone?"

Nothing.

I looked around. There was a record on my desk: "Children's Stories For A Rainy Day." Next to the desk was a fabric-covered sawed-off suitcase looking thing, which I recognized as a record player. It looked exactly like the one my own grade school music teacher had traveled with as she visited class after class and subjected us to endless playings of The Alley Cat. I fought back a quick wave of nausea at the recollection.

The children were staring at me expectantly, but I didn’t want to touch the thing. Finally, I swallowed hard, lifted it on the desk and opened it up cautiously.

The cord was so frayed I was tempted to ask for a student volunteer to plug it in.

I put on Oats, Peas. The children began to sing along. Loudly. Unselfconsciously. A wall of sound that would have made Phil Spector proud. My head was pounding. It was just after eight in the morning.

Although I had been familiar with the chorus, it had never occurred to me that there were actual verses. It was a revelation:

Verse 1:
First the farmer sows his seed,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.

I thought the sowing the seed and the standing erect were a little suggestive. Was there a hidden subtext?

If there was, the children didn’t notice. The residents of row 4 were taking turns acting out the farmer role as I played the song over and over.

Verse 2:
Next the farmer waters the seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands
And turns around to view his lands.

The sowing, stamping, clapping, and standing erect went on unabated. I felt a twitch at my temple, my vein was throbbing. I wondered if it was the onset of a stroke.

Verse 3:
Next the farmer hoes the weeds,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.

I thought of my grandmother, dead now for some years. What would she think if she could see me now?

Verse 4:
Last the farmer harvests his seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.

We finished the rounds with a few minutes to spare.

LOW BRIDGE, EVERYBODY DOWN!

“How about I play another song now?” I asked.

“But we don’t know the other songs,” a little girl in the first row protested.

“All the better,” I said. “We could learn something new,”

A dozen hands went up.

“We aren’t supposed to learn a new song today.”
“No.”
“No.”
"No."
“We have to sing ‘Oats Peas Beans and Barley Grow’ today.”

“I’m going to play ‘Erie Canal,’” I said. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Mrs. Stalkoff arrived to collect her class. They were solemn, sitting at attention, some with quivering lips.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Not a thing,” I said. “We’re just listening to a new song.”

RAW POWER

Like all petty tyrants, I was quick to abuse my authority. By the third class of the morning I was smirking and threatening.

“If you don’t want to listen to ‘Erie Canal’ I can go to my car and get my ‘Funhouse’ tape. How about if I play ‘TV Eye’ for you? Would you like that? I thought not.”

So, in that fashion, I got through the morning music classes at the Chang school. My head had even begun to clear a bit. The cannonading in my skull had subsided to a dull roar.

I was sort of looking forward to the afternoon session over at Eng.

2003-10-29T21:31:00.000-05:00

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) 1C

A RUDE AWAKENING

I was talking to Jeannie. Her reserve had disappeared. Her tone was warm and seductive.

“We need someone to assist the cheerleaders today. Do you think you could analyze their routines for us? And maybe later you could stop by and tell me how it went. We could have a glass of wine and relax in my private office. Would you like that?”

I was trying to answer her, but my tongue couldn’t form the words. Far away I could hear a phone ringing.

“You’re sleeping right through your call. Quick, answer it before they get someone else.”

I shook myself awake and grabbed the phone. I was determined to sound both chipper and manly.

“Hello,” I said.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice asked. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” I answered. “Who’s calling?"

“This is Mr. Babbingbam, from the Board of Education. Are you available to substitute today?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are you sure you're all right, sir? You're very hard to understand. Do you have a cold or a sore throat?”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Well as long as you’re sure. We need a substitute for the shop teacher at the high school. Please be at the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”

Before I could respond the phone went dead.

OFF TO THE RACES

“The shop classes only meet in the morning. Most of the shop students go to their voc-ed jobs in the afternoon. So after lunch, please report back to hallway C in the main building. You’ll act as a hall monitor for the afternoon classes.”

“Main building?” I asked.

She looked at me as if I were beyond help. After taking a deep breath, she responded in the slow deliberate style that people affect when they want all within earshot to see how patient they can be when dealing with an imbecile.

“This is the main building. The shop students have their own building out back, at the end of the parking lot. It’s a prefab. Oh, and please report to Mr. Von Klausewitz, the shop department supervisor, before going to the classroom. His office is in the trailer next to the shop building.”

The parking lot went from asphalt to gravel, then petered out into weeds and loose rocks.
I followed a dirt path, strewn with broken glass, chains, and assorted detritus, to the front of the trailer. A bunch of old tires were piled up next to the door. There had to be a vicious, mangy, pariah dog, or maybe an angry pit bull, crouching somewhere close by.

I went in and found Von Klausewitz. His office was a dinged up desk in the middle of the trailer. I had to work my way through piles of machine tools, scrap metal, magazines, cardboard coffee cups, and fast food wrappers in order to approach.

Von Klausewitz was dressed in a grease stained green work suit. Sort of a combination mechanic/chain-gang escapee number. He looked as though he had once been a hard man. Now, though, he was fleshy and haggard, Karl Malden-nosed and beady eyed.

“You wanted to see me?” I said. I knew what was coming.

“Yeah. Before you do anything in there I gotta see your state insurance waiver.”

“I don’t have one.”

“The fuck. Why do they keep sending me all these fuckups? You, you can’t touch anything. Just take attendance and sit there. Got it?”

“Damn,” I said. “I was really hoping to get my hands on a grouter today. I mean a router.”

Von Clausewitz disappeared behind a copy of The Racing Form. I was dismissed.

After 1st period I went back to the trailer. Von Klausewitz was whispering into the phone while marking up the charts in The Form with his free hand. He looked disgusted to see me.

“What is it, wiseguy?”

“The students are pretty wild. There’s really nothing for them to do.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe I could take them to the library. Let them get something to read.”

He face reddened and he started to shake in fury. He leapt up and pointed his finger at me.

“The fuck you say! Those kids aren’t allowed into the main building without special passes. They pay me to keep them out here. You trying to get me in trouble?”

“Nope.”

“Just tell them to be quiet. If they get too out of line, tell them you’re going to go get Klaus. That’ll shut them up. They don’t want to see me coming in. Now, is that it? I’m pretty busy here.”

SUCCESS STORY

He was right. They didn’t want him to come in there. I marked time until lunch, then made my way to the cafeteria. I picked up some generic pre-made food and waited in a line that must have started while the freshmen were still in elementary school.

I finally got to the cashier. She didn't ring me up; she just stared at me. “Aren’t you?”

Then I recognized her. The mother of an old schoolmate of mine. “Yes, yes I am. How’s Ritchie?”

“Oh, he’s doing very well. He’s a doctor now; I’m sure you heard.”

No, I hadn’t heard. We’d lost touch over the years.

“Married, too. To a lovely girl. They have two wonderful children. A boy and a girl. Just beautiful they are. So sweet and so well spoken. And they love their Nana so much.”

I was beginning to realize why the line moved so slowly.

“Ritchie just bought a house, too. A big beautiful one up on the hill in that new community outside of town. I can’t for the life of me see why they would need such a big house, it’s practically a mansion.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am for him,” I said. “And how much for this?”

I decided to go home after lunch. Hallway C would be unmonitored, out of the reach of the law, at least for one afternoon.

HEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAIR?

When I got home, I fell asleep on the couch but was soon awakened by a loud carrying-on. I rushed to the window and looked out upon a conga line of pregnant teens, singing some sort of bawdy song, laughing and pointing up at me. I felt a hand tapping on my shoulder and jumped back. It was Coach Shuckley. He was bouncing a basketball with the other hand and laughing hysterically.

“It’s your own fault,” he shouted above the racket. “I myself live in a sound-proof, vandal proof structure, personally designed for me by Albert Speer.”

“You’re insane,” I said. “Speer’s been dead for years and besides, he never did residential.”

“Speer, Jr. and The Speer Group, I mean. They helped me out, as a favor.”

I heard a horrible, screeching noise.

“That’s Klaus and a few of the boys, gone to work on your car. That way, when Donnie gets here, you’ll have to face the music. No running for your car and riding away. Get the picture?”

"No, it can't be," I tried to say, but the words wouldn't come out. Someone was shaking me again.

"It was FW. "Wake up, for God's sake. You're gibbering and drooling all over the couch. How long have you been sleeping there anyway?"

"This school thing, it's not working out," I said. “I feel like I'm coming down with a case of trichotillomania.”

"Don't tell me you bought pork from a high school cafeteria. What's wrong with you? What couldn't you just bring a sandwich and eat in the faculty lounge like a normal person?"

"Do you remember my friend Ritchie?" I asked. "He had real ruddy cheeks and a high forehead. Well anyway, I just heard he became a doctor. Maybe he can help me."

"You seem to know a lot of doctors," she said. "But I'd be surprised if any of them can help you."

2003-10-27T07:31:00.000-05:00

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) 1B

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER

“Good morning, this is Jeannie. Are you available today?”

“Sure,” I said. “What do you have today?”

“We need a physical education sub at Junior High #1. Report to the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”

I still couldn’t get a read on Jeannie. The voice was neutral, uninflected, overly professional, almost robotic. No feeling at all. I bet she didn’t talk to Parker that way.

I was almost looking forward to the day. Getting paid for gym might not be so bad.

YOU CAN LOOK, BUT YOU MAY NOT TOUCH

A big square-jawed, square-headed brute approached me. A gym teacher right out of central casting. A grown man, working, in short pants and a tee shirt, a whistle around his neck.

“Chuck Shukley. We’ll be teamed together most of the day. Do you have a state insurance waiver?”

I was thinking of my high school gym teachers. A short stumpy balding man, the wrestling coach. His name was Gary, but everyone called him Fat Jack. God knows why. A thin nervous man, Mr. Lop. Another thin man, but with a mustache, Mr. Arming. Spent a lot of time in the locker room, making sure everyone took a shower. Shukley would have mopped the floor with the lot of them.

"A what?”

Shukley gave me a disgusted look. “An insurance waiver. Most of the long-term subs have them.”

“I just started subbing,” I said.

“If you want to sub for phys. ed. you have to get one. If you’re not certified, you can’t touch any of the equipment. And that includes the balls. Look, just take attendance for your group and I’ll handle both classes.”

I took out my attendance sheet, and wrote ALL PRESENT at the top. “Done,” I said.

Shukley glared at me, then blew his whistle. “Everyone take a lap. Then break up into groups and choose sides. Play shirts and skins. Now!”

He blew his whistle again and off they ran.

As they ran, Shukley got four basketballs from a bag and rolled them out. Soon there were four half court games in progress. Shukley sat down on the bleachers and began puzzling his way through a copy of Sports Illustrated. I stood in the corner of the gym.
A ball bounced my way and I instinctively moved to grab it.

The whistle blew. “Freeze!” Shukley yelled. “You! Don’t touch that ball!”

Everyone froze. I froze. The ball rolled by. Finally, one of the boys walked by me and picked it up. Some of them were looking at me curiously.

Shukley spent the rest of the period standing, arms folded, glaring at me. His Sports Illustrated lay untended at the bottom of the bleachers. After an eternity, a bell rang. The students ran to change. I checked my schedule. Four more classes in a row with this guy.

AND THOSE WHO CAN’T TEACH GYM

As the day progressed, I tried to work on getting out of the way of errant balls without being too obvious. But it wasn’t foolproof. Every now and then one would head directly for me. With Shukley on alert, I had no options. I ducked, I jumped, I ran away. It was noticeable. The students began to look at me as if I were some sort of freak. A man afraid of a basketball. Running away like a frightened animal.

After a while, (by the end of 3rd period, I think) I actually had become afraid of the ball. My personality had undergone a massive upheaval. I was now some sort of cringing, craven, hunted sub-human, lurking under the bleachers, terrified of what the crypto-fascist gym teacher had in store for me should I touch one of the official junior high basketballs.

WE CANNOT GO TO THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA BEHIND THE SCHOOL
FOR THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA WILL BRING US NO PEACE

I was still rattled at lunch. I flinched at every motion. I needed a break.
I knew there was a small wooded area behind the school. I thought if I could walk out there and sneak a smoke or two, there was a chance I could clear my head and get through the rest of the day without cracking. I followed a little path to a clearing, but I had been beaten to it. Two boys were there smoking.

They didn’t seemed worried about being caught smoking by an authority figure. In fact, they didn’t seem to see me as an authority figure at all. I recognized one of them from gym class. He recognized me.

“Hey,” he said to his friend. “Goddamn. That’s the guy I was just telling you about. Right there.”

They both burst into laughter.

I turned around and walked back into the school.

OUT OF THE FIREPLACE

For the last two periods of the day, I was to report to room 36, for ISS. I stopped by the office. “What’s ISS?” I asked

“It’s In-School Suspension. They usually have the gym teachers do them. The kids are pretty bad in there. The gym teachers are the only ones who can keep them in line.”

“What do I do if they get out of line?”

She was thinking. “Well,” she said. “There’s really not much you can do. To get to In-School Suspension, they’ve already been sent from classes, been given detentions, and most have been on suspension on and off all year. And, of course, we can’t expel them. They’re too young. The only important thing is to make sure none of them leave the room. They’ve got to stay in there until the last bell rings, no matter what.”

“Great,” I said. “No problem.”

I got to room 36 and hunkered down. Soon I was deluged with nonstop requests, pleadings, threats.

“Just let me go to my locker.”
“I’ve go to see my guidance counselor. I’m suicidal.”
“I left my stuff in the lunch room.”
“I left my stuff in homeroom.”
“My cousin’s waiting for me outside. It’s an emergency.”

On and on it went.

The room faced the parking lot. I could see the buses lining up. I’d just about made it. I only had to hang on for the last ten minutes. Then, with no warning, three girls picked up their stuff and headed for the door.

“Back to your seats,” I said. “We still have ten minutes.”

The students turned on me.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
“They’re allowed.”
“Can’t you see they’re pregnant, man?”
“If you’re pregnant, you get to leave early. Everybody knows that.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you have any respect when somebody’s pregnant?”
“If Ronnie finds out how you act, he’ll kick your ass. He ain’t afraid of no substitute teacher.”
“How about they get knocked down in the halls? Is that what you want?”
“Man’s ignorant. Doesn’t know how to act when someone’s pregnant.”
“Doesn’t know how to play no ball either, I hear.”
“I oughta call Ronnie.”

The girls has paused near they door. Now, vindicated, they held their heads high and marched out the door. One of them “harumphed” at me.

A minute or so later they reappeared on the parking lot. They were laughing and pointing at their classmates still at their desks. “Look at you suckers,” one of them said.

"They’re lucky,” someone in the back of the classroom said. “They’re pregnant. They get to leave early.”

The room quieted down as the remaining suspendees pondered their classmates’ good fortune. The bell rang.

JUST ON THE OFF-CHANCE

“Well, how was it today?”

“I’m getting a real education,” I said. “Oh, and by the way, if a guy named Ronnie comes around, tell him I moved."

2003-10-23T09:36:00.000-05:00

MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) Part 1.

JIM LETS US GO

Hey guys. How was your weekend? Do anything good?”

“Nothing much. The usual,” CR said.

“I got married,” I said. “That was on Saturday. On Sunday I watched the playoffs.”

“Jeez,” said Jim. “I guess I’ve got some bad timing then.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’ve got to let the both of you go. Friday’s gonna be your last day."

“No problem,” I said. “If you got to, then you got to.”

“Yeah,” said Jim. “You know how it is then.”

I did know how it was. Over the past couple of months my job had consisted of trying to stretch out an hour’s worth of work into a full day of looking busy. In many ways, it was more tiring than actually working.

NEWS FLASH

“I got fired today. Well actually Jim let us go.” I said. “I’m through on Friday.”
“I’m shocked,” FW said. “As hard a worker as you are. What will you do now?”
“Right now, I’m gonna see what’s on. After that, I don’t know.”

A RED HERRING & AN EQUIVOCATION

“I talked to my father. He thinks you should substitute teach.”
“Since when did your father become an employment counselor? Last I looked he was putting up aluminum siding.”
“That’s vinyl siding. And he says come by Saturday morning. He’ll pay you $100 to unload the truck and then take some stuff to the dump.”
“Isn’t it a little cold to be working outside? On a weekend?”

EITHER/OR CHOICES & A BANDWAGON APPEAL

“Look, either you try this, or we’ll starve. Everyone has to work; all your friends have jobs. Why do you think you should be any different?”

“It’s not really feasible,” I said. “Even if I get all that paperwork done and fill out those forms, I don’t think I’d get any jobs. The school year’s half over; they must have a stable of reliable substitutes by now. Why would they call me?”

“They would call you,” FW said, “because one of the guys my father golfs with, that guy Parker, you remember him from last 4th of July. Big guy, smokes cigars. He’s the principal of the junior high. He’s having an affair with a woman in the Board of Education Office, and she’s the one in charge of calling the substitutes. She’ll put your name on the top, so you get called first. It’s all taken care of.”

“What a break,” I said. “I can’t believe how things work out.”

“I got all those forms finished,” I said. “And if it turns out I don’t have tuberculosis, I can start Monday. Oh, I checked the pay. If I work 30 days a month, we should just be able to make the rent. Food and other stuff, I don’t know about.”

“You know, it’s not supposed to be a career; it’s just something to tide us over.”

“Damn, I was already looking forward to summers off.”

MONDAY

“Hi. This is Jeannie. Are you available today?"

It sounded like an invitation, but an invitation to what I could not tell. It was very early and very dark. I stared at the phone for a long time. Who was Jeannie? What could she want? Then it clicked.

“Sure, I’m available. What do you have?”

“Junior High #2 needs a reading sub. Report to the office before 7:15 for your room assignments and instructions.”

While showering, I amused myself by trying to put a face and a body to the voice of Jeannie. I wanted to imagine what Parker was up to. I wondered if Jeannie was married as well. Was it a double cheating situation, or was Jeannie single, or more likely divorced, and pining for that arrogant cigar smoking fool Parker to leave his wife and make an honest woman of her?

I couldn’t come up with a plausible scenario. I resolved to listen more attentively if she called tomorrow.

HOMEROOM AND THE SLIPPERY SLOPE

I was sitting in a room in a Junior High #2. The kids were milling around. A couple of electronic bells rang. A few more kids strolled in. I was sitting on the desk, taking in the show. A kid appeared at my elbow.

“I need your attendance sheet.”

“My what?”

“You have to take attendance right after the first bell. Then you mark off the absences on your sheet and I take it to the office. And whoever comes in after the bell, you have to send them to the detention room."

The what?”

“The detention room. Then they can get a pass to come back in here, after they’re signed up for detention.”

I looked through the papers I had been given at the office. I found the attendance sheet,
wrote ALL PRESENT on the top and gave it to the little collaborator. As he left the room, I noticed a teacher in the room across the hall waving me over. I walked over.

“Those students who came in late, you have to send them to the detention room. They can’t be coming in late like that. Otherwise they'll think they can get away with anything.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I said. I tried to give him a nod and a wink, but all I could manage was a half squint that scrunched up the right side of my face as if I had a condition. I knew the effect was horrible and even though I hadn’t intended it, I realized it had done the job. He backed off.

INTO THE ABYSS

Another bell rang and everyone was off. The halls were a maelstrom of activity. I decided to wait rather then be carried off by the current. I wondered what would happen if I were late to class. Would the students demand that I be sent of to the detention room? Would some officious prick wag his finger at me for setting a bad example? Unlike college, where professors could wander into class at their leisure, junior high teachers were expected to have arrived at their desks, books open, chalk in hand, sporting malignant half smiles, well before the students arrived. I knew that much.

The reading teacher had left some basic instructions. Read page this to page that.

I wrote the instructions on the board and sat down. I was trying to read, but the students were loud and louder.

“Hey, quiet,” I said. “You’re supposed to be reading.”

They didn’t quiet. They got louder.

“If they don’t listen, you’re supposed to send them to the office.” This from a toady in the front row.

I pointed to the loudest lout. “Hey you, get out. Go to the office.”

He looked sort of nonplussed, but he got up and left. Still, the noise continued. I couldn’t concentrate on my reading. I decided to kick out some more.

“You, out. To the office. You, too. Go.”

The toady was waving his hand wildly, trying to get my attention. “When you kick them out, you have to call the office. Otherwise they won’t go.” He pointed to a phone on the wall.

I walked over to the phone. There was a sticker on the wall underneath it. Press #99 for main office. I picked up the receiver, punched a few numbers at random and mumbled loudly but incoherently. They quieted down. I went back to my reading.

As the day wore on, I fell into a rhythm. “Get out.” “You, get out.” "You get out too.” Walk over to phone. “Bla, bla, bla.” Continue reading.

I had 5 reading classes in a row, then lunch. After lunch I checked my schedule.
Periods 6 & 7: “No classes scheduled. Please report to library and be available to assist if necessary.”

I was at the liquor store by 1:15, home at 1:30.

A HASTY GENERALIZATION

“Well, how was it?" FW asked when she came in.

“More brutal than I could have imagined, but I'll try to stick it out .”

2003-10-17T21:19:00.000-05:00

THE ENIGMATIC DR. F VISITS THE SUNSHINE STATE

ROAD TRIP

I got a late start and didn't get to F's until almost noon. He threw a bag into the back and scrunched himself down in the passenger seat, a baseball cap mashed down on his head, the bill obscuring his face.

"What took you?" he asked.

"I was busy," I replied in my best Luther voice. "And aren't you overplaying the fugitive act a little? I thought the police just wanted to talk to you."

"It's not the police I'm worried about. It's that ape Tony. He's out. He's pissed. And I hear he's asking around about me. I already saw him cruising by here once."

"So, I guess we should get going, then," I said.

"That would be a good idea."

"Try to stay smooshed down like that, at least until dark," I said. "If you get hungry, I'll throw you a peanut."

RIGHT ON THE INNERCOASTAL

"So, where do we stay?" I asked.

"Pompano"

"Where's that?"

"South.” Pretty far south."

"Why Pompano?"

"My cousin's there. He lives all alone in a big house right on the inneracoastal. Says we can stay as long as we want."

"Sounds like a great guy."

A CAVEAT

"Actually," F said, "My cousin, he's pretty straight. Actually, he's really straight."

"I guess you don't mean straight as in not gay," I said.

"I mean straight, like no drinking, no smoking, no drugs, no nothing. Real clean-cut.
Gets up and runs every morning. Goes to church. That kind of straight," F said.

"He's so straight, he sounds a little gay to me," I said.

"That son a bitch, I bet he is gay," F said. "I never really thought about it. Well, as long as we have a place to stay, I don't care what kind of perverted shit he's up to. Let the gay bastard do what he wants. Live and let live. That's what I always say."

"I don't think I ever did hear you say that," I said.

"Say what?"

"I need some money for the bridge toll," I said.

WE WERE SOMEWHERE AROUND BARSTOW ON THE EDGE OF THE DESERT WHEN THE DRUGS BEGAN TO TAKE HOLD.

Sorry, scratch that. What I meant was...

WE WERE SOMEWHERE AROUND ROCKY MOUNT ON THE EDGE OF THE PIEDMONT WHEN THE ALTERNATOR WENT.

"You know," I said, "I'm on a pretty tight leash. An alternator, a battery, a tow, a jump, it's adding up."

We were in a diner, having a late breakfast, while my car was being revitalized.

"It’s not my fault," said F. "You must be nuts trying to drive a piece of shit like that to Florida. Why would you even try something like that? Driving with no headlights. I could have been killed."

I was tempted to reply.

"Look," said F. You go get the car and I'll take care of the check. How's that? You can't whine about a free breakfast."

I walked next door to the garage, ransomed my car and pulled back into the diner lot, looking for F. He appeared from nowhere, jumped in the car and scrunched himself down once again.

"Hit it," he said.

I hit it.

When we got back on the highway I ventured a guess. "I guess you bolted the check.”

"I bolted the check," said F. "That meal sucked. I didn't even eat that white shit next to my eggs."

"They’re called grits," I said. "They like them down here. I hope you at least left a tip."

“Of course I did,” said F. “The service was outstanding.”

GEOGRAPHY

“I don’t know what you’re worrying about. We should do all right. The people down south, they’re ignorant,” F said. “Bunch of backwards morons, almost all of them. People like us are the governors and senators down here.”

“You may be right, in principle,” I said. “But Florida, that’s not really the south. The backwards bastards, they’re mostly in Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, not in Florida. Florida’s totally different.”

F was thinking this over. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Pretty sure,” I said. My impression of Florida is that it’s full of a lot of two bit criminals, hustlers, drug killers, people like that. They come from all over.”

F brightened up. “That could be good too,” he concluded.

LIVE!! ALL NUDE GIRLS!! XXX

“This looks like a good place,” F said. “We should stop here.”

A white cinder block building. Windows painted black. Bars on the door.

“This looks like a clip joint,” I said.

“A what?” F asked.

I explained. “The girls come over to your table. They’re all over you. They ask you to buy them drinks. It’s a bunch of nothing – watered down drinks, club soda in champagne bottles. Then they disappear and you get a tab for a couple hundred dollars – if you’re lucky.”

“Get out,” F laughed. “This I gotta see.”

We worked our way over to a table almost at the foot of the stage. Next to us was a larger table where an impromptu party appeared to have broken out. There four fresh-faced college age young men were having the time of their life. An equal number of almost all-nude dancers had taken a liking to them. They girls were in constant motion, sitting, drinking, laughing, smoking, bending over, having a merry old time. There were at least eight empty champagne bottles on the table, as well as highball glasses and beer bottles.

“So, if you’re right, these guys are fucked,” said F.

“Don’t blink.”

Sure enough, in the blink of an eye, the girls had vanished. In their place stood a very large bouncer, brandishing an even larger drink check.

HI GUYS

We ordered some beers and sat down to enjoy the show. The two all nude dancers on stage paid a lot of attention to us. After their set, they joined us at out table.

“Hi guys. Like our dancing?”

“Sure. It was very nice.”

“Want to buy us some drinks? We can stay a while and get acquainted. Like my tits?”

“Sorry, ladies.” F said. “No drinks tonight.”

The girls got up and went to another table. The very large bouncer came over to our table.

“Hi guys. How’s it going?’

“Great. Just great.”

I noticed he was wearing a name tag. A long name, a last name, not a fake name, like Mr. Robert, but a real name...

“Don’t you like our girls?’

“Sure, we like them just fine,” I said

“Usually, if people like our girls, they like to buy them drinks. Get it fellas?”

I did get it. “Got it,” I said.

“Good,” said the bouncer.

Two more dancers arrived at our table.

“Hi guys.”

“No drinks for you,” F said. He was laughing. “Move along please.”

The bouncer returned. He seemed more puzzled than angry.

“Guys, don’t you get it? The girls, you have to buy them drinks. That’s how it works. You can’t just sit there. Got it?"

“Got it,” I said.

As the bouncer started to leave again, F called him over.

“Actually, there is a problem. The girls, we don’t like them. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them. But the thing is, we’re a couple of fags. We don’t like girls at all. Tell you what. You get your naked ass up there and dance; we’ll buy you all the drinks you want. Got it.?”

The bouncer seemed a little confused. He didn’t get it. He retreated to confer with a few more monsters on the other side of the room. I knew if the put their heads together, they would get it. I figured we had about thirty seconds.

“Let’s hit it,” I said.

HIT IT, BOLT IT.

I got up and headed toward the exit. I snuck one quick look behind me and saw F sitting calmly at the table. I saw two of the bouncers peeling off and moving toward me. I was going at a full speed when I got to the parking lot. The steroid cases knew they couldn’t catch me, so they tried to outsmart me.

“Yo, buddy. We just want to talk. Just come here a minute. Let’s work this out.”

I really didn’t think we had much to talk about. I was walking down the street as they were yelling. I knew they wouldn’t follow me far off the property. Like big bad bully dogs, they were afraid to leave their master’s lawn. Still, I had to get back to the car, and quick.

When I got to the edge off the lot, I made a dash to the car. By the time they realized what was happening I was in and moving. They came at me from the long end of the lot; they didn’t realize I was heading back toward the club.

I heard a fire alarm go off. At the rear off the club I saw F. He was backing out of an emergency exit, holding a chair in front of him like a lion tamer. Three bouncers were lunging at him; F parried their thrusts with the chair. I floored it right at them, and then braked hard, raising a spray of gravel. The bouncers headed for cover, diving back into the bar. F carefully set down the chair and got in the front seat.

“Now. Hit it," he said.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

I kept thinking of the first bouncer, the dim one who kept trying to explain the rules to us. How did they fit that monster name on one of those name tags? And why bother? Bolenciecwcz. Not a common name. Had to be a relative. Maybe a grandson.

“I told you they’re morons down here,” said F. “We’re hardly in Florida and already free nude girls, free beer, the works.”

“Maybe,” I said. "But that first guy, he’s not from the south, he's from Ohio. Or at least his family was.”

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2003-10-09T20:37:00.000-05:00

TENDENCIES (A process poem)

You know they’ve never lost. Never lost.
Well, never lost at home. At night.
In a playoff game. In December
At night in December. In a second round game.

When it was over 50.
Over 50.
Kelvin.

Kelvin. Kelvin. Kelvin. Kelvin Smith
Wasn’t he a wide-out for the Cowboys?

They didn’t call them that then.
They were all wide receivers. Or maybe wide ends.

The one who got into trouble.
Legal trouble. Nasty stuff it was.
Bad for the league.

Wasn’t he married to a showgirl?
One of those M ones. Marilyn. Monique. Mamie it was.
Or maybe Mansfield.

Anyway that wasn’t him. It was the other guy.
The guy with the blonde hair who wrote a book.

That’s right - it was Mamie. Mamie Van Doren.
She was a hot number in those days.

You’re thinking of the baseball player. The baseball player Belinsky.
Bo Belinsky.

I do remember him. A pool hustler from Tarrytown.
He threw a no hitter in L.A. Everyone loved him for a little while.

I always thought of that name. Bo Belinsky.
Bobo Linsky. It sounded like a fake name, like Bob White, or Bob O. Link
He was quite a character though. Quite a character.

He’s dead now.
They’re all dead. All those characters. Most of them anyway.
The ones that aren’t, they’re all down in Florida playing golf.
Playing golf and….

(to be continued)

2003-09-30T11:05:00.000-05:00

MEIN GOTT! (Roll over, John Dewey)

A SCARY MISSIVE ARRIVES:

Dear Parents and Guardians,

You are cordially invited to attend Back-to-School Night at the County Middle School. The evening is designed to offer a panoramic glimpse of your school’s program and opportunity to meet with the teachers who instruct your children. Your children have filled out a card with their daily schedule. You will follow their individual schedule - except that each of these Back-to-School Night classes will last only eight minutes….

“This is optional, right?” I said. “It’s not something we have to do, is it?"
I was wrong. It was something we had to do.

THE HALLOWED HALLS WERE, TRUTH BE TOLD, A LITTLE DINGY

I was dragging by 4th period. “What’s next?”
“German. Room 323.”
“Who’s the teacher?”
“I can’t make it out.” Looks like Ork.”
“Let me see. One? Onk? Oink?”
“Knock it off.”

FROM THE HALLS OF MONTEZUMA TO THE HALLS OF PS3

The teacher was a Post-Modern Pan-Asian looking guy.

“Guten Abend. Ich bin Herr Ohno. That is: Good evening. I am Mr. Ohno. Ha Ha Ha.”

“Oh no,” I said.

“How did someone like me end up teaching German? Ha Ha. Let me tell you. I took German in high school and I spent a year in Germany as an exchange student. Can you believe it? Has anyone ever been to Germany?”

A few desultory hands went up.

“A few of you at least. Good. Good. Then you know. Ha Ha Ha. I just loved Germany so much. I always kept in touch with my host family. I was just talking with my host Mom this past weekend. After all these years. I call her all the time. Can you believe it? Ha Ha.”

I did believe it. He had a certain needy quality that made it easy to believe that he would latch onto a surrogate mother and hound the poor woman for decades.

“Then I went to college. UC Davis. I majored in biology and German. I thought maybe I would be doctor. Haa. Can you believe it now? Ha Ha.”

I was thinking - UC Davis – isn’t that the place where you can get a degree in wine?

I was thinking - it must have been the parents who wanted him to be a doctor. Poor son of a gun had to carry two majors, one for his parents and one for himself.

“After college I joined the Marines. I spent eight years in the Marines. Can you believe it? Ha Ha. The Marines. Ha Ha.”

That one came out of nowhere. However, by this point of the evening, feeling a little shell-shocked myself, if Herr Oh No had announced that he was the reincarnation of Hathor the Egyptian cow goddess, come to drown the athletic fields in blood, I would have been inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I left the Marines just last September. Now I am teaching German, right here. This is my first year teaching; I don’t know what I’m doing yet. Don’t tell your children. Ha Ha.
No, that is a joke. Everything will be fine. Ha Ha Ha. Well, that’s all the time we have. Guten abend.”

THE LONG MARCH CONTINUES

“Look,” I said, “I’m not up to this. I think I’m gonna cut next class and go sneak a smoke in the boys room. Wait outside and watch for hall monitors.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Have you turned into one of those goody-goody types? Teacher’s pet?”
“You quit smoking years ago, for one thing.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot there for a minute. What’s next then?”
“Algebra. Room 711. And we’ve got to hurry. It’s all the way on the other side of the school and I think you get detention if you're late.”
“Who’s the teacher?”

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2003-09-23T15:14:00.000-05:00

A PORTENTOUS CONVERSATION

“I guess you don’t go out any more, do you?” said Fish.
“I’m out now,” I said.
“I mean, like go out,” Fish said. “Are you allowed to go out?”
“I am allowed to go out,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
“I mean, by yourself,” Fish said. “Are you allowed to go out by yourself?”
“Yes,” I said. “I can go out by myself. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got eight tickets for the game on June 22nd. Wanna go?”

I did a quick mental calculation. It was mid-April. June 22nd was a long time away. It might never come. “Sure,” I said. “That’ll be great.”

NO WAY OUT

That night I asked a question. “Am I allowed to go out?”
“What do you mean, go out? Go out where?”
“To a baseball game, with a bunch of people.”
“What kind of question is that? Of course you can go to a baseball game.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said.

THE PLOT THICKENS

Fish called a few weeks later. “Great news. Tiger came into some money and he’s renting a limo so we can drink all day with no worries about driving.”
“That is great,” I said.
“Be over my house around 11, we want to get an early start.”
“No problem,” I said.
“And I told Tiger we’ll all chip in for the tip on the limo.”
“No problem,” I said.

“You have work today, Daddy?” Thing 1 asked.
“No work today. I’m going to a baseball game.”
“Who are you going with?”
“Some friends of mine.”
She was flummoxed. With hands on hips: “And who are these friends?”
“Oh, just some friends I have”
“What are their names?”
“Well, I don’t actually know all their names yet, but I can tell you that one is a Fish and the other is a Tiger.”

She was properly impressed.

DAY OF RECKONING

I got to Fish’s house right at 11. He opened the refrigerator. “First things first. Bud or Coors Light?”
First Hobson’s choice of the day, I said to myself. I held up a hand signifying that I’d hold off for a while. “
“Make it a Bud then,” Fish said as he dropped a cold can into my outstretched hand.
“Bud it is,” I said.

There was an old guy standing in the living room. Thin silver hair, slicked back. Black shirt, shiny black pants, and shiny black shoes. “That’s Carmine, the limo driver. He’s really gonna take care of us,” Fish said. “Right, Carm?”
Carmine grimaced.

“Carmine’s a bartender at The Corner Bar. He’s great,” Fish said. “He drives a limo in his spare time.”
That piece fell into place.

Tiger arrived, lugging a shopping bag full of beer. “Got some Bud and some Coors Light,” he said.
“Great,” I said

“You know,” Tiger said, “in all the years we’ve been running into each other I never knew your last name.”
“I’ll be damned,” I said. “Isn’t that something.”

Fish came in from the garage, dragging an extremely large cooler. “The other guys are waiting outside,” he said. “Let’s load this up and get going.”

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME

It was not a large limo. Wedged in between The Eye Doctor and The Bar Owner, with my legs propped up on the cooler, I did a quick count. “I thought we had eight.”
“Red’s taking the train and meeting us down there,” Fish said. “Who needs a beer?’

I closed my eyes and let the conversation wash over me.
“Bud.”
“Bud.”
"Bud Light."
“Coors Light.”
“Mich Light has fewer calories, but Mich Ultra is lower in carbs."
“Carmine, you just missed the highway entrance.”
“Who needs a beer?”
“Bud.”
"Bud Light."
“Coors Light.”
“Hey, who put these Millers in here?”
“Bud.”
“Hey, Carmine.”

Tiger was passing around a flyer. “It’s next Sunday at Emmtown Park. An all-day Bluesfest. Only $30. And all the beer you can drink. Who’s in?”

It looked like everyone was going in. “No thanks,” I said. “I don’t like the blues.”
“Everyone likes the blues,” Tiger said. “Besides, it’s all-day, all the beer you can drink.”

“I’ll pass,” I said.
"Oh, yeah. That's right. Fish told me you weren’t allowed out,” Tiger said.

It seemed for a second that everyone was looking at me, maybe in pity. I began to feel a little embarrassed. Then I realized that it was the cooler that they were interested in. Once more, I brought my knees up to my chin, the lid was lifted, and another round was gained. Everyone relaxed.

“Carmine’s making good time.”
“Too good. He just missed the turnoff to the stadium.”
“Yo, Carmine.”
“Quick, let’s have one more before we get to the stadium bar.”
“Gimme a Bud.”
“We’re out. Only Millers left.”
“Got here just in time.”
“Carmine’s gonna wait here. Pick us up after the game.”
“He’s a great guy, Carmine.”
“There’s Red. Let go in and get a beer.”

The stadium bar featured two types of beer on tap.

TAKE ME OUT WITH THE CROWD

We eventually worked our way to our seats. They weren’t the best. In right field, lower level, but so far back we were in perpetual shadow from the upper deck overhang. I could almost make out the players. Also, we were angled so that we couldn’t see the giant screen in center field. No replays or highlights for us. We were pretty well hidden away.

Somehow though, the beer vendors found us right off.
“Cold beer.”
“Bud, got your Bud right here.”
“Hey, beer here.”

By the 5th inning Fish was quite a hero.
“Fish, best seats ever.”
“I never saw anything like it. They just kept coming with the beer.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Quick, drink up. They stop selling after the 7th.”

I DONT CARE IF WE EVER GET BACK

After the game we were thrust back into the sunlight, squinting like moles. Red headed for the train station.

“Red’s lost a lot of weight. He doesn’t look that good”
“Maybe he’s sick.”
“He could be dying and not saying anything. You know he doesn’t like to make a fuss.”
“Just like when his father died. Never said a word to anybody. Remember that?
“What do you think?”
“Me? I don’t even know the guy,” I said. “I guess he could be sick. I guess he could be dying”

“Hey look, there’s Carmine.” Waiting over there at the curb.”
“What a great guy.”
“Let’s go.”

THE SQUARE ROOT OF THE HYPOTENUSE

“Let’s figure out the tip.”
“Well. How much is the limo.?”
“Tiger’s paying $65 an hour. I guess times 5 hours. How much is that?”

“Carmine, you should turn here to get to the bridge. Ok, just go up and around the block then.”

“That’s $330. What’s 20% of that?”
“$66.”
“That’s not enough. How about we all chip in $25 for the tip. Carmine’s a really great guy.”
“And let’s throw in $5 more for Tiger. It’s not right that he should have to pay over $300.”

“Carmine, if you take the next exit you can avoid all that traffic. Well, this one’s all right too.”

WE GET TAKEN FOR ONE LAST RIDE

“Hey everybody, come on in and have one for the road,” Fish said.
We all followed, leaving Tiger to settle up Carmine.

Tiger came in a minute later. “There’s a problem,” he said. “Carmine can’t take a check or a credit card; he needs cash.”
“I thought you asked about that when you called,” Fish said.

“The limo company said yes,” Tiger said. “But Carmine, he’s just doing us a favor like off the books, so he wants cash. I said he can follow me to my house or to a cash machine, but he says he’s right up against the clock and if he does that he’ll have to charge for another hour.”

“Did you give him the tip yet?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Tiger said. “Right away.”

“How much do you need?" Fish asked.
“I’ve got a little over $200,” Tiger said.

“Hey everybody, chip in another $20 for the limo,” Fish yelled.
“Better make it $25,” said Tiger. “The Eye Doctor just pulled out.”

As I was leaving, Fish pulled me aside. “I’m sorry about Tiger. The way he messed up Carmine like that. Sometimes I just don’t know what he’s thinking.”

“I couldn't believe the whole thing either, " I said. “See you around.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2003-09-19T21:44:00.000-05:00

AND THAT VERY NIGHT I HAD A DREAM ABOUT MORDECAI BROWN

Thing 2 was lying in bed, arm outstretched, examining her hand very carefully. “Daddy, I have three big fingers in the middle.”
Yes, I see,” I said.

“Do you have three big fingers too?” she asked.
“Yes, I do.”

“Does everyone have three big fingers, even people in Florida?”
“Yes, they do.”

“Even people in distant lands?”
“Yes, even people in distant lands.”

“Daddy, how do you know these things?”
“I’ve been around,” I said.

And I decided I would wait until she was much, much older before I would tell her about my trip to Ocracoke Island.

2003-09-16T15:22:00.000-05:00

THE ENIGMATIC DR. F DABBLES IN THE RAG TRADE

You dress like a bum. You know that, don't do?" said F.
I didn't respond. I knew what was coming. F had recently taken a job managing a local men's clothing shop.

I'm serious," F said. You"re never going to get anywhere dressing like a bum. Why don"t you fix yourself up a bit?
"You on commission at that store?" I asked.

F was insulted: "Commission. Shit. Who needs commission? I take whatever I want. Tell you what. You come on down, pick out whatever you want. I ring the whole thing up half price. Fuck commission."

"No thanks," I said. "I don't really like the stuff at that store anyway."

"You know what you like; you like bum stuff. You're gonna go through life like a bum, aren't you? You think that's right? Looking like a bum?"

"See you later," I said. "I'm late for a bum meeting right now."

YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR

F called me a few weeks later with a better proposition. "Come on down to the store Thursday night. Take whatever you want for nothing. You can pull your car right up to the back door."

What's going on?" I asked.

It's a long story," F said. The store it's not doing all that well."

"You don't say," I said.

"Well anyway, the owners, they're losing money like crazy, so they're going to shut the whole thing down."

"Still," I said. "100% off is a heck of a going out of business sale."

"It's not exactly like that," F said.

"You don't say," I said.

"They got a scheme, a genius scheme," F said. "They got a storage unit and on Thursday they're gonna take about half the merchandise, all the good stuff. Then Thursday night they'r€re gonna get broken into and burned out. They'll get the insurance and then open up in a better location with the inventory already paid for."

"They told you all this?" I asked.

"Of course not," F said. "They don't trust me for shit. I found out because they gave Tony Ten Toes a down payment and he's been shooting his mouth off all over and my nephew heard and told me."

"You're losing me," I said. "Who's Tony Ten Toes?"

"Tony Tentoze, with a z. Don't you read the papers? Don't you keep up at all? Tony Tentoze; he was sort of connected. Went around stepping on people, beatin the ones who wouldn't pay up. Then he got into home invasions and armed robberies. Just got out. Parole or probation, I'm not sure. Anyway, he's the one's going to do thing Thursday."

You don't say," I said.

"I really shouldn't be telling you all this," F said.

"True," I said.

"So I let them know I knew but I told them I wanted some shit too. Because after this, I"ll be unemployed for a while at least. So if you come in, that's part of my share."

"I'm not sure how this all works out," I said.

"Are you thick? Just come in and get some stuff and leave. How hard can that be?

"I mean the rest of the night," I said.

"Oh that? It's simple. They're gonna leave the alarm off and the back door unlocked. Tony's gonna come in, take a bunch of stuff for himself, bust the place up a little, then torch it. It's foolproof."

"Sounds like it," I said.

I'll see you Thursday."

"Oh, sorry," I said. "I don't think I can make it. I have another meeting. But let me know how it goes."

BUT I DONT HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR

F called Friday afternoon. "Want to go to Florida?" he asked.
"When?" I said.

"Late tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest," he said.

"Didn't go so well last night, then?" I asked.

"That Tony, he's not so bright. Actually, he's a fucking moron," F said. "He went in the back door and left his trunk open with a can of gasoline in plain sight. Cop driving by notices, then he catches Tony coming out with an armful of suits and sweaters. Which would be bad enough, but when they get backup and go into the store to investigate, they can see it's three quarters empty. Where's all the clothes? Tony's got like one rack's worth of stuff only. So they ask more questions and Tony, he's not a talker, but he's not real smart either. They called me up a while ago, asked me to come in and talk to them. I told them Ok, but I'm not really coming in. I don't want the aggravation. I think I'd rather go to Florida."

"I could go to Florida," I said. "I guess we'd be driving down."

"You're driving," F said. "My car is garaged."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2003-09-15T21:37:00.000-05:00

EVEN WORSE, HIS SISTER IS A THESPIAN AND HIS FATHER WAS A WELL KNOWN HETEROSEXUAL

"I keep running into your friend Tiger," I told my friend Fish.
"Where?' asked Fish. "A new bar?"

"No," I said. "In the stacks at the library."
"No," said Fish. "The library. What's he doing there?"

"Genealogy, I think. At least that's the section where he works."
"Genealogy? Tiger? Why's Tiger doing genealogy?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe he's from an illustrious family."
"Illustrious family? Faa. Tiger's a postman."

Fish seemed put out by the whole idea of Tiger in a library. His face started to get red.

"Besides," he said, "What's Tiger know about rocks anyway?"

2003-09-11T13:40:00.000-05:00

CUANTOS TRABAJADORES DEL GOBIERNO EL TOMAN PARA CAMBIAR UNA BOMBILLA?
(It only takes two, but you may not live long enough to see it.)

WEEK 1

Monday. I notice two lights out in my office and call maintenance.

Tuesday. I work in semidarkness.

Wednesday. A guy comes in my office and stares at the ceiling. “You’ve got two out,” he says. “I’ll have to send someone over." “Thanks,” I say.

Thursday. I work in semidarkness.

Friday. Different guys come with a ladder. He stares at the ceiling a while then mounts the ladder. He puts two post-its on the ceiling and climbs down. “What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m marking the lights so they know which ones to change,” he says.

WEEK 2

Monday. I work in semidarkness.

Tuesday. I work in semidarkness.

Wednesday. I call maintenance. “We can’t change them now.” A guy says. “All we have is the yellow tinted ones and your office is supposed to have the white." I look at the ceiling. White, yellow tint, a few ones with a pink cast. “Yellow’s fine," I say.

Thursday & Friday. I work in semidarkness.

WEEK 3

Monday. I call maintenance. “We can’t change them now,” a guy says. “Your work order calls for the yellow tinted ones and we ran out Thursday.” “Any color’s fine, “ I say. “I just need some light."

Tuesday & Wednesday. I work in semidarkness.

Thursday. Two guys come in with a ladder, and a box of lights. They say something to me, but it’s not in English and I don’t really understand. So I point to the ceiling and point to the lights. One of them climbs the ladder and retrieves the post-it. “Be right back, Boss,“ he says.

Friday. They come back. They change the lights. The new ones have a pink tone. As they leave, they start to snicker. “El pidio luces rosadas,” one of them says. They both burst out laughing.

WEEK 4

Monday. I notice that another light has burned out over the weekend.

2003-09-04T12:53:00.000-05:00

YO, BY THEIR DEEDS YE SHALL KNOW THEM (Ishkabibble 26:1)

I ran into Big Fat Obnoxious Guy in the lounge of one of those fancy Florida resorts. He was traveling incognito (slimmed down, tanned, bearded, tinted shades), but there was no mistaking him once he went into action.

Just after 4 the hotel staff materialized and started bringing out some hors d'ouevres. BFOG pulled out a walkie-talkie.

BFOG: "Helen. Helen, Helen, come in."
No reply.

BFOG: "Helen. Helen. Helen, you there?”
Static.

BFOG: "Helen, come in. Helen, send one of the kids down with those trays. They're bringing out the food.”
Static.

A few seconds later Little Chubby Obnoxious Boy appeared and the two went to work. It was like the miracle of the loaves and fishes in reverse. Father and Son were able to make vast amounts of food disappear as if by magic. Platters of shrimp, chicken wings, egg rolls, fruit, vegetables vanished as soon as they appeared. I'd seen this act before so I wasn't surprised, but another guy was waiting in line obviously shocked.

Shocked Guy: "Hey, you took all the cheese and crackers. Now there's none for anyone else."
BFOG: "Hey, tell the staff to bring out more. That's their job, not mine."

AN OPPORTUNITY LOST

I was having coffee in the lounge early the next morning when BFOG wandered in.

BFOG: “Would you look at that? I don’t believe it.”

There was no one else in the lounge. He was either talking to me or to himself. It didn’t really matter. I kept my head down and took another sip of coffee.

BFOG: “I don’t believe it. What kind of staff do they have here anyway? All week long they’ve been sending me to the conference center and there’s a DSL hookup right there.”

BFOG: “They’ve been charging me too. Let me have a look at that. I bet that’s a hookup right there and they don’t even know it.”

And before I realized what was happening, BFOG was down on the floor, crawling under my table, trying to examine the hookups and outlets.

Usually, when an adult crawls by and touches me without permission (and this has happened more times than one might think), I respond in an appropriate manner.

I declaim loudly:
“What” (While delivering a quick kick to the ribs)
“Is the Matter” (another kick)
“With” (one more)
“You” (Stomp on any exposed fingers)

This usually move the offending party right along and leaves any bystanders convinced that the crawler has committed some unspeakable offense as well.

I aimed, and missed. BFOG was too quick for me. He was up, brushed off and moving toward the door.

“I’ll be doing all my work in here from now on,” he said. And he was gone.

2003-08-15T12:48:00.000-05:00

I WONDER WHAT ENRON'S SELLING FOR THESE DAYS

(He who laughs last, laughs last.)

I was on the elevator at work when three of the big supervisors got on. I tried to avoid any stupefying pleasantries and stilted conversation by giving a quick noncommital nod and returning to my magazine, but it was not to be.

"What are you reading there?" one asked.
I held up a copy of the magazine (Forbes) to show him. "I'm trying to work on some investment strategies," I said.

All three of them burst out laughing.

So, apparently, yes, I'm a heck of a funny guy. I'd be doing stand-up in the comedy clubs right now if they had a good dental plan.

"I don't have to be here ya'know. I could be basking in the sun down in Florida." - Handsome Dick Manitoba

2003-08-12T13:11:00.000-05:00

DOG BITES MAN

Attention all online pedophiles, pederasts, perverts, and would be internet weidros. Please disengage from that AOL chat room for a second. I have news for you.

There are no 14 year old boys waiting for you at the in the park.

There are no 12 year old schoolgirls waiting for you at the mall.

Those people you have been corresponding with, messaging, chatting up: Those people are policeman, investigators, detectives. When you leave your house for your planned assignation, you will be arrested, exposed, and humiliated.

The local televisions stations and the all news radio stations will take the story and run with it. The anchors and announcers will be shocked and outraged. After your specific story and the tawdry details have been hashed and rehashed, there will be a special report on the dangers of the internet.

Consider yourselves warned.

Note: This goes double for teachers, scout masters, coaches, priests, counselors, probation officers, parole officers, and shoe salesmen.

2003-08-08T13:43:00.000-05:00

THE ENIGMATIC DR. F. (Part 1)

I went to the same high school as F (who was obviously not a doctor yet), but I didn’t really know him. He was some sort of big athlete and our paths didn’t cross much. I had him figured for a gung ho rah rah All-American type. Not someone I wanted to spend a lot of time with.

F and I both ended up going to the local college. One night I walked over to the college pub. The World Series was on. Reggie Jackson hit homer run after home run. The mood in the pub was electric. All the frat boys were chanting “Reggie. Reggie. Reggie.” I noticed F walking up to the front of the pub, where the big television was. He motioned everyone to quiet down. When he had everyone’s attention he announced, “Fuck Reggie Jackson. Fuck Reggie.”

The excited Yankee fans didn’t like what they were hearing. They surrounded F and started jostling him. I was working my way through the crowd when I saw F being hustled toward the door, then being ejected. I followed him out.

“That was quite a show in there,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“I hate that whole scene,” said F. “All those morons laughing and shouting. I was trying to make them think. You walk over? Want a ride home?”

When we got to the car F opened the trunk and pulled out a baseball bat. “What’s up,” I asked.

“Just wait here for a couple of minutes,” he said. “The game’s almost over. I going back over there and hide in the bushes. When the first one of those fuckers comes out I’m going to show him what else you can use a baseball bat for.”

“Sounds like you might be a while,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just walk on home.”
“Suit yourself,” F said. “See you around”

2003-08-06T18:21:00.000-05:00

SPENDING #3 ("I prefer to eat at places where they cook your food after you order it." - Calvin Trillin)

I had lunch at Arby's last week. It didn't go very well. There were two people in front of me, so I had quite a wait. Finally I got to order.

Me: I'll have a regular roast beef and small fries."
Sullen Eastern European Cashier: "We don't have small fries. Only regular and large."

Me: "Regular fries."
SEEC: "Regular fries or curly fries?"

Me: "Regular, regular fries."
SEEC: "Do you want cheese on that roast beef?"

Me: "No."
SEEG: Is this for here or to go?"

Me: "Here."
SEEC: That's $6.77

Me: "That can't be. It should be about $4.00."
SEEC: "That's $6.77"

Me: "The roast beef is $2.59. The fries are $1.29. That can't be $6.77."
SEEC stares into space. Says nothing.

It's a Mexican stand-off. I'd like to stand there as long as possible, but I'm in a screaming hurry or I wouldn't have come there in the first place, so I blink.

Me: "Can you get the manager?"
SEEC rolls her eyes, shrugs. Slumps over to the manager.

Me: "My total isn't right. I ordered a regular roast beef and small fries. That total can't be right."
Manager: "Is what?"

Me: "Is wrong!"
Manager: "You have order?"

Me: "One regular roast beef. One regular fries."
Manager: "Is $4.01"

SEEC reappears with her hand out, but before I have a chance to pay the guy behind me leans over and addresses her:

GBM: "Is there a good place to get pizza around here?"
SEEC rolls her eyes, shrugs. Slumps over to the manager.

Manager come over, GBM repeats the question. Manager brightens.
Manager: "Is right there, across the lot. Is good."

Three of the four people in line behind me turn and walk out. I pay. My food eventually shows up. I know it's mine because SEEC drops it on the counter and walks back to the register without making eye contact.

Me: "This was for here, not to go."
SEEC rolls her eyes shrugs.

I took my bag and slink and to the far corner, trying to get the gunfighter's seat. However, this Arby's had a strange configuration. It was a shotgun shack set-up and instead of the door I found myself facing a big poster of the talking Oven Mitt.

---- From Arby's Oven Mitt advertising campaign: "In November, Arby's said it would make across- the- board changes.... from restaurant image to technology, with the goal of enhancing customer experience. ...the company said most of the new technologies would provide faster service.... The company said the only process it won't work to quicken is the three hours it takes to roast its beef." ------
(The South Florida Business Journal 2/24/2003)

The fries were stone cold, the roast beef slightly less so, with the mealy consistency of wet cardboard (I won't say, "but not the taste," that would be a cheap shot.) The roll was hard on the outside edge, as in stale, not crispy. The middle was mushier than the roast beef.

2003-07-31T14:48:00.000-05:00

FE FI FO FUM (Was that the issue with Dick Cheney on the cover? Oh, no. Now I remember. It was Cardinal Law.)

I guess it's well known among those who pay attention to such things that Shrek has sold out. He's been shilling for HP in the glossy magazines for some time now. I'm reserving judgement.

However, Thing One wasn't bothered by this marriage of art and commerce when she came across one of the advertisements in an old Newsweek thay had been lying around.

"Look," she said. "In a magazine. My favorite ogre."

2003-07-31T09:46:00.000-05:00

DOWN THE SHORE (The Varieties of Religious Experience)

I was half asleep in my beach chair, when I was roused by a commotion a few feet away. It was Big Fat Obnoxious Guy, leading a troop of at least fifteen. There were umbrellas, a stroller, coolers, blankets and towels. He was strangely quiet as the setting up, unfurling, arranging and rearranging proceeded. Eventually the encampment took shape, acquiring an unworldy look of permanence in the mid-afternoon sun. Only then did BFOG address the multitude.

BFOG: "Well, I'm going in. Who else is going in? Who's ready? Who's going in with me?"

Nothing. Silence from the gathering.

BFOG: "Timmy, you coming in? Connor, coming in? Hey come on guys. Let's go in."

Still nothing.

BFOG: "Listen, you guys. Hey. I bust my ass all year to get us down here and no one's going in? Hey."

Nothing.

BFOG: "Well, I'm going in then."

And in he went.

I drifted off. I couldn't have slept for more than half an hour, but when I woke all was quiet. BFOG and his clan had vanished, leaving nothing behind, not even footprints in the sand. It was as if it had all been a dream.

Yet I believe. Even though no one else had seen or heard a thing. I believe BFOG visited me that day.

2003-07-30T07:51:00.000-05:00

The Things almost turned four today. I was definitely under the impression that today was their birthday. "Happy Birthday, One" I said as she came downstairs. She had a very sour look about her. "I'm not four, " she growled. "I'm still small." She held up her hands for proof. "Look at my hands. They're small."

Thing Two was even more despairing. "Today is your birthday, Two" I said. "You're four." She just shook her head. "Look at my foots. I'm still three."

"That's it, " I said. "I'm going to call the newspaper. I'm sure they'll want to write a story about two girls who had a birthday and stayed the same age. I bet it's never happened before. Will you explain it to the reporter when he comes?"

"Daddy, you forgot to give us breakfast," said Two. One was already rummaging through the refrigerator, taking matters in her own small hands.