While home for the holidays back in December, I had a conversation with my uncle, David "Blaze" Lebowski that stuck with me. We discussed the many ways in which a handshake can go awry. It seems like it should be a simple procedure, but even without the many variants that now exist, it can be harrowing. I was originally going to draw pictures of all of the various styles and mishaps but, while I consider myself a good artist, I cannot draw hands well (doubly worse in MS Paint). So deal with it, yo.
First off, the basics. The Standard Handshake. Take the right hand, and reach, thumb up, fingers down, towards the matching right hand of your Shake-Friend. When the bases of the thumbs touch, grip firmly. Shake the conjoined hands if desired. Should be easy! But it goes wrong.
One frustrating possibility is the Iron Grip. This is the person who thinks "grip firmly" means "take lessons from a vise." He (could be a she, sure, but it's almost always a he) wants to pull you into a mini contest of strength. So either you ramp up your own intensity while staring back (this guy always eye locks) and then you're two grown men gazing into each others' eyes while holding the other's body part as if it was the edge of a cliff you're tumbling off OR you allow the smug bastard the satisfaction of winning the handshake. As if it were a contest. But he made it a contest! And now you can't let him win! And it's really homoerotic! You might as well be playing a tiny game of shirtless beach volleyball while "Playing With The Boys" blares in the background (yes, Top Gun is really the only homoeroticism reference I make because what the fuck other one do you need?[PS - I love Top Gun.]).
Not that the opposite problem is any better: the Wet Noodle. This is the person who gives literally no grip back. The hand is placed in the proper position and then, well, nothing. They let you hold their hand. They have wasted your time and theirs. If I wanted this, I would hang out with corpses and/or mannequins. I want to interact with a human being, give me some sign that you're alive! And there is an even more troubling variant on the Wet Noodle that I will discuss later.
Sometimes the intensity of the grip is not the issue. My personal pet peeve is the Early Squeeze. You all know this one. You go in for the Standard Handshake and the other person doesn't wait for the bases of the thumbs to touch. They grip firmly, appropriately, but way too early. They clench your fingers as if taking up a handful of markers. You're left with no leverage and a grip strength of zero. You think "I must explain! I must demand a re-shake!" but you know you'll sound like an idiot ("Can you grab my hand again?") or a jerk ("You handshake wrongly, asshat!"). And the worst part is, you know they knew they fucked up. The handshake is just as awkward for them. This isn't a power play, like the Iron Grip. This is the premature ejaculation of handshakes. It's embarrassing for you both, especially if this is your first shake ("I swear, baby, this isn't like me!"). It happens to everyone once in a while, and it's always awkward.
Now, not all hand-interactions are meant to be the Standard Handshake. Sometimes it turns into the Icing On The Cake (left hand covering clasped rights), the Booster Shot (punch or clasp of gripping arm with left hand), or the Pathway to Intimacy (shake into hug). These all begin as the Standard Handshake. Other variants are different from start to finish. The Soul Grab or Reverse Grip is nice, that's the fingers up one that feels very 70's (see Predator for a great example early on). There's the Fist Bump, which is frequently congratulatory, and the High Five, more celebratory. Don't bother with the Warrior's Bond (hands grasp forearms) unless you are an actual warrior or you will look like an ass. With all this variety, there's bound to be misunderstandings. And there are indeed misunderstandings.
Sometimes you and your Shake-Friend have different ideas. For example, you wanted a Soul Grab, (s)he wanted a Fist Bump. Your attempts at Grabbing and Fisting fail. Awkward beat, then you try to correct to what (s)he had proferred... as they do to your initial offering. Reverse failure! Oh no! More than 5 corrections should end in tears. More than 8 in a public apology. More than 10, seppuku.
I mentioned earlier a nightmare variant of the Wet Noodle. I call it the Stefan, after Stefan Kinkajou, a fraternity brother of mine. Now, maybe he thought that because he was gay, this was OK (I have no such prejudice, equal handshakes for all!) but his handshake style was to offer his hand, completely limp, palm/fingers down. As if I should lightly hold his fingers, and perhaps curtsy. The Stefan is acceptable in two situations: 1) You are an elderly woman from Victorian England. 2) You have suffered a stroke and have partial paralysis in your hand, leaving this your only option. That's it. No other exceptions. But Stefan insisted on offering the Stefan to all. Any attempts to correct it into a Standard Handshake resulted in a judgmental glare.
It was Andrew Kazakhstan who followed the Stefan to its logical conclusion. He wondered aloud one day what would happen if Stefan was to meet a second Stefan. They would both offer the Stefan (handshake). This is the worst possible handshake of all: Stefarmageddon. It is two people, hands limp, bumping the backs of their hands together while their fingers dangle uselessly. Don't let it happen. Do your part to keep Stefarmageddon only a theory. We'll all be better for it.
Showing posts with label Uncle Daven. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Uncle Daven. Show all posts
Monday, February 27, 2012
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - Diane Thirty: Unscripted
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Tales From The Lebowskis - The Rise and Fall of Huckleberry
A little over five years ago or so, Hulka decided what his home needed was a brand new barn, big enough to house his antique tractors and various other hardware and vehicles. The Lebowskis and their friends are a bit like the Amish: raising a barn is a community affair. So through the entire process of clearing the land, digging the foundation, and actually building the barn, Hulka was aided by his family and friends. Almost everybody got involved on some level, from the oldest family members (Dave "Jaja" Lebowski, Sr. and his brother Uncle Jim) to the youngest (my cousins Chris and Kyle Rudedawg). My father helped, I helped, first, second, and third cousins helped. However, two individuals in particular are important to this story.
At this time, my uncle Dave Lebowski, Jr. (also known as "Uncle Daven" and "Blaze") was recently divorced and spending a lot more time visiting his family even though his residence was in another state, and we were very glad to have him around more. Uncle Daven's interests include music (he's a pretty awesome guitarist) and computers. Construction and similar activities have never really been his forte. But he wanted to spend time with his family, and his family was building a barn, so he was up to give it a try.
Also on the crew, actually a crucial member of the crew, was longtime family friend Jerry Lamaze. Jerry is a man who couldn't be more acquainted with working with his hands. He has worked construction all his life, and is, for his size, immensely strong. This is a man who used to have a party trick where he would grip a metal support column in my grandparents' basement with both hands then hold himself completely perpendicular using the mighty strength of his arms. Jerry, basically, is a tough guy. A man's man.
Over the course of this construction project, David had a few things to learn about building a barn, and Jerry decided to take this man he's known since he (David) was born under his wing and show him the ropes. David got the hang of it fairly quickly, and Jerry was delighted with him. Jerry would offer to buy him celebratory beers, include him in his little pranks, and even gave David a new nickname. David was now Jerry's "Huckleberry."
All was well with Jerry and Huckleberry. This construction project had made them the best of buddies. Such good friends, in fact, that Jerry had a special job for Huckleberry one day. You see, the crew realized that to work on the roof, it was a little bit easier to put a reliable, skilled person in the bucket of the payloader (yes, Jaja owns a payloader. Doesn't everyone's grandfather?) and raise them up. Usually this job would go to somebody like my father, or Jerry himself. But on this day, this special day, Jerry had reserved this special honor for David, his Huckleberry.
David climbed into the bucket, tools in hand. This was a big chance to gain esteem in the eyes of the great and powerful Jerry Lamaze. David stood at the ready in the payloader bucket and prepared himself for the ascent to the roof. But fortune frowned upon him and a single hammer slipped from his grasp. He watched it fall, hit the payloader bucket, bounce, and fall out to the ground. Jerry's face showed the slightest hint of displeasure. David could still recover though, he just had to make the right quip for the situation, which he came up with after a brief pause.
"Whoopsie-doodle!"
Jerry's face lost any and all joy or compassion. "What did you say?" he asked, as though David had informed him of the death of a child. "... Whoopsie-doodle?" David repeated, almost a whisper. There was another brief pause. "Get out of the bucket," instructed Jerry with absolute gravity, "Steven, get in." And just like that, Huckleberry had fallen from grace, much like Jerry would weeks later fall from that same roof (he survived).
However, the legend of Huckleberry and whoopsie-doodle did not die. Months later, around Christmas time, some of us were sitting around Hulka and Holly's kitchen table, enjoying some holiday cheer. A knock came at the door. In bursts Jerry to debut his new holiday hit song, relatively to the tune of "A Holly Jolly Christmas."
Have a Huckleberry Christmas
And in case you didn't know
Say "whoopsie-doodle" and you'll get a lot of snow!
(repeat until bored)
And all was right with the world.
At this time, my uncle Dave Lebowski, Jr. (also known as "Uncle Daven" and "Blaze") was recently divorced and spending a lot more time visiting his family even though his residence was in another state, and we were very glad to have him around more. Uncle Daven's interests include music (he's a pretty awesome guitarist) and computers. Construction and similar activities have never really been his forte. But he wanted to spend time with his family, and his family was building a barn, so he was up to give it a try.
Also on the crew, actually a crucial member of the crew, was longtime family friend Jerry Lamaze. Jerry is a man who couldn't be more acquainted with working with his hands. He has worked construction all his life, and is, for his size, immensely strong. This is a man who used to have a party trick where he would grip a metal support column in my grandparents' basement with both hands then hold himself completely perpendicular using the mighty strength of his arms. Jerry, basically, is a tough guy. A man's man.
Over the course of this construction project, David had a few things to learn about building a barn, and Jerry decided to take this man he's known since he (David) was born under his wing and show him the ropes. David got the hang of it fairly quickly, and Jerry was delighted with him. Jerry would offer to buy him celebratory beers, include him in his little pranks, and even gave David a new nickname. David was now Jerry's "Huckleberry."
All was well with Jerry and Huckleberry. This construction project had made them the best of buddies. Such good friends, in fact, that Jerry had a special job for Huckleberry one day. You see, the crew realized that to work on the roof, it was a little bit easier to put a reliable, skilled person in the bucket of the payloader (yes, Jaja owns a payloader. Doesn't everyone's grandfather?) and raise them up. Usually this job would go to somebody like my father, or Jerry himself. But on this day, this special day, Jerry had reserved this special honor for David, his Huckleberry.
David climbed into the bucket, tools in hand. This was a big chance to gain esteem in the eyes of the great and powerful Jerry Lamaze. David stood at the ready in the payloader bucket and prepared himself for the ascent to the roof. But fortune frowned upon him and a single hammer slipped from his grasp. He watched it fall, hit the payloader bucket, bounce, and fall out to the ground. Jerry's face showed the slightest hint of displeasure. David could still recover though, he just had to make the right quip for the situation, which he came up with after a brief pause.
"Whoopsie-doodle!"
Jerry's face lost any and all joy or compassion. "What did you say?" he asked, as though David had informed him of the death of a child. "... Whoopsie-doodle?" David repeated, almost a whisper. There was another brief pause. "Get out of the bucket," instructed Jerry with absolute gravity, "Steven, get in." And just like that, Huckleberry had fallen from grace, much like Jerry would weeks later fall from that same roof (he survived).
However, the legend of Huckleberry and whoopsie-doodle did not die. Months later, around Christmas time, some of us were sitting around Hulka and Holly's kitchen table, enjoying some holiday cheer. A knock came at the door. In bursts Jerry to debut his new holiday hit song, relatively to the tune of "A Holly Jolly Christmas."
Have a Huckleberry Christmas
And in case you didn't know
Say "whoopsie-doodle" and you'll get a lot of snow!
(repeat until bored)
And all was right with the world.
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