I've been blessed with two terrific parents. It's a corny thing to say, yes, but true nonetheless. There is much I've learned from each of them, and much I could say about each of them as well. Today though, I'd like to take a moment to talk about one of the traits that runs on the Lebowski side of the family: a quick wit. All of the children of the Lebowski-Jerboa union share this trait to a greater or lesser degree, and most of the grandchildren as well (I flatter myself amongst the grandchildren of wit). While she may not be as much of a natural spotlight-magnet as her younger siblings Hulka and Patty, my mother possesses the gift of a quick wit in spades. She is less of a storyteller, her gift is in her ability to play along with a situation or mutter a quick retort. Here are a collection of some of my favorite Diane Thirty off-the-cuff witticisms.
At a birthday dinner for Holly Lebowski (Hulka's beloved wife), we were all seated around a table in a restaurant. My mother is very particular about certain foods, and insists on only ever using REAL butter for her bread/rolls, not margarine. So when the basket of rolls arrived to the table with a mix of butter and margarine packets, she was nervous. The basket was going the wrong way around the table from her, and she was carefully watching as the stock of real butters gradually depleted. Eventually, the basket reached the diner directly to her right, her brother David "Blaze" Lebowski, with only 1 real butter left. Now, David is a scheming sort of guy, always up to do something to get a rise out of someone (another trait that runs in the family), so I can't say I blame my mother 100% for the preemptive strike she was about to launch, but it seemed harsh nonetheless.
As soon as the basket of rolls reached David's hands, it was slapped out of them, onto the table as my mother warned him, without a hint of warmth in her voice, "Don't even think about it, fuckhead." [alternative heard as "don't even think about it, dickhead."] She quickly snatched the last butter out of the basket and turned back to her conversation with my father, leaving David with his jaw on the table and only margarine for his roll. Now, I realize that wasn't a particularly "witty" comment to lead the tales of wit, but it was hilarious, fuckhead.
One Christmas in our old house, probably when I was about 13, 14 or so my mother had ordered a large leather recliner for my father for Christmas. It was a warm Christmas Eve that year, with very little, if any, snow on the ground. I recall being sent out onto the deck at some point in the morning with a bag of stale Rice Krispies to throw out to the birds. The house was built into a hillside, and the deck wrapped around from the side of the house where it was just a few steps up from the driveway to the back of the house where it stood above the slider doors to the finished part of the basement. I was feeling particularly lazy, and didn't feel like throwing handful after handful of cereal out onto the lawn proper, so I stood at the deck railing in the rear of the house and just upended the bag, dumping a pile of cereal down 1 story to the ground below where it remained.
Later that day, Dad's new chair arrived. My mother guided the deliverymen down from the driveway to the backyard and around to the basement doors to bring the chair in. She then noticed that to do so, they'd have to walk through a pile of Rice Krispies. Thinking quickly of a way to save face, she let the delivery man know that she'd asked her son to feed the birds that morning. But her son, she claimed, had Down's Syndrome, and didn't understand the task. How do I know she said this? After they left, she came upstairs and told me so. Angrily. As if it were my fault she lied and said I had Down's Syndrome.
Now, my cousin, Derek Dynamo, does in fact have Down's Syndrome, and he is one of the kindest-hearted young men you'd ever hope to meet, a real sensitive guy who loves his family and loves to make people laugh. One day my mother was sitting with her sisters, Susan (Derek's mother), and Patty chatting with their mother, Nonnie, and HER sister, Aunt Claire Philbert. Aunt Claire sometimes has a funky thought process, and doesn't quite follow exactly what's going on (but she is a very sweet and good person). At this particular time, Susan was talking about the accommodations Derek gets at school, including a dedicated para-educator. However, Aunt Claire didn't hear para-educator. Instead, she looked confused and asked my mother to clarify for her sister, just exactly, "what does the parrot do?". Now, my mother could've explained that Derek did not, in fact, have a parrot educator, but instead opted to tell her that the parrot uses its claws and beak to sharpen Derek's pencils. Aunt Claire looked not at all less confused by this, but blinked, nodded her acceptance, and sat back in her chair. To my knowledge, she has not, to this day, been corrected.
The final moment of unscripted, muttered wit I'll share today happened during a family game of Monopoly Junior. Monopoly Junior is like regular monopoly, but with fewer properties, set in an amusement park, and with the dollar values greatly reduced, usually by a factor of $100 or so. Also, the man currently officially known as Mr. Monopoly featured more prominently in the various cards and properties. However, Mr. Monopoly went by a different name back then. Back then, he was Rich Uncle Pennybags.
It was a typical family board game, the type pictured in print ads for the very same board games. All four members of the Thirty family were sitting on the living room rug, Steven and Diane Thirty patiently playing this childrens' game with Meghan and I. Mom was not winning though, and was becoming mildly annoyed with her poor luck. She rolled, and landed on one of the card drawing spaces, taking a card. She grumbled about how she had to pay back a $3 loan to her rich uncle. However, her description of this was "Oh, damn it, fine, pay $3 to Uncle Peniswhistle." Meghan and I laughed so hard we couldn't finish the game.
Uncle Peniswhistle.
Hahahahaha, it's still funny.
Showing posts with label Diane Thirty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Diane Thirty. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - Their House (In The Middle of Their Street)
From the mid-1960's to the mid-1970's, the Lebowski family lived in a great big house (3 stories, 6 bed, 8 bath) that I've never seen the inside of. Seven people (two parents, five children) is a big family, and a large house would be reasonable for a large family, but this house also doubled as a care facility for several adult patients that my grandmother, Mary Lebowski was responsible for (she was an RN who basically ran a mini-rest home in her own home for a few wards of the state). It is a constant sadness to me that I never got the chance to visit this house (it is now occupied by a privately owned business, although my aunt Pappy does visit sometimes for her work, which is nice for her). It sounds like a fun place where lots of interesting things occurred. I'd like to walk you through some of the highlights.
The living arrangements were as follows. The basement was a basement, and had laundry machines. The first floor was the main living area with kitchen, dining room, etc. The 2nd floor had bedrooms for Nonnie, Jaja, their two sons David and Stephen (Hulka), and the patients. The third floor, accessed via a flight of stairs with each step painted a different bright color, housed my mother, Diane, and her two sisters, Susan and Patty (Pappy). The bulk of the third floor was Patty and Susan's room, which was enormous. My mother's room (she desperately wanted her own room, being the oldest) was tiny, like a broom closet. Because it was her VERY OWN ROOM, she got to paint it any color she liked. She chose lavender. Apparently this tiny room was extremely lavender. It was once described by David as "so damn purple, Prince and Barney would spew."
Having the patients live in the house provided Nonnie and Jaja with convenient watchful eyes when they wanted or needed to get out of the house. If you think about this, though, the patients living there were wards of the state. Hulka likes to point out that they were, "frequently left in the care of individuals the state deemed unfit to care for themselves." One patient's entire babysitting strategy was slap a box of cigarettes in his hand and demand that the children "get off my floor!" should they venture to play on the 2nd floor.
The first floor of the house, as stated earlier, was where the daily living took place. With 5 kids and 4 or so patients, Nonnie and Jaja thought it economical to invest in a milk machine, the type you might see in a college dining hall. They'd buy enormous bags of milk, load them in, and then the milk would freely dispense from it's tube when the lever was pressed. Susan perfected a trick she would demonstrate for Hulka where she would milk the milk machine. She would grip the pouring tube as if it were a cow's udder and use the "milking" motion to nudge the lever with her elbow. Classic misdirection. Hulka's use of the milk machine was more direct: he liked to wrap his lips around the tube and hit the lever.
The outside of the house was apparently full of memories too. It featured a built-in pool, for one thing. However, Nonnie lived in perpetual fear that young Hulka would have dangerous mishaps given any chances (this was a somewhat justified fear, given little Hulka's fearlessness, which is probably better described as obliviousness to danger rather than "bravery" per se. He once, at age 3 or so, held a Vietnam protest parade which consisted of walking the median line of the busy street the house was on holding a flower. Tractor trailers honked their support, he assures me.). As a result, the pool was not allowed to be filled beyond a couple of inches of water. Poor innocent Hulka might've drowned otherwise.
In addition to a pool, the yard also had a fountain. This fountain, like the pool, had much less water in it than it should, by design, have held. It held zero water. I do not know if this was another deliberate Hulka-proofing on my grandmother's part or not, but I do know that according to my mother, aunts, and uncles, an empty fountain has some great hide-and-seek possibilities.
Another outdoor highlight was a very tall evergreen tree. This tree was not a highlight on it's own, it was rather the site of an escapade involving my mother's cousin Jimmy Sownd. Young Jimmy was apparently an expert climber and a bit of a little shit. On this particular occasion, he managed to climb all the way to the very top of the tree, clinging not to a branch but to the central tree trunk, at that height so thin and flexible that he was reportedly swinging from side to side, rocking the top of the tree, shouting not with fear, but with glee. His father, George "Gorilla" Sownd demanded he climb down, a demand which was summarily dismissed. Uncle George was nicknamed Gorilla for a reason: he was built like one. The man called Gorilla was FULLY displeased at having to climb two full stories up a tree to haul his monkey-swinging son down. I'm pretty sure Jimmy's ass got beaten to hell and back for that one (it was a different time).
As if these weren't enough outdoor items of note, the backyard also featured a life-sized statue of the Madonna (the religious figure, not the singer), and an enormous D.O.T.-orange trash barrel. This barrel was notable for moonlighting as a swimming pool for the kids (since the real pool could not be filled, as mentioned above) and as a vehicle of sorts. A favorite game of the Lebowski children was to load a child or two into the barrel, turned on it's side, and send it rolling down the hill, most frequently to come to a sudden and clanging stop at the propane tank. This may sound dangerous, but the kids were sure to run a series of tests before attempting this. The tests consisted of getting their neighbor and friend, Sally Bigalow to do exactly this dangerous thing first. This was a valid strategy for a number of potentially hazardous outdoor activities, I hear.
My favorite detail about the Lebowski house of those days, saved for last, is the fact that it had a laundry chute. I always thought laundry chutes were really cool when I was younger, because it was a legitimate excuse to drop things from a fair height, usually a no-no. But this laundry chute was special. It ran from the 2nd floor to the basement ceiling, with an opening on the first floor as well. In about 1970 or so, the Lebowski children needed to find out just how valid a shortcut from the 2nd floor to the basement the laundry chute would be. Sally Bigalow must not have been available, because the test pilot for this mission was none other than Hulka, 6 or 7 years old at the time.
The four assistants made sure there was plenty of laundry at the bottom of the chute to cushion the landing. A few bedsheets and a pair of underwear was probably enough, right? The intrepid young sailor of gravity gave his thumbs up and he was hoisted into the chute to make his rapid headfirst descent. What the kids didn't realize was that about halfway down the chute, it narrowed. Hulka did not. Firmly lodged upside down in the chute, Hulka awaited rescue by his siblings. They tried valiantly to free him, eventually resorting to using a broom to try to push him through the narrow segment to freedom. Hulka reports that he wishes they'd used the other end of the broom, and that the handle didn't even buy him dinner or call him after the time they had together.
Eventually, Hulka was freed, relatively none the worse for wear. But it's a pretty unique family of five kids that sends the youngest brother down a laundry chute just to see what would happen. Or maybe not so unique. You should ask my dad's brother Sean Thirty about that.
The living arrangements were as follows. The basement was a basement, and had laundry machines. The first floor was the main living area with kitchen, dining room, etc. The 2nd floor had bedrooms for Nonnie, Jaja, their two sons David and Stephen (Hulka), and the patients. The third floor, accessed via a flight of stairs with each step painted a different bright color, housed my mother, Diane, and her two sisters, Susan and Patty (Pappy). The bulk of the third floor was Patty and Susan's room, which was enormous. My mother's room (she desperately wanted her own room, being the oldest) was tiny, like a broom closet. Because it was her VERY OWN ROOM, she got to paint it any color she liked. She chose lavender. Apparently this tiny room was extremely lavender. It was once described by David as "so damn purple, Prince and Barney would spew."
Having the patients live in the house provided Nonnie and Jaja with convenient watchful eyes when they wanted or needed to get out of the house. If you think about this, though, the patients living there were wards of the state. Hulka likes to point out that they were, "frequently left in the care of individuals the state deemed unfit to care for themselves." One patient's entire babysitting strategy was slap a box of cigarettes in his hand and demand that the children "get off my floor!" should they venture to play on the 2nd floor.
The first floor of the house, as stated earlier, was where the daily living took place. With 5 kids and 4 or so patients, Nonnie and Jaja thought it economical to invest in a milk machine, the type you might see in a college dining hall. They'd buy enormous bags of milk, load them in, and then the milk would freely dispense from it's tube when the lever was pressed. Susan perfected a trick she would demonstrate for Hulka where she would milk the milk machine. She would grip the pouring tube as if it were a cow's udder and use the "milking" motion to nudge the lever with her elbow. Classic misdirection. Hulka's use of the milk machine was more direct: he liked to wrap his lips around the tube and hit the lever.
The outside of the house was apparently full of memories too. It featured a built-in pool, for one thing. However, Nonnie lived in perpetual fear that young Hulka would have dangerous mishaps given any chances (this was a somewhat justified fear, given little Hulka's fearlessness, which is probably better described as obliviousness to danger rather than "bravery" per se. He once, at age 3 or so, held a Vietnam protest parade which consisted of walking the median line of the busy street the house was on holding a flower. Tractor trailers honked their support, he assures me.). As a result, the pool was not allowed to be filled beyond a couple of inches of water. Poor innocent Hulka might've drowned otherwise.
In addition to a pool, the yard also had a fountain. This fountain, like the pool, had much less water in it than it should, by design, have held. It held zero water. I do not know if this was another deliberate Hulka-proofing on my grandmother's part or not, but I do know that according to my mother, aunts, and uncles, an empty fountain has some great hide-and-seek possibilities.
Another outdoor highlight was a very tall evergreen tree. This tree was not a highlight on it's own, it was rather the site of an escapade involving my mother's cousin Jimmy Sownd. Young Jimmy was apparently an expert climber and a bit of a little shit. On this particular occasion, he managed to climb all the way to the very top of the tree, clinging not to a branch but to the central tree trunk, at that height so thin and flexible that he was reportedly swinging from side to side, rocking the top of the tree, shouting not with fear, but with glee. His father, George "Gorilla" Sownd demanded he climb down, a demand which was summarily dismissed. Uncle George was nicknamed Gorilla for a reason: he was built like one. The man called Gorilla was FULLY displeased at having to climb two full stories up a tree to haul his monkey-swinging son down. I'm pretty sure Jimmy's ass got beaten to hell and back for that one (it was a different time).
As if these weren't enough outdoor items of note, the backyard also featured a life-sized statue of the Madonna (the religious figure, not the singer), and an enormous D.O.T.-orange trash barrel. This barrel was notable for moonlighting as a swimming pool for the kids (since the real pool could not be filled, as mentioned above) and as a vehicle of sorts. A favorite game of the Lebowski children was to load a child or two into the barrel, turned on it's side, and send it rolling down the hill, most frequently to come to a sudden and clanging stop at the propane tank. This may sound dangerous, but the kids were sure to run a series of tests before attempting this. The tests consisted of getting their neighbor and friend, Sally Bigalow to do exactly this dangerous thing first. This was a valid strategy for a number of potentially hazardous outdoor activities, I hear.
My favorite detail about the Lebowski house of those days, saved for last, is the fact that it had a laundry chute. I always thought laundry chutes were really cool when I was younger, because it was a legitimate excuse to drop things from a fair height, usually a no-no. But this laundry chute was special. It ran from the 2nd floor to the basement ceiling, with an opening on the first floor as well. In about 1970 or so, the Lebowski children needed to find out just how valid a shortcut from the 2nd floor to the basement the laundry chute would be. Sally Bigalow must not have been available, because the test pilot for this mission was none other than Hulka, 6 or 7 years old at the time.
The four assistants made sure there was plenty of laundry at the bottom of the chute to cushion the landing. A few bedsheets and a pair of underwear was probably enough, right? The intrepid young sailor of gravity gave his thumbs up and he was hoisted into the chute to make his rapid headfirst descent. What the kids didn't realize was that about halfway down the chute, it narrowed. Hulka did not. Firmly lodged upside down in the chute, Hulka awaited rescue by his siblings. They tried valiantly to free him, eventually resorting to using a broom to try to push him through the narrow segment to freedom. Hulka reports that he wishes they'd used the other end of the broom, and that the handle didn't even buy him dinner or call him after the time they had together.
Eventually, Hulka was freed, relatively none the worse for wear. But it's a pretty unique family of five kids that sends the youngest brother down a laundry chute just to see what would happen. Or maybe not so unique. You should ask my dad's brother Sean Thirty about that.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - Great Jaja Adventures, Vol. 5
After a long hiatus, I thought it prudent to do another installment of Tales From The Lebowskis. For those of you just joining us, you may want to navigate older posts and acquaint yourselves with the individuals featured in these tales. This installment is the fifth Great Jaja Adventure, entitled "Lunar Fenderbender"
In the early 1970's, an enjoyable pastime for the Lebowski crew was to play the board game Password. The whole family could get involved with this: Mary Lebowski (later to be known as "Nonnie"), David Lebowski Sr. (eventually "Jaja"), Diane Lebowski (my mother), Susan Lebowski, David Lebowski Jr. (later "Blaze" and/or "Daven"), Patty Lebowski (later "Pappy") and the youngest Lebowski, Stephen (later "Lebo" and "Hulka"). On some occasions, they were joined by the clan patriarch, John Lebowski, then Jaja, eventually Great Jaja, and now living in our hearts and memories.
It was April, 1972. I am sure of this for a reason that will eventually become clear. The entire Lebowski clan was playing a heated game of Password. It was Great Jaja's turn. Password, for those unfamiliar, consists of a player attempting to get the other players to guess a secret word within a time limit. Great Jaja had the perfect clue for his secret word. The timer began. "Astronaut" he said smugly. Reasonable guesses such as "rocketship", "space", and "planet" were thrown out. Shocked and angry his perfect clue fell to such simpletons, he repeated it again, angrily. "Astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn it, astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn you people, astronaut! Astronaut!" But alas, the younger generations of Lebowski were unable to come up with the secret word, even as more and more obscenities framed the perfect clue.
Time eventually ran out, as time is wont to do. The time came for the big reveal. What was the secret word, Great Jaja?
Fender.
You may be thinking, "what in god's holy name does the word astronaut have to do with the word fender?" This, and other variants thereon, was the exact question every Lebowski in the room asked Great Jaja.
"Don't you people watch the goddamn news?"
You see, in April 1972, the Apollo 16 mission was taking place. Apollo 16 was one of the moon missions that made use of a Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) or "Lunar Rover". The LRV used in Apollo 16 experienced issues with its rear fender extension during the mission. Essentially, it broke off, the astronauts attempted to reattach it with tape, but the lunar dust caused the tape's adhesive to fail, and the part was lost. They eventually constructed a makeshift fender out of, amongst other things, duct tape and moon maps.
But you no doubt already knew this. Everyone knows this, god damn it. What kind of damn fool could even hear the word "astronaut" and not immediately think "fender"? Certainly not the Lebowskis, not anymore. In fact, to this day, if you approach any of the Lebowskis present that evening (and several who were not) and prompt them with "astronaut" the response will ring clear and true.
Fender.
If you know who these people are, try it for yourself some time.
In the early 1970's, an enjoyable pastime for the Lebowski crew was to play the board game Password. The whole family could get involved with this: Mary Lebowski (later to be known as "Nonnie"), David Lebowski Sr. (eventually "Jaja"), Diane Lebowski (my mother), Susan Lebowski, David Lebowski Jr. (later "Blaze" and/or "Daven"), Patty Lebowski (later "Pappy") and the youngest Lebowski, Stephen (later "Lebo" and "Hulka"). On some occasions, they were joined by the clan patriarch, John Lebowski, then Jaja, eventually Great Jaja, and now living in our hearts and memories.
It was April, 1972. I am sure of this for a reason that will eventually become clear. The entire Lebowski clan was playing a heated game of Password. It was Great Jaja's turn. Password, for those unfamiliar, consists of a player attempting to get the other players to guess a secret word within a time limit. Great Jaja had the perfect clue for his secret word. The timer began. "Astronaut" he said smugly. Reasonable guesses such as "rocketship", "space", and "planet" were thrown out. Shocked and angry his perfect clue fell to such simpletons, he repeated it again, angrily. "Astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn it, astronaut!" More guesses. "God damn you people, astronaut! Astronaut!" But alas, the younger generations of Lebowski were unable to come up with the secret word, even as more and more obscenities framed the perfect clue.
Time eventually ran out, as time is wont to do. The time came for the big reveal. What was the secret word, Great Jaja?
Fender.
You may be thinking, "what in god's holy name does the word astronaut have to do with the word fender?" This, and other variants thereon, was the exact question every Lebowski in the room asked Great Jaja.
"Don't you people watch the goddamn news?"
You see, in April 1972, the Apollo 16 mission was taking place. Apollo 16 was one of the moon missions that made use of a Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) or "Lunar Rover". The LRV used in Apollo 16 experienced issues with its rear fender extension during the mission. Essentially, it broke off, the astronauts attempted to reattach it with tape, but the lunar dust caused the tape's adhesive to fail, and the part was lost. They eventually constructed a makeshift fender out of, amongst other things, duct tape and moon maps.
But you no doubt already knew this. Everyone knows this, god damn it. What kind of damn fool could even hear the word "astronaut" and not immediately think "fender"? Certainly not the Lebowskis, not anymore. In fact, to this day, if you approach any of the Lebowskis present that evening (and several who were not) and prompt them with "astronaut" the response will ring clear and true.
Fender.
If you know who these people are, try it for yourself some time.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Formative Years Fiction - GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
New feature! Formative Years Fiction will be a chronicle of written works from my childhood years that have been preserved and exist to this day. I did not think of this idea unprompted. You see, lately I have been enjoying (enjoying so much!) the webcomic Axe Cop. Axe Cop is a web comic written by a 6-year-old (5 at the series' start) and related to his 29-year-old professional comic book artist brother, who illustrates the adventures. The work neither mocks nor patronizes the young author's imagination, instead giving professional level expressive tools to the unfiltered mind of a child. It rules.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHERMATTHEW Remus! HAS ALOT OF TOYS
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
I was a creative kid, but nowhere near as creative as the little genius behind Axe Cop. I also had no older brother to turn my ideas into pure comic magic, only a mom who saved my periodic works of fiction. Because sometimes I wrote. Often for school, sometimes for fun. Below is my earliest surviving written fictional narrative, penned at age 6. It is a tale of action, suspense, and triumph. I wanted to call it Gold Mines: An Adventure Story but at age 6, could only manage GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. I dared not flatten the memo pad it was written on in a scanner for fear the binding would come apart, so it is in the form of several photographs. A transcript is available below the images.
Transcript:
GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY
A GOLD MINER WAS DIGING A HOLE WHEN HE FOND
A MAP IT WAS A TRESHER MAP HE FOLOD
THE MAP TO THE DESERT WHER HE FOND
A CAVE HE WENT IN THE CAVE IT WAS DARK
HE FELT SOMETHING IT FELT LIKE SOMETHING HE FELT
BEFORE IT WAS A COLED SNAK GARDING
A KEY AND A DOOR
IN THE DOOR WAS GOLD HE ATAKD THE SNAKE
UNTEL HE KELD IT HE GRABD THE KEY
AND OPIND THE DOOR AND
GOT THE GOLD AND BOHT A NEW HOUSE
ABOT THE AUTHER THE AUTHER
There are many questions left unanswered. Why was a miner digging a hole? Why did he need a map to find a desert with a clearly visible cave? Why had he felt a (coiled/cold?) snake before? Why was the snake guarding a key and a door? Who locked the door and left the key so close by with a snake? Why did Remus Thirty spell snake two different ways two pages apart? Sadly, no sequel exists to GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY. However, not all is lost. For while 6-year-old me did not have a 29-year-old brother who could draw, 26-year-old me who can draw DOES exist. Here is a special artistic rendering of GOLD MINS AN ADFANCHER STORY.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tales From The Lebowskis - Can't Say That Anymore
Around 1999-2000, my immediate family was in the process of moving from our old house to our new house. Because the old house was sold about a year before the new house was finally done being built, we had to make certain arrangements to have living space in the meanwhile. Luckily, my maternal grandparents, David (aka Jaja) and Mary (aka Nonnie) Lebowski kindly and generously let us share their house until ours was finished. I got to live in my uncle's old room in the basement (David "Blaze" Lebowski, Jr., not Stephen "Hulka" Lebowski), which was pretty sweet, while my parents and my sister, Meghan, occupied spare bedrooms on the main floor. There were aspects that took getting used to, and it was probably easier on me than others since Nonnie treated me like gold and I was in the basement, removed from most of the drama anyway, but all in all, it worked out really well.
One evening, all six of us were seated around the kitchen table eating dinner. I forget what we were talking about specifically, but I guess it came out that my father, Steven Thirty, had done something helpful or kind. Nonnie, wishing to show her appreciation for my father's good deed, told him:
"Well, that was awfully white of you, Steven."
Normally Meghan and I were pretty good about not actually laughing out loud and embarassing our elders for a remark like that. But this time the defenses were down, and we both nearly choked laughing at Nonnie's politically incorrect remark. My mother just looked embarassed. Jaja kept eating, absolutely unfazed. Nonnie, meanwhile, looked confused and a little hurt, and couldn't understand what was so funny. My father, with trademark patience, explained to her the racial connotations of her statement.
Nonnie was shocked. Surely we understood she meant white as in pure, like snow. His soul was glowing white, and this had nothing to do at all with skin color. My father continued explaining that today, a comment like that would be taken as having a racist meaning, even if she didn't mean it that way. Perturbed, but determined to salvage the conversation, Nonnie switched topics and started telling us about her latest night shift at the local convalescent home she worked at part time. It was pretty standard for the most part. But then, she started telling us about an orderly who she spotted catching a nap in a side room. This orderly was a big black man. She told how how:
"I walked right over to that big jungle bunny and told him 'quick, wake up before the supervisor sees you!'"
Again, Meghan and I couldn't hold back our laughter. My mother was laughing too this time. Jaja, still, continued eating without missing a beat. Again, Nonnie looked confused and hurt. While my father explained that "jungle bunny" was considered a racist term now, she explained how she was trying to help him out by waking him up before the supervisor could catch him. Surely we didn't think she was racist or disliked this man because he was black. My father (who, by the way, Nonnie adored. If she thought me golden, he was platinum) told her that he knew she was just trying to help, and that it was only the choice of words that was an issue. He told her he was sure the orderly appreciated her helping him not get caught. Finally Jaja spoke.
"He probably thought it was awfully white of you."
One evening, all six of us were seated around the kitchen table eating dinner. I forget what we were talking about specifically, but I guess it came out that my father, Steven Thirty, had done something helpful or kind. Nonnie, wishing to show her appreciation for my father's good deed, told him:
"Well, that was awfully white of you, Steven."
Normally Meghan and I were pretty good about not actually laughing out loud and embarassing our elders for a remark like that. But this time the defenses were down, and we both nearly choked laughing at Nonnie's politically incorrect remark. My mother just looked embarassed. Jaja kept eating, absolutely unfazed. Nonnie, meanwhile, looked confused and a little hurt, and couldn't understand what was so funny. My father, with trademark patience, explained to her the racial connotations of her statement.
Nonnie was shocked. Surely we understood she meant white as in pure, like snow. His soul was glowing white, and this had nothing to do at all with skin color. My father continued explaining that today, a comment like that would be taken as having a racist meaning, even if she didn't mean it that way. Perturbed, but determined to salvage the conversation, Nonnie switched topics and started telling us about her latest night shift at the local convalescent home she worked at part time. It was pretty standard for the most part. But then, she started telling us about an orderly who she spotted catching a nap in a side room. This orderly was a big black man. She told how how:
"I walked right over to that big jungle bunny and told him 'quick, wake up before the supervisor sees you!'"
Again, Meghan and I couldn't hold back our laughter. My mother was laughing too this time. Jaja, still, continued eating without missing a beat. Again, Nonnie looked confused and hurt. While my father explained that "jungle bunny" was considered a racist term now, she explained how she was trying to help him out by waking him up before the supervisor could catch him. Surely we didn't think she was racist or disliked this man because he was black. My father (who, by the way, Nonnie adored. If she thought me golden, he was platinum) told her that he knew she was just trying to help, and that it was only the choice of words that was an issue. He told her he was sure the orderly appreciated her helping him not get caught. Finally Jaja spoke.
"He probably thought it was awfully white of you."
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tales From The Lebowskis - The Revenge of the Ex
Prior to meeting my father, the various guys my mom, Diane Thirty nee Lebowski dated in her youth were not always the best and brightest mankind had to offer. I obviously do not know this from personal experience, as I did not exist prior to my mother meeting my father (unless I am able to experience time travel at some point, in which case my future self may exist at some point in the past prior to my mother meeting my father, but this is unlikely). For example, one skeleton from my mother's closet (not actually a skeleton as far as I know) was heard to suggest that the best solution to the escalating Three Mile Island problem would be to "just nuke it and get it over with." He was serious about this, not joking. There is a reason this man is my mom's ex instead of my father.
The ex-boyfriend in this story may be this very same guy, but then again, he could be another less-than-awesome person. Suffice it to say, the guy in this story is not somebody you'd call classy. Anyway, let's give this guy a name for the purposes of the story. I don't know his real name to modify into a fake name, so this name is completely arbitrary. How about.... hmm... Louie Assbutt. OK, so at the time of this story, my mother had just recently broken up with Louie Assbutt and he was less than pleased about this.
Now as it happens, Louie was at the local YMCA one evening and he ran into none other than his ex-girlfriend's youngest brother (about 15 or 16 at the time) Stephen "Hulka" Lebowski and his best friend, Eric Zealand. I'm not going to bother linking to the past Hulka stories on this blog right now because seriously, it's not that hard to scroll down (OK, I lied). Hulka and Eric had come to the YMCA to work on getting buff so they could score with lots of chicks, or at least this is how they imagined the process working out. Louie saw in Hulka an opportunity not for buffness and scoring with chicks, but for revenge.
Louie asked these lads several years his junior what their plans for the evening were, and offered to replace those plans with a trip to the bar if they were so inclined. Hulka was delighted at the chance to drink underage someplace he would not usually be able to do so. Eric was leery, being both more timid and with better judgment than Hulka. Something about this older man offering to take out two mid-teens with whom his only contact was via his recent ex-girlfriend struck Eric as suspicious. Also, he told his parents he would be at the Y and did not want to get in trouble. So Hulka and Eric parted ways here, thinking each other an idiot and a wuss, respectively.
Off went young Hulka with Louie Assbutt to a local dive bar, one where nobody would question the age of the kid sitting there drinking as long as he wasn't buying the drinks for himself. And Louie asked Hulka what he would like to drink on this fine evening. Hulka, for all of the beers he'd snuck up to this point in his life, realized he wasn't exactly sure what adults drank in bars, at least not cool adults. Wanting to look cool enough to be out at a cool bar with this cool guy, Hulka told him that he would have "whatever you're having, dude." And so Louie Assbutt's diabolical plan began to unfold.
Louie told Hulka he was drinking tequila shots and ordered round after round for the two of them. However, Louie wasn't exactly honest. While Hulka was downing tequila, Louie switched after the first shot and enjoyed the refreshing taste of Peachtree Schnapps for the rest of the night, which has about 50% the alcohol content of tequila. This fact, coupled with the gross differences in age and drinking experience meant that while Louie got mildly inebriated, Hulka got shitfaced. And so, his mission half complete, Louie Assbutt loaded Hulka, so drunk he couldn't even see straight, into his car.
Next would come phase 2 of the revenge: bring drunk Hulka back to his home. Because that'll teach the bitch to break up with him! Get her 15-year-old brother drunk and bring him home. As diabolical plans go, this one was no Death Star. Hell, it wasn't even a Death Pebble. Anyway, Louie and Hulka rode up to the Lebowski residence, which had at that time a gravel driveway. Louie put his car in park and asked Hulka if he was ok to walk himself in. Hulka replied something that sounded like, "eeah, am fan" which was probably intended to be along the lines of "yeah, I'm fine," muffled through inebriation and the fact that Hulka's face was planted snugly against the dashboard of the vehicle. With great effort, he managed to get himself out of the car and steady himself with one hand on the roof. Once again, Louie Assbutt asked Hulka if he was alright. Once again Hulka assured him he was completely fine. And then fell like a redwood facefirst into the gravel driveway.
Louie was not a totally heartless monster. He knew that this kid wasn't actually responsible for his oldest sister kicking him to the curb. He couldn't leave him face down in a gravel driveway. So he got out of his car and, with effort, hefted Hulka up onto his shoulder. Together they slogged forward towards the front door of the Lebowski household, where most of the residents were sound asleep. Upon reaching the door, Louie stood Hulka up straight. When that failed, he propped him up against the door much like how one might lean a sack of potatoes against a pantry wall. His young charge/revenge secured, Louie Assbutt quickly rang the doorbell, hopped back in his car, and vanished into the night.
Hulka, meanwhile, was not quite home yet. He face was pressed as close to home as one can really get, but he wasn't quite there. Luckily for him, it was only a matter of moments before the door he was leaning on opened and he tumbled forward into the loving, gentle arms of his father, Dave Lebowski Sr. Dave looked down into the face of his youngest son, reddened by alcohol with small flecks of blood and gravel peppering his face from his earlier fall. Hulka's eyes flickered, trying to open and see his mysterious benefactor, but ultimately failing. So Hulka, slurring his words, asked one favor of this unknown Samaritan:
"Don't wake my father. He's such an asshole."
Epilogue: Dave, being the kindly father that he was, dragged his son down the hall to his bedroom and heaved him onto his bed to let him sleep off the night of mild alcohol poisoning.
Epilogue 2: Dave, being the Lebowski that he was, woke his son up at 5:30 AM, forced him to eat bacon and eggs, and had him spend the next day doing an assload of chores.
Epilogue 3: My mother found a better guy named Steve Thirty, married him, and had an awesome son and an almost-as-awesome daughter.
The ex-boyfriend in this story may be this very same guy, but then again, he could be another less-than-awesome person. Suffice it to say, the guy in this story is not somebody you'd call classy. Anyway, let's give this guy a name for the purposes of the story. I don't know his real name to modify into a fake name, so this name is completely arbitrary. How about.... hmm... Louie Assbutt. OK, so at the time of this story, my mother had just recently broken up with Louie Assbutt and he was less than pleased about this.
Now as it happens, Louie was at the local YMCA one evening and he ran into none other than his ex-girlfriend's youngest brother (about 15 or 16 at the time) Stephen "Hulka" Lebowski and his best friend, Eric Zealand. I'm not going to bother linking to the past Hulka stories on this blog right now because seriously, it's not that hard to scroll down (OK, I lied). Hulka and Eric had come to the YMCA to work on getting buff so they could score with lots of chicks, or at least this is how they imagined the process working out. Louie saw in Hulka an opportunity not for buffness and scoring with chicks, but for revenge.
Louie asked these lads several years his junior what their plans for the evening were, and offered to replace those plans with a trip to the bar if they were so inclined. Hulka was delighted at the chance to drink underage someplace he would not usually be able to do so. Eric was leery, being both more timid and with better judgment than Hulka. Something about this older man offering to take out two mid-teens with whom his only contact was via his recent ex-girlfriend struck Eric as suspicious. Also, he told his parents he would be at the Y and did not want to get in trouble. So Hulka and Eric parted ways here, thinking each other an idiot and a wuss, respectively.
Off went young Hulka with Louie Assbutt to a local dive bar, one where nobody would question the age of the kid sitting there drinking as long as he wasn't buying the drinks for himself. And Louie asked Hulka what he would like to drink on this fine evening. Hulka, for all of the beers he'd snuck up to this point in his life, realized he wasn't exactly sure what adults drank in bars, at least not cool adults. Wanting to look cool enough to be out at a cool bar with this cool guy, Hulka told him that he would have "whatever you're having, dude." And so Louie Assbutt's diabolical plan began to unfold.
Louie told Hulka he was drinking tequila shots and ordered round after round for the two of them. However, Louie wasn't exactly honest. While Hulka was downing tequila, Louie switched after the first shot and enjoyed the refreshing taste of Peachtree Schnapps for the rest of the night, which has about 50% the alcohol content of tequila. This fact, coupled with the gross differences in age and drinking experience meant that while Louie got mildly inebriated, Hulka got shitfaced. And so, his mission half complete, Louie Assbutt loaded Hulka, so drunk he couldn't even see straight, into his car.
Next would come phase 2 of the revenge: bring drunk Hulka back to his home. Because that'll teach the bitch to break up with him! Get her 15-year-old brother drunk and bring him home. As diabolical plans go, this one was no Death Star. Hell, it wasn't even a Death Pebble. Anyway, Louie and Hulka rode up to the Lebowski residence, which had at that time a gravel driveway. Louie put his car in park and asked Hulka if he was ok to walk himself in. Hulka replied something that sounded like, "eeah, am fan" which was probably intended to be along the lines of "yeah, I'm fine," muffled through inebriation and the fact that Hulka's face was planted snugly against the dashboard of the vehicle. With great effort, he managed to get himself out of the car and steady himself with one hand on the roof. Once again, Louie Assbutt asked Hulka if he was alright. Once again Hulka assured him he was completely fine. And then fell like a redwood facefirst into the gravel driveway.
Louie was not a totally heartless monster. He knew that this kid wasn't actually responsible for his oldest sister kicking him to the curb. He couldn't leave him face down in a gravel driveway. So he got out of his car and, with effort, hefted Hulka up onto his shoulder. Together they slogged forward towards the front door of the Lebowski household, where most of the residents were sound asleep. Upon reaching the door, Louie stood Hulka up straight. When that failed, he propped him up against the door much like how one might lean a sack of potatoes against a pantry wall. His young charge/revenge secured, Louie Assbutt quickly rang the doorbell, hopped back in his car, and vanished into the night.
Hulka, meanwhile, was not quite home yet. He face was pressed as close to home as one can really get, but he wasn't quite there. Luckily for him, it was only a matter of moments before the door he was leaning on opened and he tumbled forward into the loving, gentle arms of his father, Dave Lebowski Sr. Dave looked down into the face of his youngest son, reddened by alcohol with small flecks of blood and gravel peppering his face from his earlier fall. Hulka's eyes flickered, trying to open and see his mysterious benefactor, but ultimately failing. So Hulka, slurring his words, asked one favor of this unknown Samaritan:
"Don't wake my father. He's such an asshole."
Epilogue: Dave, being the kindly father that he was, dragged his son down the hall to his bedroom and heaved him onto his bed to let him sleep off the night of mild alcohol poisoning.
Epilogue 2: Dave, being the Lebowski that he was, woke his son up at 5:30 AM, forced him to eat bacon and eggs, and had him spend the next day doing an assload of chores.
Epilogue 3: My mother found a better guy named Steve Thirty, married him, and had an awesome son and an almost-as-awesome daughter.
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