He was the man many considered responsible for the deaths of Tupac Shakur, Layne Staley (Alice in Chains), Kurt Cobain, Jerry Garcia, John Lee Hooker, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, among others.
The long and short of it was this: Any time someone offered him a ticket to see a concert, and he refused or cancelled or somehow didn't go, that singer would be dead within six months.
It took him a while to make the connection and even longer to let himself believe it. But once he did, it was nearly impossible to refute. He raked through his memories of declined invitations and found that without exception every one of them was followed by that singer's death within six months.
Understandably, this realization caused him to stop declining concert invitations. Whenever any friend so much as implied an invite to a show, he did everything in his power to go. Even if someone just mentioned a show, he figured a mention was an implicit invite, and since he wasn't sure what the exact rules of his apparent power were, he thought it prudent to err on the side of caution and just go.
One consequence of this was that he became known among his friends as someone who was always up for a gig, and so he got a lot of invites--and accepted every one of them. Mostly, he was cool with it. It gave him a chance to see a lot of music and, as a bonus, he also got to feel like he was doing The Right Thing.
Even still, it was a lot of pressure. He didn't want anyone to die just because he felt like staying home and watching Breaking Bad or turning in early because he had a big day at work the next day. So he didn't. He went to every show he was invited to. Some weeks he went to shows every night. As a result, it was impossible for him to catch up with his sleep. On top of that, it was hell on his bank account. Plus he couldn't focus at work. Before long, live music was no longer a joy, but something to endure.
After a couple of months, he started telling his friends about his theory and showing them the facts that proved it. Their reactions varied. Most of them figured he was kidding and kept right on inviting him to shows. Some, even though they didn't believe him, took mercy on him and stopped throwing invites his way. A couple considered inviting him to movies instead but they weren't sure if he believed his powers extended to movie stars, too, so they invited him to play hoops instead. A few, however, started buying tickets to out of town shows they knew he couldn't go to by artists they couldn't stand in the hopes that in doing so they might rid the world of the Jonas Brothers and Celine Dion. But even though he wasn't a huge fan of those artists either, he didn't want to see them dead. He found a way to go.
Eventually, it got to be too much to sustain and he tried to find a way out.
He made up a story about becoming a born again Christian in a sect that shunned the devil's music, thinking it might make his friends stop inviting him to shows. But nobody believed him.
When that didn't work, he stopped answering his phone and reading his email, but then his friends just started using his work number and email address instead.
Finally, he quit his job and moved to a small town in rural Utah, figuring he would be safe from live music if he placed himself deep in the heart of Mormon country. However, less than a year after moving there, Donnie and Marie Osmond opened an auditorium nearby where they gave concerts all the time. His new neighbors and co-workers knew he liked music, so they invited him to go almost every weekend.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
May 20 - Nightmare
The setting varied. Sometimes he would be out for a run. Other times he would be relaxing in the park. And other times he would be out playing volleyball with friends. But the content of the dream was always the same. He would be out and about, doing his thing, and enjoying himself, and then all of a sudden he would look down and realize he was completely dressed. Somehow he'd managed to leave his house that morning wearing a full set of clothes.
Apparently it's a pretty common dream among nudists.
Apparently it's a pretty common dream among nudists.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
May 19 - The Man With the Bad Hearing and the Million Dollar Ideas
The guy's hearing wasn't so good, but what he thought he heard--what he misheard--almost always ended up evolving into a gold-plated business opportunity. He was the man with the bad hearing and the million dollar ideas.
For instance: This one time when somebody said 'summarizer' what he heard was samuraizer. Less than an hour later, he'd come up with the recipe for the samuraizer, the trendiest drink of the summer: a spoonful of wasabi chased by a shot of Yamazaki whiskey dropped in a snifter full of cheap sake--all of which is done while being berated by your superiors.
Another Japan-centric example: When he first arrived in Tokyo on a business trip, everyone was talking non-stop about the salaryman, but what he heard was celeryman. I'll bet you'd been wondering where that cartoon character made out of celery who's always reminding your kids to eat their veggies came from, right? Well, now you know.
One not related to Japan: A misheard reference to Pirates of the Caribbean eventually led to an online store specializing in Caribbean parrots. It also led to the unionization of the same islands' people who made their living flying planes.
Another: A passerby's mentioning of the Pulitzer Prize that he didn't quite catch because he was talking to someone else on his cell phone eventually morphed into the Pew Lit Surprise, those positively sinful candies you sometimes find taped to the back of church bibles.
And finally: When someone he knew mentioned a visit to a clinic for urinalysis, she probably couldn't have guessed that she'd inadvertently given him the slogan for Alice's Pancake House: "If you're digging the hell out of your pancakes, you're in Alice's." A lot of people balked at that idea, saying the slogan would cause people to associate her restaurant with, well, urinalysis, but he insisted it would work, even though he knew it would blow up in her face. And the reason why he did this was because he was an asshole.
For instance: This one time when somebody said 'summarizer' what he heard was samuraizer. Less than an hour later, he'd come up with the recipe for the samuraizer, the trendiest drink of the summer: a spoonful of wasabi chased by a shot of Yamazaki whiskey dropped in a snifter full of cheap sake--all of which is done while being berated by your superiors.
Another Japan-centric example: When he first arrived in Tokyo on a business trip, everyone was talking non-stop about the salaryman, but what he heard was celeryman. I'll bet you'd been wondering where that cartoon character made out of celery who's always reminding your kids to eat their veggies came from, right? Well, now you know.
One not related to Japan: A misheard reference to Pirates of the Caribbean eventually led to an online store specializing in Caribbean parrots. It also led to the unionization of the same islands' people who made their living flying planes.
Another: A passerby's mentioning of the Pulitzer Prize that he didn't quite catch because he was talking to someone else on his cell phone eventually morphed into the Pew Lit Surprise, those positively sinful candies you sometimes find taped to the back of church bibles.
And finally: When someone he knew mentioned a visit to a clinic for urinalysis, she probably couldn't have guessed that she'd inadvertently given him the slogan for Alice's Pancake House: "If you're digging the hell out of your pancakes, you're in Alice's." A lot of people balked at that idea, saying the slogan would cause people to associate her restaurant with, well, urinalysis, but he insisted it would work, even though he knew it would blow up in her face. And the reason why he did this was because he was an asshole.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
May 18 - Mr. Curious
He had curiosity and recklessness in equal measure. No matter how ill-advised the prospective undertaking was, he wanted to see what would happen, never mind the consequences.
Among his most memorable experiments:
Q: What will happen if I drink eight large cups of bubble milk tea and then do wind sprints?
A: You will yack up the weirdest looking puke the world has ever seen.
Q: Everybody knows that if you laugh while you're drinking milk, the milk will go up your nose. But what about if you're eating something? Will that go up your nose, too?
A: Yes.
Q: Is it possible to literally shop till you drop?
A: Yes, but it takes a really long time and entails spending a lot of time in convenience stores because you have to keep going all night.
Q: Is shooting fish in a barrel really that easy?
A: Pretty much, but make sure your barrel is outside. Fun fact: Bullets will pass through the bottom/side of a barrel (and into your floor) almost as easily as they will a fish.
After getting evicted from the apartment where he confirmed that one, he found a new place on the other side of town. It was on the 8th floor and it was accessible by elevator and exterior stairway.
He was never even remotely a depressed person, but the more times he went up those stairs, the more he couldn't help wondering where the line of demarcation was between the height of a survivable fall from his building's exterior stairway and an unsurvivable fall. Where was the cutoff? Jumping from the stairway on his floor would obviously mean certain death, just as a jump from the 2nd floor would probably be no big deal. But somewhere between the two there had to be the precise point above which would mean death and below which would mean survival. Just as there was the straw that would break the camel's back, there had to be the step that would end the jumper's life.
A gruesome thought, yes. But he was curious. He wanted to find that spot. But how?
It was idiotic to try it out, even for him. There was no reason for him to risk his life for an experiment like that. Not when he was as healthy as he was.
But what about if he had a terminal illness? That might change things.
He went to the doctor and got a full battery of tests, hoping for the worst. But the bad news was that it was good news. He was fine.
Fine, but not ready to give up. He decided that if he wasn't terminally ill now, maybe he could help move himself in that direction.
He became a heavy smoker, hoping to give himself lung cancer; a heavy drinker, hoping to give himself cirrhosis of the liver; an adherent of the unhealthiest of diets, hoping to give himself diabetes or heart disease.
But nothing worked. He continued to get clean bills of health every time he went in for a physical. After two years of this, he started seriously considering the possibility that he was invincible. In which case, it was high time he got on with the experiment. The next morning he woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. The perfect day for an experiment.
He decided not to waste his time with the 2nd floor, and went straight to the 3rd. But when he got there, he decided it was really high after all, so he went back down to the landing between the 2nd and the 3rd, and after two false starts, he launched himself out away from the landing and plummeted to the ground.
At first, he was hesitant to move and he lay still for almost a minute. But once he realized he was fine, it was exhilarating. He was fine after a jump from two and a half stories! He tore up the stairs and jumped from the 3rd floor without hesitating.
This time his ankles paid a heavy price and he was seriously shaken up, but overall he felt OK.
The 4th floor was next.
He broke both legs in multiple places.
Undeterred, a year later, he tried again from the 4th floor plus one step, breaking his legs again and adding a collarbone and hip to the injury list.
A year after that, he jumped from the 4th floor plus two steps. Seven broken ribs, breaks in both arms and both knees, and a concussion were the result.
The next year he returned to the 4th floor and added four more steps. He swung one leg over the rail and looked down. Then, holding onto the rail, he swung his other leg over. Cars hissed by on the nearby freeway. A breeze blew through his hair. The sun shone through the trees, making him squint. And somehow he knew. This was the height. If he jumped from here, he would die. If he slid down a few inches and jumped, he would survive. He had no idea how he knew, but he knew.
He sat on the rail and took in the view. Then he swung his legs back over the rail and walked up the rest of the stairs to his apartment and thought about what his next experiment would be.
Among his most memorable experiments:
Q: What will happen if I drink eight large cups of bubble milk tea and then do wind sprints?
A: You will yack up the weirdest looking puke the world has ever seen.
Q: Everybody knows that if you laugh while you're drinking milk, the milk will go up your nose. But what about if you're eating something? Will that go up your nose, too?
A: Yes.
Q: Is it possible to literally shop till you drop?
A: Yes, but it takes a really long time and entails spending a lot of time in convenience stores because you have to keep going all night.
Q: Is shooting fish in a barrel really that easy?
A: Pretty much, but make sure your barrel is outside. Fun fact: Bullets will pass through the bottom/side of a barrel (and into your floor) almost as easily as they will a fish.
After getting evicted from the apartment where he confirmed that one, he found a new place on the other side of town. It was on the 8th floor and it was accessible by elevator and exterior stairway.
He was never even remotely a depressed person, but the more times he went up those stairs, the more he couldn't help wondering where the line of demarcation was between the height of a survivable fall from his building's exterior stairway and an unsurvivable fall. Where was the cutoff? Jumping from the stairway on his floor would obviously mean certain death, just as a jump from the 2nd floor would probably be no big deal. But somewhere between the two there had to be the precise point above which would mean death and below which would mean survival. Just as there was the straw that would break the camel's back, there had to be the step that would end the jumper's life.
A gruesome thought, yes. But he was curious. He wanted to find that spot. But how?
It was idiotic to try it out, even for him. There was no reason for him to risk his life for an experiment like that. Not when he was as healthy as he was.
But what about if he had a terminal illness? That might change things.
He went to the doctor and got a full battery of tests, hoping for the worst. But the bad news was that it was good news. He was fine.
Fine, but not ready to give up. He decided that if he wasn't terminally ill now, maybe he could help move himself in that direction.
He became a heavy smoker, hoping to give himself lung cancer; a heavy drinker, hoping to give himself cirrhosis of the liver; an adherent of the unhealthiest of diets, hoping to give himself diabetes or heart disease.
But nothing worked. He continued to get clean bills of health every time he went in for a physical. After two years of this, he started seriously considering the possibility that he was invincible. In which case, it was high time he got on with the experiment. The next morning he woke up to a beautiful, sunny day. The perfect day for an experiment.
He decided not to waste his time with the 2nd floor, and went straight to the 3rd. But when he got there, he decided it was really high after all, so he went back down to the landing between the 2nd and the 3rd, and after two false starts, he launched himself out away from the landing and plummeted to the ground.
At first, he was hesitant to move and he lay still for almost a minute. But once he realized he was fine, it was exhilarating. He was fine after a jump from two and a half stories! He tore up the stairs and jumped from the 3rd floor without hesitating.
This time his ankles paid a heavy price and he was seriously shaken up, but overall he felt OK.
The 4th floor was next.
He broke both legs in multiple places.
Undeterred, a year later, he tried again from the 4th floor plus one step, breaking his legs again and adding a collarbone and hip to the injury list.
A year after that, he jumped from the 4th floor plus two steps. Seven broken ribs, breaks in both arms and both knees, and a concussion were the result.
The next year he returned to the 4th floor and added four more steps. He swung one leg over the rail and looked down. Then, holding onto the rail, he swung his other leg over. Cars hissed by on the nearby freeway. A breeze blew through his hair. The sun shone through the trees, making him squint. And somehow he knew. This was the height. If he jumped from here, he would die. If he slid down a few inches and jumped, he would survive. He had no idea how he knew, but he knew.
He sat on the rail and took in the view. Then he swung his legs back over the rail and walked up the rest of the stairs to his apartment and thought about what his next experiment would be.
Monday, May 17, 2010
May 17 - After Hours
Kenta wakes up in the subway station alone, groggy, and uneasy. He is still wearing his business suit from last night, and his drunkenness is quickly surrendering to a hangover.
He looks around himself and gradually becomes aware of the situation: It's 1:30 am. The station won't open again until 4:45 am. The massive steel security shutters are down and locked. He's in for the night.
As he's coming to grips with this, he sees a large floor tile down the hall shake a bit and then get pushed aside from underneath. A moment later, three bearded dwarfs emerge from the opening wearing miner's helmets, jumpsuits, and boots, and carrying ropes, equipment bags, and tool belts.
They look at him and then at each other. Then one of them approaches him and asks him in heavily accented Japanese, "Drunk?"
Kenta says nothing, just stares at the dwarf.
The dwarf rolls his eyes, and then rubs them wearily before adding, "You are drunk. Yes?" He has to concentrate to produce each sentence. "This place. Very dangerous. Don't staying here."
Kenta still doesn't answer.
"Here," says the dwarf, holding out a flashlight for him to take. "Taking this."
Kenta doesn't move.
The dwarf turns around and addresses the others in their guttural dwarf language. "Fucking big people, man. They're all so slow. Every Goddamn one of them. What the hell?"
"It's weird when we're the first thing they see when they wake up," answers one of them.
"Apparently, but still. Get over it. I'm trying to help this idiot." Then he returns to Kenta and switches back to Japanese. "Standing up." He helps Kenta to his feet and tries handing him the flashlight again. This time Kenta accepts it.
"Following me," says the dwarf as he climbs back through the opening in the floor. Before ducking under, he turns to the other dwarfs. "You guys go ahead," he tells them in their language. "I'll catch up."
The tunnel underneath the tiles is almost short enough for the dwarf to walk through without ducking. Kenta, however, has to bend over at a right angle, and even then he hits his head enough times to switch to his knees. And then to a crab walk. Finally, he sits down and scoots along on his butt.
"It's OK," says the dwarf, turning around. "Not far. What's your name?"
Kenta just looks at him, and then the dwarf opens his eyes extra wide as if to say, 'Seriously.'
"Kenta."
"I'm Felix," he says. "Don't worrying. Almost arrived."
Soon the tunnel opens up into a room that's big enough for Kenta to stand up in. Once Felix screws in a loose light bulb, Kenta can see that the room is filled with small pieces of furniture, cooking utensils, packaged foods, bed mats, and as he looks more closely, briefcases, purses, and boxes of cell phones, iPods, watches, wallets, and sunglasses.
"OK," says Felix. "You staying here." And he turns around to leave.
"Wait. Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
And then Felix tells him: The dwarfs have the whole subway system tunneled, and they're able to surface through loose tiles in every shop and kiosk in just about every station in the city. In these shops, they have big people contacts they work with on the sly--an underground economy, as it were. The dwarfs take away expired perishable foods that are still edible, and help themselves to damaged/unsellable items and slow moving overflow stock that their contacts set aside for them. The dwarfs compensate their contacts with the cash, dropped watches, lost cell phones, misplaced iPods, and other items they find on their nightly runs through the empty stations.
"I want to go with you."
"Bad idea."
"Why?"
"You're too big. You make us go slow. Very dangerous."
"What's dangerous?"
Felix shakes his head, losing patience. "Other group. They hunt. Attack. If they see you, they attack you. Especially if they see you sleep. They attack. Steal everything. Not like us. We gather. Not attack. You are lucky we find you, not them. We gather. They hunt."
"Are they your size?"
"Yes, but very dangerous. You don't know the subway. We do. If you join, we are too slow. So please, staying here."
"Wait. Who are you guys?"
"No more questions. You already make me late. Just staying here." Felix hands him a couple of iPods. "Please listening to music if you become boring."
"Bored."
"Whatever. See you later."
And Felix turns on his headlamp and leaves through the tunnel. When he surfaces again, he sees that Kenta is with him. He mutters something in his language, and watches as Kenta hoists himself out of the tunnel.
"OK, fine. Following me," he says, removing a panel from the wall and ducking through it. When Kenta sticks his head through, Felix pinches the back of his neck, and he collapses. Then he calls to the other two dwarfs to help him move Kenta back to the bench where they'd originally found him before they continue on their way.
And it is on this bench that Kenta wakes up at 5 am, missing his wallet, keys, cell phone, and briefcase. As he rubs his eyes and looks around himself, he has vague memories of a strange dream about dwarfs.
He looks around himself and gradually becomes aware of the situation: It's 1:30 am. The station won't open again until 4:45 am. The massive steel security shutters are down and locked. He's in for the night.
As he's coming to grips with this, he sees a large floor tile down the hall shake a bit and then get pushed aside from underneath. A moment later, three bearded dwarfs emerge from the opening wearing miner's helmets, jumpsuits, and boots, and carrying ropes, equipment bags, and tool belts.
They look at him and then at each other. Then one of them approaches him and asks him in heavily accented Japanese, "Drunk?"
Kenta says nothing, just stares at the dwarf.
The dwarf rolls his eyes, and then rubs them wearily before adding, "You are drunk. Yes?" He has to concentrate to produce each sentence. "This place. Very dangerous. Don't staying here."
Kenta still doesn't answer.
"Here," says the dwarf, holding out a flashlight for him to take. "Taking this."
Kenta doesn't move.
The dwarf turns around and addresses the others in their guttural dwarf language. "Fucking big people, man. They're all so slow. Every Goddamn one of them. What the hell?"
"It's weird when we're the first thing they see when they wake up," answers one of them.
"Apparently, but still. Get over it. I'm trying to help this idiot." Then he returns to Kenta and switches back to Japanese. "Standing up." He helps Kenta to his feet and tries handing him the flashlight again. This time Kenta accepts it.
"Following me," says the dwarf as he climbs back through the opening in the floor. Before ducking under, he turns to the other dwarfs. "You guys go ahead," he tells them in their language. "I'll catch up."
The tunnel underneath the tiles is almost short enough for the dwarf to walk through without ducking. Kenta, however, has to bend over at a right angle, and even then he hits his head enough times to switch to his knees. And then to a crab walk. Finally, he sits down and scoots along on his butt.
"It's OK," says the dwarf, turning around. "Not far. What's your name?"
Kenta just looks at him, and then the dwarf opens his eyes extra wide as if to say, 'Seriously.'
"Kenta."
"I'm Felix," he says. "Don't worrying. Almost arrived."
Soon the tunnel opens up into a room that's big enough for Kenta to stand up in. Once Felix screws in a loose light bulb, Kenta can see that the room is filled with small pieces of furniture, cooking utensils, packaged foods, bed mats, and as he looks more closely, briefcases, purses, and boxes of cell phones, iPods, watches, wallets, and sunglasses.
"OK," says Felix. "You staying here." And he turns around to leave.
"Wait. Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
And then Felix tells him: The dwarfs have the whole subway system tunneled, and they're able to surface through loose tiles in every shop and kiosk in just about every station in the city. In these shops, they have big people contacts they work with on the sly--an underground economy, as it were. The dwarfs take away expired perishable foods that are still edible, and help themselves to damaged/unsellable items and slow moving overflow stock that their contacts set aside for them. The dwarfs compensate their contacts with the cash, dropped watches, lost cell phones, misplaced iPods, and other items they find on their nightly runs through the empty stations.
"I want to go with you."
"Bad idea."
"Why?"
"You're too big. You make us go slow. Very dangerous."
"What's dangerous?"
Felix shakes his head, losing patience. "Other group. They hunt. Attack. If they see you, they attack you. Especially if they see you sleep. They attack. Steal everything. Not like us. We gather. Not attack. You are lucky we find you, not them. We gather. They hunt."
"Are they your size?"
"Yes, but very dangerous. You don't know the subway. We do. If you join, we are too slow. So please, staying here."
"Wait. Who are you guys?"
"No more questions. You already make me late. Just staying here." Felix hands him a couple of iPods. "Please listening to music if you become boring."
"Bored."
"Whatever. See you later."
And Felix turns on his headlamp and leaves through the tunnel. When he surfaces again, he sees that Kenta is with him. He mutters something in his language, and watches as Kenta hoists himself out of the tunnel.
"OK, fine. Following me," he says, removing a panel from the wall and ducking through it. When Kenta sticks his head through, Felix pinches the back of his neck, and he collapses. Then he calls to the other two dwarfs to help him move Kenta back to the bench where they'd originally found him before they continue on their way.
And it is on this bench that Kenta wakes up at 5 am, missing his wallet, keys, cell phone, and briefcase. As he rubs his eyes and looks around himself, he has vague memories of a strange dream about dwarfs.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
May 16 - Crab Arms
Have you ever tried to explain to your teenage daughter that the reason she woke up with giant crab claws instead of arms is because of a gypsy curse you brought about? It's not easy.
For starters, she's hysterical, and, you know, fair enough. I mean this is not something she could have seen coming. But still, if you can come to grips--sorry, bad choice of words. If you can accept that you've got the (working!) claws of a crustacean where you used to have arms, is it really that much of a cognitive leap to allow yourself to believe that your current claws-for-arms situation is the result of a curse? I mean, it had to be caused by something, right? Why not a curse? Especially when your own mom is trying (patiently!) to explain how it all came about. Speaking of which . . .
It was a busy night at the Crab Shack, and a couple of waitresses had called in sick, so I was having to pull down triple duty--managing, waiting, and dish washing because Harold still hasn't managed to find us a replacement for Raoul, and it's like, how freaking hard can it be to find someone to wash dishes in a beach town? Ain't like it's skilled labor.
But anyway, I'm busier than all get up, and in walks an eight top of gypsies who are in town with the carnival. And by the way, no, it's not racist to call them gypsies. That's what they call themselves. Anyway, in they come, and they proceed to order up a big ass tab. Pitcher after pitcher, entree after entree, all sorts of sides and appetizers, the whole bit. About half of them get the all you can eat crab feast and then proceed to share it with the other half that didn't order it, but I'm too busy doing a million other things to monitor it more closely even though I know what's going on.
Anyway, when it comes time to pay, they're playing dumb and questioning all the charges and saying they're not going to pay, and it all escalates, and finally I call the cops.
Fast forward about 15, 20 minutes and the cops arrive. And right away, their grandma or whoever it is is spitting on the cops and cursing, and causing a big old scene. So naturally, she gets arrested and--surprise, surprise--it turns out she's here illegally, and they're going to deport her now, and how could you be so cruel, and on and on and on. And as they're dragging her off, she's screaming and hollering at me, and one of the younger ones is like, "She's cursing you and your family." And I'm like, "Oh yeah? Well this oughtta be good. Tell me all about it." And she's like, "Your firstborn child will carry the burden of this travesty throughout her days" or something like that. And I'm like, "Oooookay? Can you be a little more specific?" And then the grandma shouts a bunch more and grabs a crab claw off the table, and she must've grabbed it really hard because it pricked her skin deep enough to draw blood. So the blood's running down her hand and she's yelling and hollering at me, and then finally she throws the claw at me really hard and it hits me in the face. Damn near hit me in the eye.
Well by now, the police have had enough and they finally haul her out of there, kicking and screaming the whole way--the grandma, that is. Not the cops, although some of them were using their outside voices, too.
Anyway, the police finally get the rest of the gypsies to pay the bill after arguing with them for another 30 minutes or so. But after that they leave, and eventually things calm down, and we call it a night and go home, and then the next day Susie wakes up, and, well, you know the rest.
She refused to go to school. Wouldn't even leave the house. The good news is that other than her claws, everything else about her was normal, but Harold and I had to help her do, well, everything: brush her teeth, comb her hair, eat, drink, um, go to the bathroom. Poor thing was humiliated and confused and scared, and I can't say that I blame her.
We wanted to help her any way we could, but we didn't know who to call. A doctor? A priest? A marine biologist? We tried Googling her particular affliction, but we didn't find much that helped us. Most of the sites we checked out told us we had to reverse the curse, and it's like, yeah, you think?
We decided to try to find the woman's family and see if there wasn't some way we could work it all out. And I'm not usually one for negotiating with terrorists, but that might be because I've never been in this kind of situation before. Things take on a whole new light when it's someone in your family instead of some hypothetical person you've never met.
Anyway, we tracked the rest of her family down, and they were a lot more reasonable than I was expecting. I think they felt bad for Susie.
Speaking of Susie, after a couple of weeks of sitting around the house, she decided to suck it up and go back to school, and I'll be impressed with her for the rest of my days for her decision. Ultimately, she was just, like, I'll tell the truth. Which actually kind of worked, because as crazy as the story was, it was true and she had the claws to prove it.
God bless the students and teachers at her school. They were all really supportive of her and didn't give her a hard time. She's still figuring out how to write, though, which is hard. But one good thing is that she's finally stopped sending so many text messages on her cell phone. So, there's that.
But anyway, the curse. In order to reverse it, we have to sort it out with the woman who invoked it in the first place, which will mean a trip to Romania. We'll have to wait until June when Susie's on summer vacation. And I hate the thought of leaving the Crab Shack during high season, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
But it shouldn't be too bad. We're going to tack on a few extra days and visit Germany while we're over there. Harold's got relatives there.
For starters, she's hysterical, and, you know, fair enough. I mean this is not something she could have seen coming. But still, if you can come to grips--sorry, bad choice of words. If you can accept that you've got the (working!) claws of a crustacean where you used to have arms, is it really that much of a cognitive leap to allow yourself to believe that your current claws-for-arms situation is the result of a curse? I mean, it had to be caused by something, right? Why not a curse? Especially when your own mom is trying (patiently!) to explain how it all came about. Speaking of which . . .
It was a busy night at the Crab Shack, and a couple of waitresses had called in sick, so I was having to pull down triple duty--managing, waiting, and dish washing because Harold still hasn't managed to find us a replacement for Raoul, and it's like, how freaking hard can it be to find someone to wash dishes in a beach town? Ain't like it's skilled labor.
But anyway, I'm busier than all get up, and in walks an eight top of gypsies who are in town with the carnival. And by the way, no, it's not racist to call them gypsies. That's what they call themselves. Anyway, in they come, and they proceed to order up a big ass tab. Pitcher after pitcher, entree after entree, all sorts of sides and appetizers, the whole bit. About half of them get the all you can eat crab feast and then proceed to share it with the other half that didn't order it, but I'm too busy doing a million other things to monitor it more closely even though I know what's going on.
Anyway, when it comes time to pay, they're playing dumb and questioning all the charges and saying they're not going to pay, and it all escalates, and finally I call the cops.
Fast forward about 15, 20 minutes and the cops arrive. And right away, their grandma or whoever it is is spitting on the cops and cursing, and causing a big old scene. So naturally, she gets arrested and--surprise, surprise--it turns out she's here illegally, and they're going to deport her now, and how could you be so cruel, and on and on and on. And as they're dragging her off, she's screaming and hollering at me, and one of the younger ones is like, "She's cursing you and your family." And I'm like, "Oh yeah? Well this oughtta be good. Tell me all about it." And she's like, "Your firstborn child will carry the burden of this travesty throughout her days" or something like that. And I'm like, "Oooookay? Can you be a little more specific?" And then the grandma shouts a bunch more and grabs a crab claw off the table, and she must've grabbed it really hard because it pricked her skin deep enough to draw blood. So the blood's running down her hand and she's yelling and hollering at me, and then finally she throws the claw at me really hard and it hits me in the face. Damn near hit me in the eye.
Well by now, the police have had enough and they finally haul her out of there, kicking and screaming the whole way--the grandma, that is. Not the cops, although some of them were using their outside voices, too.
Anyway, the police finally get the rest of the gypsies to pay the bill after arguing with them for another 30 minutes or so. But after that they leave, and eventually things calm down, and we call it a night and go home, and then the next day Susie wakes up, and, well, you know the rest.
She refused to go to school. Wouldn't even leave the house. The good news is that other than her claws, everything else about her was normal, but Harold and I had to help her do, well, everything: brush her teeth, comb her hair, eat, drink, um, go to the bathroom. Poor thing was humiliated and confused and scared, and I can't say that I blame her.
We wanted to help her any way we could, but we didn't know who to call. A doctor? A priest? A marine biologist? We tried Googling her particular affliction, but we didn't find much that helped us. Most of the sites we checked out told us we had to reverse the curse, and it's like, yeah, you think?
We decided to try to find the woman's family and see if there wasn't some way we could work it all out. And I'm not usually one for negotiating with terrorists, but that might be because I've never been in this kind of situation before. Things take on a whole new light when it's someone in your family instead of some hypothetical person you've never met.
Anyway, we tracked the rest of her family down, and they were a lot more reasonable than I was expecting. I think they felt bad for Susie.
Speaking of Susie, after a couple of weeks of sitting around the house, she decided to suck it up and go back to school, and I'll be impressed with her for the rest of my days for her decision. Ultimately, she was just, like, I'll tell the truth. Which actually kind of worked, because as crazy as the story was, it was true and she had the claws to prove it.
God bless the students and teachers at her school. They were all really supportive of her and didn't give her a hard time. She's still figuring out how to write, though, which is hard. But one good thing is that she's finally stopped sending so many text messages on her cell phone. So, there's that.
But anyway, the curse. In order to reverse it, we have to sort it out with the woman who invoked it in the first place, which will mean a trip to Romania. We'll have to wait until June when Susie's on summer vacation. And I hate the thought of leaving the Crab Shack during high season, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
But it shouldn't be too bad. We're going to tack on a few extra days and visit Germany while we're over there. Harold's got relatives there.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
May 15 - Woman, I Love You
Woman, let me be blunt. I love you. I love everything about you. I love your eyes, your hair, your smile, your laugh, your teeth, and your gums. Yes, you heard me right, baby. I love your gums. An angel must have been bucking for a promotion when he/she made your gums, for they are so very, very fine.
I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I love you so much it makes me breathless, but it also makes me gassy, which is a weird combination if you think about it. No, wait. Let me take that back. If you think about it, it is not a weird combination at all, because only beautiful, enchanting, amazing thoughts pass through your beautiful, beautiful mind. By the way, that movie--A Beautiful Mind--should have been about you and starring you instead of that hot tempered Russell Crowe jerk face. If that movie were starring you, I would definitely buy it again, this time on Blu Ray. But it is not. It is starring that mean bastard from Robin Hood. And that is what holds me back from buying it on Blu Ray, even though Ed Harris was really good in it.
But of course he's always good.
Oh, look at me, would you? There I've gone and gotten myself sidetracked by A Beautiful Mind again. Where was I? Oh yes, of course. I was talking about loving you. And how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. One, two, three . . . gazillion squared!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!
Sorry, baby. Please don't let my jokes detract from the integrity of my message, which, to reiterate, is that I love you and that I think about you all the time. Every time we're together--which though it is often, it is not often enough--I want to freeze time and preserve the moment. I want to be with you always. So much so that sleep has become my enemy, for how can I enjoy my time with you if I am sleeping? Damn that sleep. Damn it to hell! You've perhaps noticed that I'm drinking more and more coffee these days. Now you know the reason. It is to stay awake so that I can be with you longer each day. Girl, I miss you when I sleep. Hell, I miss you when I blink. But I must blink, for if I don't my eyes will dry out. And that would eventually result in my not being able to see you, which is something I cannot abide. Therefore, I blink, but I do so reluctantly.
Returning to the subject of sleep for a moment if I may, there are times when I dream of you. And those nights are magical. The reason why is because in dreams we are unbound by the rules of the physical world. It is like The Matrix, and we are heroic, futuristic, leather clad S & M messiahs making love, no gravity style. And in these dreams we are the only people in the world, except for the people of Zion who spy on us from behind the curtains. But we do not mind because we are unashamed and beautiful. And also because it is a dream, so it doesn't really count.
My goal is to create an elixer of some sort that will enable me to gain more control over my dreams and will myself to dream only of you. If I am able to do that, I will dread sleep no longer. I will even reduce my coffee intake, for I will know that I will be able to be with you at all times. But until that time comes, I will savor every moment with you the same way a flower savors its time in the sunshine.
Now give me another look at those gums of yours, won't you?
I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I love you so much it makes me breathless, but it also makes me gassy, which is a weird combination if you think about it. No, wait. Let me take that back. If you think about it, it is not a weird combination at all, because only beautiful, enchanting, amazing thoughts pass through your beautiful, beautiful mind. By the way, that movie--A Beautiful Mind--should have been about you and starring you instead of that hot tempered Russell Crowe jerk face. If that movie were starring you, I would definitely buy it again, this time on Blu Ray. But it is not. It is starring that mean bastard from Robin Hood. And that is what holds me back from buying it on Blu Ray, even though Ed Harris was really good in it.
But of course he's always good.
Oh, look at me, would you? There I've gone and gotten myself sidetracked by A Beautiful Mind again. Where was I? Oh yes, of course. I was talking about loving you. And how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. One, two, three . . . gazillion squared!!! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!
Sorry, baby. Please don't let my jokes detract from the integrity of my message, which, to reiterate, is that I love you and that I think about you all the time. Every time we're together--which though it is often, it is not often enough--I want to freeze time and preserve the moment. I want to be with you always. So much so that sleep has become my enemy, for how can I enjoy my time with you if I am sleeping? Damn that sleep. Damn it to hell! You've perhaps noticed that I'm drinking more and more coffee these days. Now you know the reason. It is to stay awake so that I can be with you longer each day. Girl, I miss you when I sleep. Hell, I miss you when I blink. But I must blink, for if I don't my eyes will dry out. And that would eventually result in my not being able to see you, which is something I cannot abide. Therefore, I blink, but I do so reluctantly.
Returning to the subject of sleep for a moment if I may, there are times when I dream of you. And those nights are magical. The reason why is because in dreams we are unbound by the rules of the physical world. It is like The Matrix, and we are heroic, futuristic, leather clad S & M messiahs making love, no gravity style. And in these dreams we are the only people in the world, except for the people of Zion who spy on us from behind the curtains. But we do not mind because we are unashamed and beautiful. And also because it is a dream, so it doesn't really count.
My goal is to create an elixer of some sort that will enable me to gain more control over my dreams and will myself to dream only of you. If I am able to do that, I will dread sleep no longer. I will even reduce my coffee intake, for I will know that I will be able to be with you at all times. But until that time comes, I will savor every moment with you the same way a flower savors its time in the sunshine.
Now give me another look at those gums of yours, won't you?
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