Category: reminisce

Thoughts about the good old days… memories.

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sucking ice

Smokey 3D!.
I went to the dollar store a while ago, and I bought a bag of marbles. I haven’t done anything with that bag of marbles. It’s still sitting here on my desk cinched up like the day I got it. Why did I buy these marbles guys? I know why. Because I love marbles. I always have. Marbles are so cool. Something about little glass spheres with wavy colors in them. They are awesome. I remember my brother and I used to try and play the “real” marbles? you know, with the circle and all? but it never worked out. I like the sound they make when you crunch them around in your hands. Marbles are awesome y’all.

It’s about 9:30pm right now, and I’m sitting here with all the windows open. I’ve got on a button-down Hawaiian shirt that’s not buttoned, just letting it all hang out as they say. An awesome breeze is blowing through the house and I’m listening to some group called “The Autumn Defense” that I just downloaded from the newsies. Apparently, they have some kind of familial relationship to Wilco. They kind of remind me of Buffalo Springfield’s softer moments, good music for a warm night alone with the windows open. Not sure the album’s good enough to not delete – but it hits the spot tonight. Sometimes complacency and contentment is only a nice breeze and good song away.

Word is I’m headed back to Taiwan in two weeks. I actually suggested this trip. There are some things I wanna take care of in person over there – to make the right impression. I’m excited, I really like it over there. Also turns out Ben will be there for the beginning of my stay, and Pat and Wes will be there towards the end. Also some of the other Taiwan-travel regulars will be around, so it should be a good time. Looking forward to some more mantis-prawns and chicken heads. Bring your worst Taipei, I’m ready.

I got a tattoo one morning, my freshman year in college. Jeremy, my roommate at the time, and I were skipping class as usual. Driving around by the river listening to Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (on of the classics of my generation, by the way). We would always skip our morning classes, go buy some chili-cheese nachos from 7-11 for breakfast, and head down to the river. We’d usually just sit and talk, him smoking his Newports and I my Djarums. When I was in high school, I used some spare time in drafting class to make a geometrically perfect Traffic symbol. Traffic was a band from the late 60s to mid 70s, Steve Winwood came from Traffic, and are one of my favorite bands. Anyway, I always kept it in my wallet – because I always knew one day I wanted a tattoo of it.

This morning I got the urge, and stopped at what, looking back, was probably not the best tattoo parlor in Florida. The place was called “Altered Images” I think – and it was housed in a trailer off the freeway, next to a small flea market. But hey, it was like 5min from college? so it was an easy target. When we walked in, the lone artist was sitting on a couch with a large snake. He put the snake away, and I showed him my drawing. I pointed to where I wanted the ink, on my chest above my left breast. He sat me down, had me sign the AIDS waivers, shaved my chest and transferred the image to my skin using deodorant and colored pencils.

Before I knew it I had the black outline of the symbol on me. Before we filled the shape in with red, Jeremy and I went outside for a smoke. I remember thinking what an awesome morning it was, and how glad I was to not be in class. I went back in and laid on the table while he finished. After a while, he said “I’m done. Oh, and I added a cool ‘smoke’ effect to give the thing a real 3D look like it’s standing off the skin.” Umm? excuse me what? I mean, this is my first tattoo and all, but is it normal for a tattoo artist to take some artistic liberty when he inks? I never asked for this gay-ass “smoke” effect! It makes the outlines look all fuzzy and messed up. In fact, I think he messed up and tried to do something to cover it up. Whatever, I gave up the $80 and was outta there. I’m still glad I got it. It gets recognized. It got recognized while I was drug-stuck to the New Orleans dirt one afternoon. “Hey, nice Traffic tattoo,” some guy said as I watched legs go by – my eyes the only muscles I could move. Wanna hear about it?

Flash forward a year or so. Jeremy and I decide to take a trip to New Orleans to see Jazzfest. Jazzfest is the biggest thing in New Orleans next to Mari Gras. There are literally hundreds of musicians in town, playing in clubs, arenas, and on a huge open-air fairgrounds. We went specifically to see Van Morrison. Which is where our story begins. We drove down to the French quarter and caught a cab to the fairgrounds. We were standing in a huge crowd waiting for Van to come on stage, when some guy in front of me started smoking weed from one of those fake ceramic cigarettes. He offered me a hit, so I took it. Now, I hadn’t smoked anything in years at this point, and I have always been a lightweight? so that one hit had me feeling just about perfect. Van got on stage and the show was great.

Around the third song, an Asian kid wandering by asked me if I had light. He was holding a joint, and I knew that if I offered him my lighter – he’d reciprocate by offering me a toke. Now, I really didn’t want a toke, but I offered the lighter anyway – sparking his joint as he inhaled. He then proffered the thing to me with a smile. I’ll never forget the blue Sonic Youth “Washing Machine” shirt this kid had on. I took one hit, handed the joint back, and immediately knew something was very wrong. Whatever I had just inhaled was now seemingly expanding tenfold in my lungs, kicking like a horse to get out. I felt a feeling I’d never felt before, something different in the smoke itself. I turned to ask the kid if the weed was cut with something, but he was long gone.

So there I stood. Well, for about ten minutes I stood. Then I sat. And finally I laid down. I was completely out of it. I can remember sweating like I was in a sauna, just dripping with sweat and not wanting to move. At this point, I think Jeremy was a little embarrassed that he was with me – and was totally ignoring me while watching me out of the corner of his eye. I remember someone coming through the crowd and asking if I was OK. I remember someone misting me with a spray-bottle of water, and finally some kind soul dropped a huge chunk of ice near me – seeing I was obviously dehydrated. I sucked on that piece of ice for almost the entire show, I can still see the bits of grass and dirt on it. All I remember from the music is the pounding bass I could hear with my ear to the dirt.

When the show was over, I could hardly stand up. I made Jeremy carry everything we had brought in, because for some reason I didn’t think I could carry things and walk at the same time. It was so busy getting out of the park.. we didn’t make it to a cab and back to the car for over an hour. By that time, I guess I was acting pretty together – because Jeremy let me drive us back to the hotel. About halfway there, while driving down the highway, I suddenly let out an expletive. “What?” Jeremy asked. “Dude, we forgot to get the car!” I replied. Yeah, he made me pull over and let him drive. Whatever was in that joint besides weed, I didn’t like it. Didn’t have any grass after that for another two years, and only then because it was the Grateful Dead festival. I mean, c’mon right? Who doesn’t eat a Ganja Gooball or three at the friggin’ Grateful Dead festival? Ever heard Dark Star?! Try listening to that awesome song and not eating some chocolate-oatmeal bud-candy.

But guys, I don’t do the drugs anymore. Haven’t partaken of any of that mess since college. No plans to ever again either. Stay clean guys, it’s more funner anyways. I promise. And now, the weekend. Until Monday – Dave out.

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through the years

Time travel is lonely.
Trying to remember one key thing from each grade of my pre-college life. Here is what I can remember, or at least – which events came to mind right off the bat when thinking back on each grade.

First grade. This one’s easy, I put a rock in my ear and it stayed there for a long time. You can read the whole story here.

Second grade. Shane and I stole some chalk from Mrs. Klein’s chalk tray, and drew a naked woman on the blacktop during recess. We didn’t know quite how to depict the female genitalia, so we asked a passing girl “How do you draw a pussy?” She just told us to put a big capital ‘W’ with some hair around it. Oh man did we get busted. As the janitor escorted us up to the principle’s office, I remember him saying “If you were my kids, I’d beat your ass.” What I wanna know is, how did that girl know?

Third grade. I think this is the year I started out going to a different “gifted” school. I hated that school, plus I had to take the bus to get there. I was back at my normal (for Montessori, anyway) school in under a month. Oh, and Beth someone-or-other kicked me in the nuts one morning outside the classroom.

Fourth grade. A girl at school we all made fun of for looking like a boy wasn’t there one day. Word came down that she and her brother had been playing that weekend and he had hit his head on the corner of the coffee table and died. When she came back to school she wore all black the first day, probably one of the first days she hadn’t been made fun of in a while. Kinda changed my mind about teasing people. Our group won the game “Gold Rush,” which learned us about the California gold rush. We took our booty, a full bag of Rolos. Sarah Bean had an epileptic seizure in class and bit Mrs. Forinash’s hand as she tried to keep her own tongue from choking her.

Fifth grade. We got robbed, I had my first real “best friend,” and I moved to FL.

Sixth grade. New kid in school. Wore all the wrong clothes and liked the wrong things. Punched Ricky because he took too long at the drinking fountain. Failed Algebra and got moved into “Math 3.” Math 3? This kids so dumb we’ll send him through “math” for a third time? maybe that’ll get it into his head. Met Sharaun.

Seventh grade. Got all my clothes from Ron Jon’s, now I was cool. Learned to shoplift. Punched Vic because he tried to take my candy. Discovered the Beatles.

Eighth grade. Met Kyle. Discovered Led Zeppelin and threw away all my clothes from Ron Jon’s, now I was a anti-cool. Fell in love with Kyle’s sister – to this day not much has made my heart jump as much as reading the coded letters we snuck to each other between classes. I can remember feeling like the world was mine when she wrote in code “I love you.” Started dating Robin and had my first kiss.

Ninth grade. Took Angel’s Trumpet. Broke up with Robin, got back together with Robin, cheated on Robin, broke up with Robin. Learned to drive. Smoked marijuana for the first time. Drank beer for the first time.

Tenth grade. Decided I wanted to date Sharaun. Saw my first indie show: Poster Children and L7. Made prank phone calls. Threw my first keg party while my family was in Washington DC, how the eff did we get a keg in 10th grade anyway? Lost my virginity. Started dating Sharaun.

Eleventh grade. Sharaun.

Twelfth grade. Started going to church, accepted my Lord and Savior and was baptized to receive the Holy Spirit. Yeah, for real. Got suspended for beating up a kid who pushed Sharaun. Cheated on Sharaun. Won a cruise to the Bahamas.

Looks like we can save about $400/mo by refinancing the house right now. The neighbor across the street just sold his place at $245/sqft – which is awesome for us. Bring on the savings.. I’m totally ready. Until tomorrow, Dave out.

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the absolute coolest thing in the world

You rogue! This cardboard doth turn the finest steel!
Somehow I got back around to listening to the Decemberists. Man, these albums just make me feel so good. I love the lyrics and the imagery, they’ve got to be some of my absolute favorite albums in a long time.

Saw this link today which kinda put a smile on my face. A website wrote a letter pretending to be a 5th grade student, asking senators for their favorite jokes. Then they waited for the responses and published them. I think the senators that took the time to write back, especially in their own hands, are awesome for doing it. Some of the jokes even made me chuckle. I realize it must be hard to sift through the piles of mail these people get every day – but I think it’s cool that some staffer put these particular letters through to the senators and they actually took the time to respond. Why am I talking about this? I dunno, let’s move on.

Been evaluating some refinancing options for the house lately. Seems we can save a good deal of money if we refi now. The house across the street from us, same floorplan and same half-done backyard, recently appraised for $80k more than we paid for ours only 10mos ago. With that amount of equity and the rates where they are now, I think we’d be stupid to not refi. Plus, a reduction in our monthly payment would be a godsend. Since we couldn’t come up with the 20% downpayment, we’ve been paying some $300/mo in mortgage insurance. That’s money down the drain. With an appraisal that nets us 20% equity we can get out of the insurance, and get a lower monthly payment too. I have a meeting with a couple brokers today to discuss the finer details.

I got a note about yesterday’s entry from a friend at work, and I was kind of surprised because I’m still unsure who even reads this thing. Made me feel good because she said she could “… identify with the cooking… and the sports… and the pants that are supposed to be regular but are always 6 inches too long… and wondering how penguins have sex…” So, someone’s reading… not that it would really matter, I would probably write anyway. From the look of the last three paragraphs, it seems that I am trying to make this the most non-cohesive and random entry ever. There goes the slim audience I’ve somehow managed to keep up to now. For really though, I’ve been doing this thing for six months now? I’m pretty proud of that.

I remember when I was a kid that my dad did a lot of cool stuff for me. I hope that one day I can do cool stuff for my kids too. One day he made these elaborate cardboard shields for my brother and to swordfight with. He had taken the encyclopedia and either copied or blown-up and traced some mythical images on the front of the shields. Mine was a Pegasus, and I think Frank’s was a Minotaur or something. They were hand-drawn in red marker, and I remember thinking they were the absolute coolest thing in the world. I also remember my dad helping Frank and I write messages, stuff them in airtight beer bottles, and driving us to the pier to toss them in for potential castaways to find. I think the whole message-in-a-bottle idea was his, and he had us put some contact info in there in case anyone ever did find one. What a cool idea of something to do with your kids. One time I also saw him haul off and smack a dog in the head with a shovel, man dog’s yelp with they get smacked with shovels. Oh, the dog was mauling my little brother at the time – so it’s cool. Don’t sic PETA on me.

That’s it for today. Sorry. Dave out.

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so i write them down

Weather.
Yeah. I didn’t write yesterday. What you gonna do about it?

Woke up this morning at 4:30am to hop a flight to Seattle. Tonight we hit Gameworks, some kind of fancy virtual-reality arcade which is somehow related to Steven Spielberg. It’s a business trip, but the weather here makes me want to do anything but business. I’ve caught the camping bug pretty bad lately, with the awesome weather we’ve been having this past week. Makes me want to get outside and get away. I’ll be needing that release soon. Right now I’m so busted-tired that I can’t focus.

I was gonna write about writing, but I read my old journal and found a nice summary from April of 2001:

Yo. Listening to CSN&Y’s “Deja Vu,” and totally reminiscing about the good old days when this music was brand spankin’ new to me and how amazing it all was. Seems like times gone by can always be remembered as “simpler times.” I think that’s what has crystallized those special years in my memory as the best of all things. I have had many great times in my life, and am in fact living some of the best right now – but I’ll still remember those middle school years (7th, 8th & 9th) as some of the absolute best.

Even with all the pressure and junior high social politics – the things we did and saw have just been permanently etched into my memory. I think it has something to do with the glory of discovery: doing, seeing, and living things for the first time. Experiencing things for the first time can only be done once. Just really becoming a person, and having so much fun along the way.

I wouldn’t trade those years for anything. They are the epitome of what I yearn for now. So much less responsibility, so care free, not knowing what to do but making a go at it anyway and laughing at the “seriousness” of others. I know, it’s all about being a kid – and I pity kids who don’t get to have that revelatory period, it takes a pretty balanced combo of curiosity, stupidity, courage, perceived invincibility, and somewhat lax or liberal parenting. But if all those planets line up at the right time, it can be a most wonderful thing – and I speak from experience.

So many memories that I don’t want to ever forget. So I write them down, however small and fragmented, just to get them archived somewhere – mainly for my own benefit. I’ve also thought about one day letting my kids read through these things. I wonder would I like to read something like this that my dad wrote? I think I would , once I was old enough to appreciate it. Even if it did make blatant references to drugs, sex, and other things I would of course forbid my children from getting into.

But, I guess that goes with the idea of not letting them in on it until they are old enough to understand or appreciate it.

Back to the 2k4. Dave out.

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ghostwriting about ghosts

The only thing I'd ever need on that desert island I always talk about.
Sharaun ghost writes today’s blog without even knowing it. From some document called “SUMMER93.doc” I found while cleaning out my “My Documents” folder. The date says it was written a few years ago. I liked it.

Praise the Lord! Tenth grade was over and the summer was here. Those were my thoughts walking out of Rockledge High School. My sophomore year had been a difficult one, especially with geometry, but that was all behind me now. I would spend my summer with friends on the beach, just letting the sun melt the geometry from my brain. I vowed to never speak the word again. That is until three days later when my parents received my final report card in the mail. I spent about an hour trying to justify the “D” I received in my geometry class. I could have sworn I had a solid “C” in there. Anyway, my father concluded our conversation by letting me know I would be on restriction……the entire summer. I stormed off to my room where I sobbed for two consecutive hours. How could my father be so irrational? At least I didn’t fail.

Fortunately, after having been restricted for only two weeks, my father decided that a whole summers restriction was a somewhat extreme. He told me that I could start going out again. Those words were music to my ears. I immediately called my friend Natalie to make plans for the night. I was excited about what the summer had in store.

Nothing could have prepared me for the summer of 1993. I’ve never had so many memorable experiences in such a short amount of time. During those next two months I made a new friend, started a relationship with the guy who is still my boyfriend, and had the most fun doing the dumbest things.

My first night out was going to be with Natalie. Upon calling her, she informed me that her cousin Heather had flown in from Pennsylvania. She said Heather was our age and that she was “real cool.” Natalie had recently turned sixteen and gotten her license, so Natalie, Heather, and I were set to cruise the thrilling city of Rockledge. Rockledge, for those who don’t know, (which is everyone) is a small town. It is a good 30 minute drive to get to a town that has some sort of entertainment. That night I was introduced to Heather. She was “real cool.” We got along great. Heather was a petite girl, with short, light brown hair which framed her freckled face. She wore wire rimmed oval glasses, and spoke with a slight accent. I don’t know exactly what kind of accent it was. She spoke different from Natalie and I. I suppose it was a Pennsylvanian accent. Anyway, she fit perfectly into our group of friends. It was me, Natalie, Heather,David, Andy, and Kyle. We were inseparable that summer.

The six of us spent countless nights together. We didn’t do much hanging out in the daytime. That was when the girls would go to the beach and the guys would do…well, whatever it was that they did in the daytime. However, once the sun set, it was a given that we would be getting together. We never did anything significant. We usually just found a place where we could talk, whether it was at someone’s house, the beach, the dock, the circle, Wendy’s, or the local elementary school’s playground. We had numerous conversations that led to us all growing very close. I, in particular, grew very close to David.

I had met David the previous year in school. He, like his friends Andy and Kyle, was kind of weird. They were different from the typical tenth grade boys. They were sort of like loners. They weren’t the party boys or the jocks, they were in a class of their own. In fact, at one point, I found David to be a little scary. He always wore satanic looking Led Zeppelin shirts. I learned much more about David during those summer nights (like the fact he didn’t worship the devil). David and I enjoyed talking so much that I began calling him. After returning home from our outings, I would sneak the telephone into my bedroom to call David. Talking to David, on the phone, became a nightly event. We had so much to learn about each other. On many nights we would talk until the sun came up. We would talk on the phone for seven hours and it would feel like only two. David and I became best friends.

Heather and Natalie noticed mine and David’s fondness for one another. They would often tease us about “liking” each other, but I assured them that I would never “like” someone so weird. Pretty soon, Andy and Kyle joined in on the teasing. So one night when we were all at the circle (an empty cul-de-sac in an undeveloped subdivision), David and I hopped into his red Nissan to talk. The others must have thought we were having a make out fest because they began circling the car like buzzards. It was a humid evening, and David turned the air on. This caused the car windows to fog. Kyle, Heather, Andy, and Natalie stood outside the car trying to peer through the frost to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Deciding to give them something to talk about, David jumped on top of me. It was kind of uncomfortable being squashed on top of each other in the front seat, but it was well worth it to see the looks on their faces when we climbed out of the car.

The six of us pulled a lot of pranks that summer, only we pulled them on one another. It seemed to be our way of showing affection. We would take turns toilet papering each other’s houses, along with other unusual displays of liking. I will never forget returning home from a softball tournament to find every inch of my yard covered in toilet and newspaper. It could only be the work of David, Andy and Kyle. My neighbors actually came over to take pictures. My front yard consists of a lot of shrubbery and a huge oak tree. Those three guys must have spent hours, and a fortune, on toilet papering my house. They claimed to have used forty-three rolls. And if that wasn’t bad enough, they used shredded newspaper to coat my lawn. I don’t think a square inch of grass was visible. After four hours of cleanup, which still wasn’t to my parents satisfaction, I was exhausted. I used every ladder, step stool, and lawn tool to remove the toilet paper from the oak tree, but nothing worked. I believe there still may be white remnants in the top branches. It was time for revenge!

Natalie, Heather and I wanted to get them back, in an unusual way. The toilet paper thing was old, so we decided on pork-n-beans. We scrounged up as much money as we could find, and purchased half a shopping cart full of pork-n-beans. This was going to be great! We emptied the cans into as many Tupperware containers they could fill, then hopped into Natalie’s car to complete our mission. We coated David’s front porch with a thick layer of pork-n-beans. Driving home, we laughed until we cried at the thought of having to clean that mess up. David said it didn’t take him long to hose down his porch, however the pork-n-bean juice did leave his porch a beautiful shade of brown! That summer the pranks continued with such items as creamed corn, dirt, dog food and vegetable oil.

It wasn’t long before Heather’s three and a half weeks were up. We all told her good-bye and how much we would miss her. We had shared some wonderful times with Heather. She became a part of the best experiences I ever had. Through letters to Natalie, Heather kept us posted on how she was doing, but after that summer we never saw Heather again.

The summer went on as before. Nothing special, just spending time together and pulling pranks. Well, I suppose there was something special. That would be David. We were closer than ever. Over the summer I contracted a very mild case of mono. Over the two weeks I was sick, David brought me flowers, balloons and food. He really showed me how much he cared by spending time with me while I was ill. I knew everything there was to know about David, just as he knew everything about me. We began to wrap up our nightly phone calls with “I love you.” I can’t explain how I fell in love with David, just as I can’t explain how I grew so close to Heather in a mere three weeks, or what possessed us to pour pork-n-beans on someone’s porch. They all just happened. There was something magical about that summer. Something that made it unforgettable.

No one wanted to see summer end, but before we knew it our junior year had arrived. Although I despised going back to school, at least there would be no geometry. Shortly into eleventh grade, David and I officially started a relationship. We are still together to this day.

I continue to keep in touch with the others from that summer, that is everyone but Heather. About two years ago, Natalie told me Heather was involved in a serious car crash that took her life. I couldn’t believe someone as lively as Heather could be dead. Although I had spent just a few weeks with Heather, she effected me in a big way. She is a part of some of my greatest memories.

It would be impossible for me to put on paper everything the six of us did that summer. It would also be impossible to describe in words the feelings I felt. All I can do is recount some of the highlights and say that they were the best times of my life. I left the summer of ’93 with a new friend, an exciting romance, and stories to tell my children.

Dave… er… Sharaun out.

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smoke ’em if ya got ’em

The dirty South.
When I was in Florida for Christmas this past year, I had a lot of good food. I don’t know what it is, but something about home-cooked Southern food is totally awesome. It’s not just the taste of the food, it’s the whole “ambiance” that goes along with it. A real Southern meal implies things more than just good eats to me. For one meal, I was invited over to Bob in Florida’s house. His wife had prepared a honest-to-God Southern meal, and it was totally awesome. It was a fine meal, fine to the point of inspiring me to write about it in detail.

On the menu was a roast, a tossed salad, some red potatoes, and some green beans Of course, also present were the requisite “greens.” I don’t know about you, but being a Florida transplant from the west originally – I hadn’t ever heard the term “greens.” If you’ve never heard it, greens are the leafy parts of all sorts of stuff, and Southern people love ’em. They cook up greens with all sorts of interesting flavors, and then put hot pepper sauce on ’em before eating. Kinda like a warm leaf stew, or something. Thing is, I’ve never liked greens before. They tend to be bitter and kinda slimy – and I always passed on them. But man, we’re these greens awesome. I even used the hot pepper sauce like a true Southerner. I had like three helpings.

Anyway, we sat and ate and talked. Long leisurely meals are appealing to me, as long as the company and conversation is good. My family always used to talk at dinner, it’s where we’d catch up on everyone’s day. We always sat down and ate together, every night. I actually remember looking forward to dinner time when I was a kid. My mom would plan out the week’s meals in advance, so she could do the appropriate shopping. She’d also “post” the week’s meal itinerary on the fridge each week – I guess her way of keeping us informed about what we were having. Probably it was more of a reminder to her in case there was prep-work she’d have to do or something, but I always thought it was so neat to be able to “look forward” to a meal later on in the week. Thanks mom.

Here’s a long-winded story that eventually ties into the above rambling. I was a junior in college and my friend Kyle was in the Air Force stationed in Abilene, Texas. One winter, we cooked up a scheme where I would come out to visit him. However, being a broke college student, I opted to take a Greyhound bus from. Yeah, a Greyhound bus halfway across the country – 36hrs. I was never what I consider to be a “real” smoker, but throughout college I would occasionally indulge with my smoker roommate. I enjoyed a social cigarette with him quite often as a way to wind down in the evening, or to compliment a few beers and an evening out. The only time I ever bought cigarettes though, was on this particular Greyhound trip.

I mean, I was on a bus guys, for 36 hours. The only time the bus stopped was for a few minutes every few hours, for… you guessed it – a smoke break. At the first stop, I just got off the bus and mingled with the smokers. By the second stop, I was so compelled to get off that bus for some reason, I actually bought a pack of cigarettes and started having one each time we stopped. Normally, I hate smoking. I’ll have a cigarette and halfway through wonder: “Why am I doing this?” I hate the smell, they give me headaches, and they are just nasty all over. But for all their bad points, they can be extremely “rewarding” in their own way. They do promote a feeling of “ahhh,” and relaxation in some cases.

Anyway, back to the story. I arrived in Texas and met up with Kyle, who had been a smoker for a few years. For the entire week, we smoked like smokers. We took full advantage of the smoking sections in restaurants, sitting down for long meals while tugging on smokes and laughing. We smoked in the car, we smoked at the barracks, we smoked after meals and before meals. And for one week in my life – smoking ceased to disgust me. In fact, it became something supremely enjoyable. I remember fearing that I was liking it a little too much, but upon getting back to Florida – it once again became the occasional vice. Something about kicking back at a table, having just enjoyed a fine omelet, and breathing deep from a lit cigarette while discussing random events… I guess it only makes sense in Abilene after two days in a bus.

That bus trip was fun though. Sleeping on my suitcases in Dallas overnight so no one would steal them, playing poker with four old black guys on the floor of a bus stop in Louisiana. My bus leaving Dallas for Tallahassee was so late that, out of frustration, I ended up sneaking onto a bus for Atlanta and pretending to be asleep with they came by and asked for tickets. I figured, at least it’s closer to Florida than Dallas. It all worked out, but man oh man was that an experience.

Out.

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no diving

Ouch.
Here’s the deal y’all. It’s Wednesday night, but I wish it was still Tuesday because I have so much to get done this week. Work is really kicking my butt lately, it’s almost like they expect me to actually exert effort before they’ll write me a check. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ve got my best people looking into it.

Nearly 100 people have looked at my latest auction on Ebay, still no bids. I did get a couple questions from people who were curious about how I actually did the mod, but that’s about it. Looks like there’s a lot of interest in the auction, so hopefully it’s buyer interest and not just looker interest. I’m imagining a last-minute bidding frenzy where the price soars into the tens of thousands of dollars. Yup, that’s what I imagine.

This weekend is Ben’s birthday. For the occasion we’re going to see a show in the city, this time it’s the Stars and Dears. The Stars were great last time we saw them with Broken Social Scene, and the Dears’ record is amazing – so I’m anticipating a decent show. The morning of the show, Anthony and I are serving as judges for an Odyssey of the Mind competition. If you’ve never heard of OM, it’s like a fun organization for brainy kids. They have competitions where kids come and compete, kind of like a big “gifted” class or something. The do thing like build cars out of macaroni and make matchstick rockets and try to safely drop eggs from heights. Anyway, we’re the “weigh-in” judges for the “Balancing Act” problem. “Balancing Act” is the OM version of the balsa-wood bridge problem that most kids do in high-school physics. I’ve even seen them do this on ESPN before.. I think. Using only balsa wood and glue the kids must create a structure that can support as much weight as possible. There are restrictions on the structure’s weight, and what types of glues can be used, etc. Should be fun, and I’m hoping for some good stories to come from it.

It was my first year at community college, so I was probably 19. We were organizing a familiar camping trip at a natural springs about an hour from where we lived. I can’t believe my memory is already this bad, but I think I went with Jeremy and maybe Joey. Whoever it was, there was three of us.

The springs had a few “primitive camping” areas that we’d been to before. For the non-campers out there, primitive camping is defined as camping with no necessities – no water, no fire ring, no RV pad or outhouse. Usually just a clearing that’s marked and some spots to setup a tent. We really enjoyed going to the springs to camp, since the campsites were so isolated from everything. You could only get to them by a 40min hike along a foot trail through the marshy forest. Once you arrived at the clearing, you were truly removed from everything. Not only that, we would usually organize trips during the week – so we’d be sure to be the only ones out there. It was a perfect camping spot, relaxed and private and in a great natural setting.

Our trips would normally last three days and two nights. Since the actual freshwater spring was only a 40min walk from the campsite, we’d trek into the actual park each morning after breakfast for a dip in the water. We’d usually hang out at the springs all day swimming and barbecuing, and then head back to camp in the early evening. Sometimes we’d stay at the campsite all day, but the springs served as our daily “showers” so we tried to make it up there in the mornings at least.

It was the last day of one of our three day trips. For some reason, we had elected to stay at the campground the whole time – and we hadn’t showered in two nights of primitive camping. I think we stayed at the campsite because we had brought along a respectable amount of alcohol, which we often did when camping. The booze tended to keep us near the tents, fire, and poker game. Anyway, we woke up on that last morning and broke camp to hike back to the car. We stowed all our gear in the car, but before leaving decided to “rinse off” in the springs. (Two nights of drinking and firewood-foraging and pooping in hand-dug holes can make a guy feel kinda ratty).

When we got to the springs it was already mid-morning and several people were swimming and sunbathing around the area. The park service had made some changes to the area around natural spring itself to make it more conducive to swimming. It had a concrete sides to the swimming area on one side, and there were places were you could easily climb in and out. They’d basically turned it into a freshwater springs swimming pool.

Even though the spring was deep in the middle, it could get rather shallow on the edges since it was basically a natural lake and could fluctuate. To warn people of this, the park had “NO DIVING” signs stenciled on the concrete wall and posted on signposts around the water. The signs even showed a crude stick-man foolishly diving head-first into the water (represented by the universal water symbol of peaked wavy lines) and hitting his head on the bottom. Lines clearly meant to indicate “pain” were shown escaping from the stick man’s head at the point of impact. I got it, diving = bad.

So maybe you can guess where I’m going here, but I’ll go ahead and fill in the blanks anyway. I’d like to preface the story by stating the fact that none of us had had anything to smoke or drink that day, and were stone-cold sober. We walked down to the water’s edge, where we all stood on the concrete wall ready to get in the water. If you believe my friends, I was actually standing on the stenciled words “NO DIVING” when I dove… but I think that part of the story was invented later for the sake of comedic irony. Either way, you already know what happens… I walked right up to the edge and dove head-first into the water.

I think I got about… uhh… up to my chest before my head hit the rock. I do know that most of my body wasn’t even underwater yet when it happened. Apparently the scene from above was pretty funny, they said I walked right down to the concrete wall, dove in, got into about my chest, and then all they saw was a cloud of dust rise from the bottom of the water as the rest of my body crumpled into the springs. What I remember goes something like this: dive off the ledge, head hits the water, head hits rock really hard and I do a little summersault underwater and bring my feet back underneath me so I’m standing. Now I’m standing in what is clearly only waist-deep water, holding my head.

At this point all I know is that I hit my head, but when I come up I realize I’m having a hard time staying on my feet. My friends are standing above me, looking down on me from the ledge, doubled over laughing. They’re laughing so hard, in fact, that they don’t hear me dizzily say “Guys, I think I’m fucked up.” When I repeat myself and this time hold out my hand to be helped back on the ledge, they grab me and hoist me up.

Suddenly everything is red. I look down at my chest and I am absolutely covered in blood. It’s in my eyes so bad I can’t see. I think as they hoisted me up, my friends realized I was indeed “fucked up.” Now I’m starting to freak out, usually the sight of my own blood makes me pass out. I know, I’m a puss – but if I could help it I would. It’s some kind of involuntary reaction that I don’t have control over. Other people’s blood, no problem. My blood? You better go fetch the smelling salts ’cause I’ll be out like a light in no time. This time though, I didn’t pass out.

I remember taking my t-shirt and pressing it to my head to try and stop the blood. Then some nice lady who noticed this dumbass kid just split his head open diving off the “no diving” sign rushed down to the water’s edge from where she and her family were having lunch. She brought some ice wrapped in one of those mini-Lays chip bags that you used to get when mom packed your lunch. What a smart idea. I remained pretty calm, and remember thinking that I just had to find somewhere to sew me up. Once we had the blood pretty much stopped, through ice and pressure, we walked to the car and headed out of the park.

We stopped at the ranger station on the way out to ask for directions to the emergency room, since we were in a town about an hour away from our home – and had no idea where anything was. He gave us some directions to the hospital, which was a 30min drive according to him, and we set off. Around the 40min mark it became apparent we’d missed whatever hospital this guy had directed us too. We pulled off the freeway and stopped at, of all places, a karate dojo to ask directions. Funny enough, they said there wasn’t a hospital on this side of town and suggested we try one of those walk-in clinic places. Whatever, it had been almost an hour since I split my head and I wanted it closed up.

We followed the sensei’s directions to the first clinic. We could see the sign from the road: “24 Hour Emergency Clinic.” Sounded perfect! Of course, they were closed. The sign on the door said, and I’m not joking, “Closed Due to Terminal Illness.” Now, what that means I have no idea. We stopped in at a gas station across the street to try and find another destination. Finally, we pulled up at another clinic – this one being open.

When I walked in, the place was absolutely packed. However, I think the fact that I was wearing a t-shirt which was completely red with blood and holding a chip bag to my busted head helped catapult me to the front of the waiting room. I was in the back in no time, where a “doctor” looked at my head. By now I had all but stopped bleeding, so he just had to clean some dirt and water-muck away before he could fix me up. I assumed I’d get some stitches and be on my way. I was wrong.

The doctor told me that my wound was a good candidate for “staples” instead of stitches. Sounded strange to me, but he assured me they worked like stitches and would be easier to apply. So, I agreed (not that I think my consent would’ve really mattered had I not). He brought over a shot with some anesthetic and what looked like an honest-to-God Office Depot-bought Swingline stapler. No joke. I expected some fancy stainless “medical” stapler, but this thing looked totally consumer-grade to me. It obviously wasn’t, but man did it look it. He told me I would feel a “pinch” when he injected my scalp. I did feel a pinch. I felt a pinch and then watched him immediately put down the syringe, pick up the stapler, and proceed to shoot several staples right into my wound. Nevermind that the anesthetic wouldn’t start to take effect for another couple of minutes, I was healed.

So, that’s how I ended up with eight staples in my head. When I went to my normal doctor several weeks later to have them removed, he said I was lucky that I didn’t break my neck and die or get paralyzed. Yeah, I guess I am lucky.

Stick around, I’ve got plenty of emergency-room stories. Like when I filleted my thumb on a genuine samurai sword or my last time ice-skating when I had to get stitches to put my bottom lip back together. w00t.