It's been a while since we've heard about Great Jaja. Usually I waste entirely too much time prefacing. On with the tale, "Jell-O Jamboree", which is entertaining if brief.
For a time, my aunt Patty "Pappy" Rudedawg (née Lebowski) rented living space in the upstairs of her grandfather (Great Jaja)'s house. It was a good deal financially and it meant being with family without living with her mom and dad. We all know by now that Great Jaja had some weird eating habits. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to what he would and wouldn't eat. I still recall being repeatedly and firmly warned off the "candy drawer" which was a drawer in his hutch full of unwrapped hard candies that had long since hardened and congealed into one sticky mass of drawer-sugar. Yum. Pappy was no stranger to Great Jaja's eating habits and tended to steer clear of offered treats.
One day though, she came downstairs to see Jaja happily gobbling down a bowl of something orange. He looked up from his feast and addressed his granddaughter. "Pat!" he cried, "Do you like Jell-O?" Oh, is that what he was eating? OK. "Sure, I like Jell-O," she replied. "I made a bowl for you," he said, indicating another bowl, "you want some Jell-O?" She really didn't want any, and politely declined. "Aw, Jesus Christ, come on, have a bowl."
Not wanting to hurt her grandfather's feelings, and knowing it was just harmless orange Jell-O, Pappy relented. Taking the bowl of quivering translucent orange dessert, she dug in a spoon and took a bite.
And spat.
It.
Out.
And ran to the sink to wash out her mouth.
Furious, she shouted at Great Jaja, "THAT'S NOT JELL-O!" He replied, annoyed, "Oh horseshit it's not Jell-O. It's the Jell-O from the ham can!" Yes, that's right. The "Jell-O from the ham can". Great Jaja, having removed his ham lunch from the can, would make a second course of the salty orange gel left behind upon the ham's exit. This is disgusting. Patty Lebowski knew it was disgusting. You know it's disgusting. And I do too. But to Great Jaja, it was just a tasty treat that couldn't be beat. He ate her unfinished bowl of ham gel too.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Leading, By Examples #1 - The Eye of the Storm
Believe it or not, I am not a full-time writer for this blog. I know that it may be tough to believe that it doesn't take me a month of 40-hour work weeks to turn out each entry, but them's the facts, kids. Shoot, I don't even get paid to do this. I have an actual job, working at a college, and recently my professional world and my internet-talking-to-anyone-who-will-listen world have collided. As part of one of my involvements here on the campus, I've been asked to contribute to a blog about leadership for our students. Because I am a lazy, lazy man, but also because hey, maybe you'd like to read what I wrote over there, I have decided to share my blog posts from there here (and not vice versa). So, below, please enjoy the first leadership blog entry from yours truly, Remus Thirty. More to come! And don't worry, this won't be ALL I post from now on, it will just be something I also post.
"For months now, I’ve tried to think of what I can contribute to the leadership blog. What do I have to say that’s relevant, interesting, and entertaining on the topic of leadership? They say you should write what you know, and I’m something of a pop culture junkie, especially geek culture. We are what we are. As such, I’ve decided to write a series of entries that look at notable leaders from pop culture and examine just why they make good leaders. There’s no one “best” way to lead, but it is my hope that through looking at these characters, we can gain insight into some of the qualities that contribute to good, or even great leadership.
"For months now, I’ve tried to think of what I can contribute to the leadership blog. What do I have to say that’s relevant, interesting, and entertaining on the topic of leadership? They say you should write what you know, and I’m something of a pop culture junkie, especially geek culture. We are what we are. As such, I’ve decided to write a series of entries that look at notable leaders from pop culture and examine just why they make good leaders. There’s no one “best” way to lead, but it is my hope that through looking at these characters, we can gain insight into some of the qualities that contribute to good, or even great leadership.
So, to whom should the first entry be dedicated? After much though, I decided to award yet another “first” to a character with several. Ladies and gentlemen, today we’re going to look at the character of Storm from the X-Men. Not the boring, misplayed Storm from the X-Men films (sorry Halle, you’re a great actress, but this was not a gem of a role for you), but the Storm from the comic books and 90’s cartoon. Storm, for those not familiar, was introduced in the 70’s, a mutant superhero with the ability to control the weather. Raised in Africa and worshipped as a goddess, Storm arrived on the scene at a time when Black comic heroes were extremely rare, and female characters were largely relegated to supporting roles. She changed the face of comics by becoming not just a major character, but the leader of her team. But why was she fit to lead? What qualities did Storm possess that gave her the iconic place in the history of superheroes that she holds?
Leaders possess strength. In this case, I’m not talking about Storm’s weather powers, which are largely irrelevant to the remainder of this blog entry. I’m talking about inner strength, strength of will. Within the Marvel Universe, Storm is known, even amongst other superheroes, for her iron, indomitable will. Even such heavy-hitters as Dr. Doom and Count Dracula himself have been impressed by her unassailable confidence, even in the face of mortal danger and total uncertainty. Now, leaders are, of course, human. We all get pushed to the breaking point sometimes, but leaders know that they are setting an example for those who follow them. We cannot buckle, because there are people counting on us.
We get stronger from experience, of course. Leaders have to embrace their pasts and their experience, even if unpleasant. Storm spent time as an orphan in Cairo picking pockets for a crime boss (secretly a supervillain… hey, it’s comics, folks). At times when super powers were no help, she has been able to draw on her experience as a thief and use the wisdom and skills gleaned from that questionable time to achieve her goals. So it is with more mundane leaders. Sometimes we have to look back into our pasts and draw from the most unlikely or painful places in order to proceed forward. Great leaders are open to this process, drawing strength from their challenges, instead of being trapped by them.
Leaders frequently must face their fears. Being in charge is scary. And when fearful and stressful times arise, people look to leaders for guidance. Storm suffers from claustrophobia, traumatized by a building collapse in her childhood. Yet, when she needed to enter the sewers of New York City to save her teammate, she faced her fears and entered, going so far as to do battle for leadership of the Morlocks, a group of mutants living in the tunnels beneath the city. Not because she wanted to, solely because she had to. And, as a great leader, she faced her worst fear to do so.
Finally, leaders lead by values. If leadership meant solely doing whatever it takes to achieve goals, some of the worst monsters of history and fiction would be “great” leaders. But truly great leaders live by a code. They know when there are more important factors than just completing the mission. Storm, as an example, has sworn to herself to not take lives. The power of the entire atmosphere at her disposal, and she won’t kill (OK, one exception when she THOUGHT she did, but that character turned out to have a 2nd heart… again, hey, it’s comics). It’s not so much WHAT the code a leader lives by says (within reason), but that there is a code there.
So think for yourself, what are sources of strength for you? What experiences in your past have contributed to your ability and versatility as a leader? What fears are you willing to face for your team or your cause? And what do you stand for? I believe these are questions whose mere contemplation is valuable for a leader, and your answers don’t have to be the same as Storm’s. But she’s there as an example, a beacon in the sky, to remind us of what we can do, super powers or no, in the service of those who depend on us and the causes we care about."
Tuesday, February 01, 2011
Snow Time Like the Present
As I look outside, there is more white stuff coating everything than even in the ending of Ghostbusters (you are welcome for that clean yet witty punchline). I know I am getting older because snow is finally starting to feel more like a curse to me than a blessing. I think how much a person likes snow is directly proportional to the amount of driving they're required to do in it. Oh to be 8 again and have snow mean no school, making forts, and drinking hot chocolate. I'd like to take a few moments to reflect on some snow-related things that come to mind, be they good, bad, or other. Without further ado, here's some snowstream-of-consciousness.
Ice Cream - Ice cream is basically snow evolved. Temperature? Same. Texture? Similar. Flavor? + 1,000,000. Some people think it's not fun to eat ice cream in the winter. If you barbecue over an open flame in the summer, why not eat freezing cold ice cream in the winter?
Ice Planet Hoth - The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars movie. I know Star Wars and Return of the Jedi have their fans, and some blind idiot somewhere must be standing up for the prequel trilogy, but really, Empire is unassailable. Part of the charm of this movie is the opening sequence set on a frozen planet where the rebels have holed up. The battle with the Imperial Walkers, the Luke vs. Abominable Snowman sequence, the infamous Tauntaun makeshift sleeping bag (I make references to that ALL THE TIME)... it's just so memorable! And I'm not even particularly a Star Wars geek. A movie geek, yes, which is why I can geek out about Star Wars to some extent, but this isn't fanboy talk. Just sayin'.
Video Game Snow Levels - This is really a mixed bag of a category. Snow/Ice levels in video games tend to either be some of my absolute favorites or absolute hell. I find a direct correlation between how much "slidey" physics a game throws in and how much I want to throw a controller at the screen. My favorite snow level is the Ice Country area of Secret of Mana, which I've referenced before, in no small part thanks to the music which I find so soothing as to be near-therapeutic, as well as the crystal trees that gently change colors. I also like the Ice Cavern in Ocarina of Time despite the "slidey" floors. And I remember really liking the Snowfield area of Final Fantasy Adventure for Game Boy.
Skiing - I have not had the appropriate combination of time, money, and motivation to go skiing for several years now, but I used to love it. In theory, I still do. It's a sport where I don't have to feel like I'm constantly overheating, and it's a chance to move fast, really fast, when I'm more used to moving kinda slow. I used to go to a mountain in Canada every year during February break with my dad's mom's side of the family (The McDormand clan, which was my grandmother's maiden name before she became Lavinia Thirty, and later Lavinia Kodiak). I've got some very good memories of bombing down the slopes with my cousins, and hope to be able to get back into skiing again at some point.
That one shot from the first Lord of the Rings film - I love the Lord of the Rings films and books, and even the occasional video game. Within the film trilogy, there are numerous shots that are absolutely visually stunning, for any number of reasons. Sometimes it's because of the intricacy of the set work, or the expressions of the characters, or the excitement of the action. But my favorite shot in the entire trilogy is a very simple one. It's the shot, as the Fellowship approaches Caradhras the snowy mountain, of the ring on its chain, lying on the snow, having just been dropped by Frodo, who fell over. This is it, or close enough to it.
Woolly Mammoths - Or Mastodons. Either or. In any event, it has been a constant disappointment to me that they aren't around. I can distinctly remember times where I'd think about mammoths, then have the conscious thought, "and there aren't any of them." And then feel sad. BUT!!! Scientists are working on cloning them and having modern elephants carry them to term! In possibly as little as FOUR YEARS we may be a world that once again hosts my favorite ice age animal!!! SO. FREAKING. PUMPED.
Snow Days - They were awesome as a kid. Stay home, play in the snow, hang out... it was great. But as an adult... yep, still awesome.
Christmas - I know. I know I'm agnostic. I know I don't like most Christmas music. I know I don't like most Christmas movies, or Christmas television episodes. But I love Christmas. I really do. Just because I don't like much of what comes along with it doesn't mean I don't dig the holiday itself. And blame Irving Berlin (who I hope just liked snow and wasn't in fact a massive racist), but I associate the holiday with snow, which is one of the things that comes along with Christmas that I am A-OK with.
The Yeti - Probably not real. But would be cool.
One Particular Part of Driving in the Snow - In general, I hate driving in the snow. Even moreso sleet and other precipitation of the "Wintry Mix" variety. But I've always like the look of driving at night, when the snow is falling but not too heavily, of zooming into the snowflakes. It gives the feeling of flying into a starry night sky, and that's pretty damn cool.
The Sound - I really like the sound snow of moderate consistency makes when walked upon. The crunchy sound. Especially if it's otherwise quiet around.
Hostess Snowballs - I don't really like them that much, but they're OK I guess. I always liked Twinkies and Cupcakes better.
(Ant)Arctic Animal Species - Polar Bears, Snow Leopards, Walruses, Seals, Arctic Foxes, Penguins... some of the coolest animals are cold weather animals. As above, soon to be added to this list: WOOLLY FREAKING MAMMOTHS.
OK, that's enough for now. Stay warm, folks!
Ice Cream - Ice cream is basically snow evolved. Temperature? Same. Texture? Similar. Flavor? + 1,000,000. Some people think it's not fun to eat ice cream in the winter. If you barbecue over an open flame in the summer, why not eat freezing cold ice cream in the winter?
Ice Planet Hoth - The Empire Strikes Back is the best Star Wars movie. I know Star Wars and Return of the Jedi have their fans, and some blind idiot somewhere must be standing up for the prequel trilogy, but really, Empire is unassailable. Part of the charm of this movie is the opening sequence set on a frozen planet where the rebels have holed up. The battle with the Imperial Walkers, the Luke vs. Abominable Snowman sequence, the infamous Tauntaun makeshift sleeping bag (I make references to that ALL THE TIME)... it's just so memorable! And I'm not even particularly a Star Wars geek. A movie geek, yes, which is why I can geek out about Star Wars to some extent, but this isn't fanboy talk. Just sayin'.
Video Game Snow Levels - This is really a mixed bag of a category. Snow/Ice levels in video games tend to either be some of my absolute favorites or absolute hell. I find a direct correlation between how much "slidey" physics a game throws in and how much I want to throw a controller at the screen. My favorite snow level is the Ice Country area of Secret of Mana, which I've referenced before, in no small part thanks to the music which I find so soothing as to be near-therapeutic, as well as the crystal trees that gently change colors. I also like the Ice Cavern in Ocarina of Time despite the "slidey" floors. And I remember really liking the Snowfield area of Final Fantasy Adventure for Game Boy.
Skiing - I have not had the appropriate combination of time, money, and motivation to go skiing for several years now, but I used to love it. In theory, I still do. It's a sport where I don't have to feel like I'm constantly overheating, and it's a chance to move fast, really fast, when I'm more used to moving kinda slow. I used to go to a mountain in Canada every year during February break with my dad's mom's side of the family (The McDormand clan, which was my grandmother's maiden name before she became Lavinia Thirty, and later Lavinia Kodiak). I've got some very good memories of bombing down the slopes with my cousins, and hope to be able to get back into skiing again at some point.
That one shot from the first Lord of the Rings film - I love the Lord of the Rings films and books, and even the occasional video game. Within the film trilogy, there are numerous shots that are absolutely visually stunning, for any number of reasons. Sometimes it's because of the intricacy of the set work, or the expressions of the characters, or the excitement of the action. But my favorite shot in the entire trilogy is a very simple one. It's the shot, as the Fellowship approaches Caradhras the snowy mountain, of the ring on its chain, lying on the snow, having just been dropped by Frodo, who fell over. This is it, or close enough to it.
Woolly Mammoths - Or Mastodons. Either or. In any event, it has been a constant disappointment to me that they aren't around. I can distinctly remember times where I'd think about mammoths, then have the conscious thought, "and there aren't any of them." And then feel sad. BUT!!! Scientists are working on cloning them and having modern elephants carry them to term! In possibly as little as FOUR YEARS we may be a world that once again hosts my favorite ice age animal!!! SO. FREAKING. PUMPED.
Snow Days - They were awesome as a kid. Stay home, play in the snow, hang out... it was great. But as an adult... yep, still awesome.
Christmas - I know. I know I'm agnostic. I know I don't like most Christmas music. I know I don't like most Christmas movies, or Christmas television episodes. But I love Christmas. I really do. Just because I don't like much of what comes along with it doesn't mean I don't dig the holiday itself. And blame Irving Berlin (who I hope just liked snow and wasn't in fact a massive racist), but I associate the holiday with snow, which is one of the things that comes along with Christmas that I am A-OK with.
The Yeti - Probably not real. But would be cool.
One Particular Part of Driving in the Snow - In general, I hate driving in the snow. Even moreso sleet and other precipitation of the "Wintry Mix" variety. But I've always like the look of driving at night, when the snow is falling but not too heavily, of zooming into the snowflakes. It gives the feeling of flying into a starry night sky, and that's pretty damn cool.
The Sound - I really like the sound snow of moderate consistency makes when walked upon. The crunchy sound. Especially if it's otherwise quiet around.
Hostess Snowballs - I don't really like them that much, but they're OK I guess. I always liked Twinkies and Cupcakes better.
(Ant)Arctic Animal Species - Polar Bears, Snow Leopards, Walruses, Seals, Arctic Foxes, Penguins... some of the coolest animals are cold weather animals. As above, soon to be added to this list: WOOLLY FREAKING MAMMOTHS.
OK, that's enough for now. Stay warm, folks!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - Kyle Rudedawg is a Smartass
I've mentioned before that growing up, I had some cousins who were more like the brothers I always wanted. Jimmy and Charlie Easterbreak were like my older brothers, and Chris and Kyle Rudedawg were/are like my younger brothers. Both of them are good kids (although less "kids" every day), and I've got a ton of great memories about them both. However, of the two of them, Kyle has inherited the legendary Lebowski wit and penchant for causing trouble a bit more than his older brother, who inherited the stubbornness and love for family a bit more. Kyle has been a rare case for a few years now. Most pre-teens/early teens, if they are considered "funny" by their peers, are downright obnoxious seeming to everyone else. Kyle has stayed genuinely adult-level funny since he was about 10, although not without the occasional bout of adolescent obnoxiousness.
Kyle likes to be provocative, making (and holding to) wild claims such as "Meghan Thirty maliciously pushed me down the stairs when I was two years old" (we don't THINK that one is true, anyway) and "The Beatles sucked." These are not one-off statements, these are repeated claims that he regularly reasserts. I think he enjoys watching the reactions as people (either my sister in the first case or my uncles in the second) work themselves into a frenzy arguing with him. He understands, as has been passed down from our grandfather, the man, the myth, Jaja, that "the shit don't stink unless you stir it." Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if that was stamped on a Lebowski coat of arms somewhere.
Kyle also has the gift of creative interpretations of "truth." I distinctly recall an incident one summer where Derek Dynamo, our cousin with Down's Syndrome, came up to where the adults were sitting on the porch of my parents house to complain that the other kids were throwing rocks at him. Chris and Kyle were sometimes troublemakers, but that sounded a little too evil to be the truth, and Derek sometimes has trouble communicating clearly, so we sent him back down to the basketball hoop to instruct his cousin Kyle to head up to the porch. Kyle arrived and stood ready for his interrogation. "Derek said you were throwing rocks at him." His eyes widened then narrowed again, a thoughtful look crossing over his face. "Derek's lying." "So you weren't throwing rocks at him?" Pause. "No." "Were you throwing rocks at all?" "No." "So what did happen?" "I don't know," and he paused again, then, "but I didn't throw any rocks at Derek."
Hmm, there was something fishy about this. We sent Kyle away to serve Chris, his older brother with the summons. Chris came up to the porch and was very forthcoming with his information. "Were you and your brother throwing rocks at Derek?" "What? No, Kyle threw the basketball at his head." "...Get your brother back up here." Kyle, upon his return, protested that he had told the complete truth, not a single rock was thrown. If we'd only ASKED about the basketball, he would've told us. Smartass.
This was pretty in line with his approach to mischief. He's clever enough to cause trouble in ways that generally evade detection, at least for a little while. When he was in like 1st grade or so, they used to all get out little carpet squares and sit in a circle for story time. Usually it was a mad dash for the kids to get to sit next to their best friends, but Kyle would approach the teacher every time instead and ask sweetly if he could sit next to her. Touched, his teacher would always agree. It took weeks of her scolding the children sitting directly across from her for disruptive laughing before she realized the true culprit was the child sitting directly beside her, in her blind spot, pulling faces and other such japes with impunity. Eventually the jig was up, but man did he have a good run.
Kyle is an artistic kid too, he enjoys drawing. Once he made an entire comic book of single page strips himself, hand-drawn. Now, it was typical child artwork, crooked lines, not the neatest text, etc, but it was pretty good for a kid. The strips focused on a trio of characters, one of whom was a complete screw-up, hated and mocked by the other characters and seemingly fate itself. Typical child "it's funny when bad things happen to someone" humor. One strip was about a set of three music concerts the characters held, one per character. The first two held a rock and rap concert respectively, and were met with wild applause. The third was something crappy, and was booed and had things thrown at him. Ha ha. The true humor lay in an unintentional printing mishap. You see, the signs on the stage for each concert were the genres plus the character's names. So first was Rock Joe (or whatever his name was). The last was like Country Tim or something like that. The middle character was named Ed. Ed gave a rap concert. Oh, and this is where I'll mention that all the letters were capitalized (e.g. ROCK JOE) and Kyle had issues with spacing. His sign read "RAP ED" or, with the spacing issue, "RAPED". It was completely unintentional on his part, but there it was. The 9-year-old's comic with the word "RAPED" emblazoned in the middle.
Kyle has one incident in particular that he recently described as the greatest moment of his life. Of course I had to respond with "you must have a pretty crappy life, then", but he is genuinely proud of this one. He was probably 6 or so at the time. Our cousin Devon Dynamo was converting her mother's attic into a bedroom for herself and I was watching Kyle that day during the summer, and we went over to help her with the painting. Now, it should be mentioned that Devon is a fairly emotionally reactive individual, and is a bit of a talker herself, periodically something of a wiseass too. So there we were, painting in the disgustingly hot attic, and Kyle is saying all sorts of funny nonsense, but Devon is getting annoyed with him. Now she must've been about 14 or so at the time, and was every bit of her a 14-year-old girl, with all that comes along with that. She had had enough of Kyle's yammering, and told him so.
"Kyle, my god, every year your mouth just gets bigger and bigger," she smirked, half-annoyed, half-proud of her line. Without missing a beat, Kyle, 6-year-old Kyle, turned his head and smirked back even bigger, then casually tossed out the following line, complete with his then-inability to say the letter R, "Yeah, well, youah THIGHS just get bigguh and bigguh evewy yeauh." He was DELIGHTED with himself. And Devon? Well, I've yet to see her so angry again. There was murder in her eyes. I'm fully convinced that if I weren't present, Kyle would've been thrown down the stairs face first after a brutal beating. I literally had to hold her off of him. And he just laughed and laughed.
Kyle Rudedawg is a smartass.
Kyle likes to be provocative, making (and holding to) wild claims such as "Meghan Thirty maliciously pushed me down the stairs when I was two years old" (we don't THINK that one is true, anyway) and "The Beatles sucked." These are not one-off statements, these are repeated claims that he regularly reasserts. I think he enjoys watching the reactions as people (either my sister in the first case or my uncles in the second) work themselves into a frenzy arguing with him. He understands, as has been passed down from our grandfather, the man, the myth, Jaja, that "the shit don't stink unless you stir it." Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if that was stamped on a Lebowski coat of arms somewhere.
Kyle also has the gift of creative interpretations of "truth." I distinctly recall an incident one summer where Derek Dynamo, our cousin with Down's Syndrome, came up to where the adults were sitting on the porch of my parents house to complain that the other kids were throwing rocks at him. Chris and Kyle were sometimes troublemakers, but that sounded a little too evil to be the truth, and Derek sometimes has trouble communicating clearly, so we sent him back down to the basketball hoop to instruct his cousin Kyle to head up to the porch. Kyle arrived and stood ready for his interrogation. "Derek said you were throwing rocks at him." His eyes widened then narrowed again, a thoughtful look crossing over his face. "Derek's lying." "So you weren't throwing rocks at him?" Pause. "No." "Were you throwing rocks at all?" "No." "So what did happen?" "I don't know," and he paused again, then, "but I didn't throw any rocks at Derek."
Hmm, there was something fishy about this. We sent Kyle away to serve Chris, his older brother with the summons. Chris came up to the porch and was very forthcoming with his information. "Were you and your brother throwing rocks at Derek?" "What? No, Kyle threw the basketball at his head." "...Get your brother back up here." Kyle, upon his return, protested that he had told the complete truth, not a single rock was thrown. If we'd only ASKED about the basketball, he would've told us. Smartass.
This was pretty in line with his approach to mischief. He's clever enough to cause trouble in ways that generally evade detection, at least for a little while. When he was in like 1st grade or so, they used to all get out little carpet squares and sit in a circle for story time. Usually it was a mad dash for the kids to get to sit next to their best friends, but Kyle would approach the teacher every time instead and ask sweetly if he could sit next to her. Touched, his teacher would always agree. It took weeks of her scolding the children sitting directly across from her for disruptive laughing before she realized the true culprit was the child sitting directly beside her, in her blind spot, pulling faces and other such japes with impunity. Eventually the jig was up, but man did he have a good run.
Kyle is an artistic kid too, he enjoys drawing. Once he made an entire comic book of single page strips himself, hand-drawn. Now, it was typical child artwork, crooked lines, not the neatest text, etc, but it was pretty good for a kid. The strips focused on a trio of characters, one of whom was a complete screw-up, hated and mocked by the other characters and seemingly fate itself. Typical child "it's funny when bad things happen to someone" humor. One strip was about a set of three music concerts the characters held, one per character. The first two held a rock and rap concert respectively, and were met with wild applause. The third was something crappy, and was booed and had things thrown at him. Ha ha. The true humor lay in an unintentional printing mishap. You see, the signs on the stage for each concert were the genres plus the character's names. So first was Rock Joe (or whatever his name was). The last was like Country Tim or something like that. The middle character was named Ed. Ed gave a rap concert. Oh, and this is where I'll mention that all the letters were capitalized (e.g. ROCK JOE) and Kyle had issues with spacing. His sign read "RAP ED" or, with the spacing issue, "RAPED". It was completely unintentional on his part, but there it was. The 9-year-old's comic with the word "RAPED" emblazoned in the middle.
Kyle has one incident in particular that he recently described as the greatest moment of his life. Of course I had to respond with "you must have a pretty crappy life, then", but he is genuinely proud of this one. He was probably 6 or so at the time. Our cousin Devon Dynamo was converting her mother's attic into a bedroom for herself and I was watching Kyle that day during the summer, and we went over to help her with the painting. Now, it should be mentioned that Devon is a fairly emotionally reactive individual, and is a bit of a talker herself, periodically something of a wiseass too. So there we were, painting in the disgustingly hot attic, and Kyle is saying all sorts of funny nonsense, but Devon is getting annoyed with him. Now she must've been about 14 or so at the time, and was every bit of her a 14-year-old girl, with all that comes along with that. She had had enough of Kyle's yammering, and told him so.
"Kyle, my god, every year your mouth just gets bigger and bigger," she smirked, half-annoyed, half-proud of her line. Without missing a beat, Kyle, 6-year-old Kyle, turned his head and smirked back even bigger, then casually tossed out the following line, complete with his then-inability to say the letter R, "Yeah, well, youah THIGHS just get bigguh and bigguh evewy yeauh." He was DELIGHTED with himself. And Devon? Well, I've yet to see her so angry again. There was murder in her eyes. I'm fully convinced that if I weren't present, Kyle would've been thrown down the stairs face first after a brutal beating. I literally had to hold her off of him. And he just laughed and laughed.
Kyle Rudedawg is a smartass.
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, November 08, 2010
Tales From The Lebowskis - In Loving Memory of Uncle Jim
Considering I've been on a one-update-per-month-ish schedule, some may find it shocking that I'm posting a new entry literally less than 24 hours after the last one. This morning I received some very sad news: my granduncle James Lebowski passed away late last night after a long full life and a rough battle with leukemia at the end of it. Uncle Jim, as he is known, was the older brother of my grandfather, Dave "Jaja" Lebowski, and his best friend throughout his life. Known to all of us in the family as a kind and gentle man with hardly a rough word to say about anyone, Uncle Jim was loved by all and renowned for his lightning fast eating abilities. It was said that if you looked closely enough you could see the sparks flying from his knife and fork.
I think that paragraph sets the tone I want to have for this entry. I want to take a few minutes to remember some of my favorite Uncle Jim memories and share them with you all. It may be odd that I'm writing this so quickly after his passing and that the tone I'll use is so lighthearted, but it's done out of love and so I can start processing the loss and, sincerely, I think he'd like it. So with that, let's take a moment and remember some fine memories of a terrific man.
A recurring theme with Uncle Jim was his love of food. It could be said that this runs in the family, but in a field of gifted amateurs, Jim was a professional. As I said before, he could eat with unbelievable speed, usually finishing his meals before others were even half done. Although he wasn't one to brag, I believe he took pride in this. I distinctly remember being at breakfast one morning back when I was probably 15 or so with Uncle Jim, my father, Hulka, Jaja, and other various men of my family and being particularly hungry that day. I ate my meal far more quickly than usual and when I looked up, Uncle Jim still had a few bites left to go. Genuinely surprised, I exclaimed, "Whoa! Uncle Jim, you're not done yet?" I immediately regretted it. He looked completely crestfallen, and spent the rest of the meal far more quiet than usual. The next week, the natural order was restored though, and Uncle Jim reclaimed his speed-eating crown.
As with any individual, Uncle Jim had particular favorites in the world of food. Once asked what his favorite food was, he contemplated deeply for a few seconds, brow furrowed, and then finally replied, "... you know, I think I'd have to say gravy." Uncle Jim LOVED gravy. His favorite food wasn't even a food, but a condiment. He would often eat Hungry-Man Salisbury Steak meals and would frequently lament that the amount of gravy provided was insufficient. Hulka, knowing this, decided to have some fun with Uncle Jim one day. He launched into a description of an ad he'd seen for new, larger Hungry-Man dinners with the tray extended to include an entire sidecar of gravy. Uncle Jim's eyes lit up like a the 4th of July. He demanded any and all information Hulka could provide on this new development in the world of frozen foods. Hulka was vague, but descriptive. He couldn't remember where he'd seen the ad, but he said the picture of the meal showed the special gravy sidecar clearly. He wasn't certain, but he thought they were rolling it out to test markets in certain cities. Jim could hardly contain his excitement. He implored his daughter, Holly, to keep her eyes peeled at the Stop & Shop she worked at for any sign of the coveted sidecar.
Of course, this was complete BS. There is no sidecar of gravy. You know this, and so do I. Hulka knew it when he said it. But the story filled Jim with such zest for life that none of us have ever been able to break the news to him that it was false. Hulka would periodically check in on the topic, claiming friends from cities far and wide told him how it just came to their town and how great it was. I hear they adored it in St. Louis. And so, Uncle Jim lived in a state of perpetual excitement for the day that Hungry-Man would finally release the gravy sidecar, a veritable Holy Grail of frozen dinner, in his local grocer's freezer.
His love of food was not limited to just love of gravy, though. He just loved eating. I recall being at a wake a few years ago that Uncle Jim also attended. Many members of my family were sitting in the back of the room, quietly talking amongst ourselves when somebody approached who happened to be holding a bag of some sorts. Uncle Jim, apparently hungrier than anyone realized, couldn't contain himself and asked, hopefully, eagerly, sincerely, eyes big like a child's on Christmas, "What's in the bag? Sandwiches?" No context clues pointed him towards this desired conclusion. The bag merely represented possibility: anything could be inside. And what Uncle Jim hoped more than anything else, hoped beyond the capacity for reasonable consideration of the possibility, was that the bag was full of sandwiches. For the wake.
One other memory of Uncle Jim I'll relate today is a time I was out on a boat with Hulka, Jaja, and Uncle Jim. I was probably 18, 19 or so. We were cruising around, enjoying a bright, sunny day. Everyone was having a great time, including the people in the other boats we'd pass by. One boat I noticed had a family that included a daughter who appeared reasonably close to my age. And she was cute. We traveled near this other boat for a while, and I became increasingly distracted, repeatedly glancing over at the other boat. She was sitting on the side of the boat, facing away from me, wearing a bikini. Nothing skimpy, just a normal, black two-piece bathing suit. And, pardon my crassness and objectification, she had a very nice ass. What? She did! I wasn't leering or anything, but there was no way I wasn't noticing. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't the only one who noticed. Or the only one who noticed that I noticed. Uncle Jim, seeing what was going on, couldn't resist speaking up.
"Oh ho, look at Remus, watching that dupa over there!" Dupa, for those who don't know, is Polish for "rear end". If only those of us on our boat had heard, I would've shrugged it off, laughed. But Uncle Jim said it loudly. Loud enough that the passengers on the other boat heard him, turned, and looked at me. I turned bright red, she moved down from the edge of the boat to a seat inside, and her father gave me a disgusted look. Thanks a lot, Uncle Jim. I don't think he even realized, he was already back engaged in conversation with Jaja by the time I could turn to look at him.
So those are some of my favorite Uncle Jim memories. I'll always remember him fondly, with love, as a good sport, a kind man, and an honest person. I don't think I ever once observed him acting with malice or duplicity. I make no secret of the fact that I have no idea what happens after we leave this world, and I prefer not to guess, but whatever happens, I hope that somehow, someway, Uncle Jim's in a place where he finally has his sidecar of gravy and he's at peace knowing he left loved by his family and friends. Goodbye, Uncle Jim. I'll miss you.
I think that paragraph sets the tone I want to have for this entry. I want to take a few minutes to remember some of my favorite Uncle Jim memories and share them with you all. It may be odd that I'm writing this so quickly after his passing and that the tone I'll use is so lighthearted, but it's done out of love and so I can start processing the loss and, sincerely, I think he'd like it. So with that, let's take a moment and remember some fine memories of a terrific man.
A recurring theme with Uncle Jim was his love of food. It could be said that this runs in the family, but in a field of gifted amateurs, Jim was a professional. As I said before, he could eat with unbelievable speed, usually finishing his meals before others were even half done. Although he wasn't one to brag, I believe he took pride in this. I distinctly remember being at breakfast one morning back when I was probably 15 or so with Uncle Jim, my father, Hulka, Jaja, and other various men of my family and being particularly hungry that day. I ate my meal far more quickly than usual and when I looked up, Uncle Jim still had a few bites left to go. Genuinely surprised, I exclaimed, "Whoa! Uncle Jim, you're not done yet?" I immediately regretted it. He looked completely crestfallen, and spent the rest of the meal far more quiet than usual. The next week, the natural order was restored though, and Uncle Jim reclaimed his speed-eating crown.
As with any individual, Uncle Jim had particular favorites in the world of food. Once asked what his favorite food was, he contemplated deeply for a few seconds, brow furrowed, and then finally replied, "... you know, I think I'd have to say gravy." Uncle Jim LOVED gravy. His favorite food wasn't even a food, but a condiment. He would often eat Hungry-Man Salisbury Steak meals and would frequently lament that the amount of gravy provided was insufficient. Hulka, knowing this, decided to have some fun with Uncle Jim one day. He launched into a description of an ad he'd seen for new, larger Hungry-Man dinners with the tray extended to include an entire sidecar of gravy. Uncle Jim's eyes lit up like a the 4th of July. He demanded any and all information Hulka could provide on this new development in the world of frozen foods. Hulka was vague, but descriptive. He couldn't remember where he'd seen the ad, but he said the picture of the meal showed the special gravy sidecar clearly. He wasn't certain, but he thought they were rolling it out to test markets in certain cities. Jim could hardly contain his excitement. He implored his daughter, Holly, to keep her eyes peeled at the Stop & Shop she worked at for any sign of the coveted sidecar.
Of course, this was complete BS. There is no sidecar of gravy. You know this, and so do I. Hulka knew it when he said it. But the story filled Jim with such zest for life that none of us have ever been able to break the news to him that it was false. Hulka would periodically check in on the topic, claiming friends from cities far and wide told him how it just came to their town and how great it was. I hear they adored it in St. Louis. And so, Uncle Jim lived in a state of perpetual excitement for the day that Hungry-Man would finally release the gravy sidecar, a veritable Holy Grail of frozen dinner, in his local grocer's freezer.
His love of food was not limited to just love of gravy, though. He just loved eating. I recall being at a wake a few years ago that Uncle Jim also attended. Many members of my family were sitting in the back of the room, quietly talking amongst ourselves when somebody approached who happened to be holding a bag of some sorts. Uncle Jim, apparently hungrier than anyone realized, couldn't contain himself and asked, hopefully, eagerly, sincerely, eyes big like a child's on Christmas, "What's in the bag? Sandwiches?" No context clues pointed him towards this desired conclusion. The bag merely represented possibility: anything could be inside. And what Uncle Jim hoped more than anything else, hoped beyond the capacity for reasonable consideration of the possibility, was that the bag was full of sandwiches. For the wake.
One other memory of Uncle Jim I'll relate today is a time I was out on a boat with Hulka, Jaja, and Uncle Jim. I was probably 18, 19 or so. We were cruising around, enjoying a bright, sunny day. Everyone was having a great time, including the people in the other boats we'd pass by. One boat I noticed had a family that included a daughter who appeared reasonably close to my age. And she was cute. We traveled near this other boat for a while, and I became increasingly distracted, repeatedly glancing over at the other boat. She was sitting on the side of the boat, facing away from me, wearing a bikini. Nothing skimpy, just a normal, black two-piece bathing suit. And, pardon my crassness and objectification, she had a very nice ass. What? She did! I wasn't leering or anything, but there was no way I wasn't noticing. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't the only one who noticed. Or the only one who noticed that I noticed. Uncle Jim, seeing what was going on, couldn't resist speaking up.
"Oh ho, look at Remus, watching that dupa over there!" Dupa, for those who don't know, is Polish for "rear end". If only those of us on our boat had heard, I would've shrugged it off, laughed. But Uncle Jim said it loudly. Loud enough that the passengers on the other boat heard him, turned, and looked at me. I turned bright red, she moved down from the edge of the boat to a seat inside, and her father gave me a disgusted look. Thanks a lot, Uncle Jim. I don't think he even realized, he was already back engaged in conversation with Jaja by the time I could turn to look at him.
So those are some of my favorite Uncle Jim memories. I'll always remember him fondly, with love, as a good sport, a kind man, and an honest person. I don't think I ever once observed him acting with malice or duplicity. I make no secret of the fact that I have no idea what happens after we leave this world, and I prefer not to guess, but whatever happens, I hope that somehow, someway, Uncle Jim's in a place where he finally has his sidecar of gravy and he's at peace knowing he left loved by his family and friends. Goodbye, Uncle Jim. I'll miss you.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Back in the Bulk - Blunt Farce Drama
Not everyone who participated in the shenanigans of Bulkie 2 South were residents of the floor. A frequent visitor was our upstairs neighbor (well, 4 floors upstairs on the 6th floor anyway), Rich Cornhole. Rich is, to this day, one of my dearest friends. He, along with Ben Stantz (who you've seen a few times on here already) and I comprised 3/4 of the same pledge class for our fraternity and have had a tight bond between the three of us since (the 4th was Mitch Roll, who was a few years older than us and whom I was fond of but have lost most contact with). Rich is a great guy, very friendly, very helpful to everyone he meets, and generally fun to be around. He's also stubborn and has an unfortunate tendency to wind up with all nature of harm done to his body, inside and out. Sometimes this isn't his fault. For example, he wound up with some manner of stomach disease that has plagued him for years. Sometimes, usually more on the injury than illness side of harm, it is his fault. It really, really is.
One day, a number of people were hanging out on Bulkie 2S. Mostly floor residents, and a number of visitors. The hallway walls were cinderblock or some other similarly tough material with the occasional exit sign high up and the occasional raised metal wall outlet low down, and the halls were just wide enough that we would often sit with our backs against one wall and our feet propped on the other. It was in just such a position that I found myself at the outset of this Bulkie adventure. I was sitting near Ben Stantz and Greg Hammel's door, back against one hallway wall, feet propped on the other, chatting with Rich, who was standing up.
Rich suddenly had a look come across his face that I knew could mean nothing but trouble. A mix of determination, realization, mischief, and pride. "Remus, don't move," he instructed me, beginning to back up. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but I was leery enough to say, "Rich, I don't know what you're thinking, but I can guarantee you it's a bad idea." "Don't worry, don't worry, just stay still," he again instructed. As he backed up to the T-intersection of the hallways, Ben Stantz happened to be coming from the other way, and saw Rich backing up with that look on his face. Ben interceded, "Rich. What are you doing?" What choice did he have to reveal his plan?
"OK, OK, so, so, so I'm gonna run and dive over Remus, and go into a somersault, and wind up standing again." Both Ben and I announced our displeasure with this idea. Ben actually went so far as to stand in Rich's path with his arms out. But, as fate would have it, something happened or somebody said something down the other hallway that caught Ben's attention. Rich saw his chance.
With one arm, he reached around Ben and pushed him to the side as he began his acceleration. He was successful in getting past Ben, but it did affect his stride and balance. Nevertheless, he continued forward, reaching his peak speed for the run and dove. And what a dive it was! I knew that the time for interference had passed. At this point, I needed to stay still as Rich wanted or risk injury to us both. So I made myself as small as possible as he passed overhead. And as he dove, he tucked his head and shoulders and... holy crap, he made the roll! But, as I watched these fractions of a second unfold, I noticed he was rolling a little to the left... more than a little. I cringed as Rich, instead of entering a second full roll, smashed his head full force into the wall.
Rich was layed out on the floor. I quickly rushed over, as did Ben and all the various folks who were around in the other hallways. Rich was cradling his head in his hands, allowing some sounds of pain to escape. We all inquired if he was alright, and he insisted he was. "I'm fine! I'm fine! Leave me alone!" (Rich, despite having worked on an ambulance and knowing a lot about proper medical care, first aid, and the like, hates acknowledging ever needing such care himself). As he took his hands away from his head, though, we noticed blood. A quick look at the wall confirmed he hadn't just hit the wall, he'd hit the corner of the raised metal power outlet. The 10 or so of us gathered there rushed Rich into the floor bathroom (a men's room! And some of those present were women! Scandal!), where we allowed our de facto floor medic, Clive McEnroe to examine him and apply those rough, thin dorm paper towels to Rich's head as makeshift bandages.
Clive looked Rich over and announced the wound wasn't that large. "See!? I told you, I'm fine!" protested Rich. Clive continued, "Yeah, it's not big, but it's deep. I think if it were wider, I could poke your skull. You need to go to the campus health center." Rich would have none of it. He insisted there was nothing they'd be able to do for him, and that they were incompetent and a waste of time and besides, he had a test tomorrow and didn't have time for this. We forced him, grudgingly, to the bus stop where Ben and I waited with him for the campus bus as he grumbled protests. And we rode the bus with him. And went inside with him. And god damn it if that ass wasn't right. There was nothing they could do for him. They suggested he find a ride to the relatively nearby Windia Hospital. So we phoned one of the older fraternity brothers we knew owned a car (we were pledges at this point), Andy Greensleeves to come and pick Rich up, and that's what happened. Andy picked Rich up and took him and Ben and I went back to Bulkie.
We were hanging out in Ben's room for a while when Rich appeared at the door. We welcomed him back and all crowded up to see the staples in his head. He put down the papers he was carrying on top of a dresser and joined us in the room, taking a spot up on the top bunk, Ben's bed. Everyone was having a good time talking and laughing, but Rich was kinda quiet. Not alarmingly so, just less so than usual. Before long though, as he moved to get down from the bunk, he asked us what was on the papers he brought back with him. Surprised, we asked if he'd read them. He said he tried but it looked fuzzy. Hmm. We looked at the papers, which listed symptoms of a concussion. Vision problems was one. Tiredness. Problems with balance (poetically read just as Rich failed to climb down properly and almost knocked a dresser over). It was pretty apparent. Rich had a concussion.
Again, we insisted Rich needed medical treatment. Again, he protested, citing the test he had to take tomorrow. We asked him if he really thought he'd study alright with a concussion. That shut him up somewhat. We got one of the other brothers, Bryan Augery (who lived on the 4th floor of our lovely Bulkie South tower) who also had a car to be the driver this time and off went Rich to Windia Hospital again, this time with Augie (as he was called) and Ben.
It was late at night when they got there, and there was a bit of a wait to be seen, and even once they took Rich in, he was gone a long time. Ben and Augie were sitting in a room waiting when Dave arrived. Dave had epilepsy. Dave was also drunk off his ass. Dave's wife showed up at the hospital with drunk, epileptic Dave and said, "Here. YOU deal with him tonight." and drove off. So there were Ben and Augie, neither of them a day over 20, sitting in a room with drunk, epileptic Dave for what seemed like forever. And Dave, being drunk and epileptic, started to seize. The hospital staff came in and explained that it would be better for Dave if they kept the lights off. So they did. And Ben and Augie sat for an hour in the dark with drunk, epileptic Dave, who would periodically seize.
Eventually, they took Rich home, and he was fine. The ordeal was over. And no, Rich did not end up having to take his test. But this was only the first of Rich's many injuries, and the next would take place miles and miles from home, in beautiful, sunny Orlando.
One day, a number of people were hanging out on Bulkie 2S. Mostly floor residents, and a number of visitors. The hallway walls were cinderblock or some other similarly tough material with the occasional exit sign high up and the occasional raised metal wall outlet low down, and the halls were just wide enough that we would often sit with our backs against one wall and our feet propped on the other. It was in just such a position that I found myself at the outset of this Bulkie adventure. I was sitting near Ben Stantz and Greg Hammel's door, back against one hallway wall, feet propped on the other, chatting with Rich, who was standing up.
Rich suddenly had a look come across his face that I knew could mean nothing but trouble. A mix of determination, realization, mischief, and pride. "Remus, don't move," he instructed me, beginning to back up. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but I was leery enough to say, "Rich, I don't know what you're thinking, but I can guarantee you it's a bad idea." "Don't worry, don't worry, just stay still," he again instructed. As he backed up to the T-intersection of the hallways, Ben Stantz happened to be coming from the other way, and saw Rich backing up with that look on his face. Ben interceded, "Rich. What are you doing?" What choice did he have to reveal his plan?
"OK, OK, so, so, so I'm gonna run and dive over Remus, and go into a somersault, and wind up standing again." Both Ben and I announced our displeasure with this idea. Ben actually went so far as to stand in Rich's path with his arms out. But, as fate would have it, something happened or somebody said something down the other hallway that caught Ben's attention. Rich saw his chance.
With one arm, he reached around Ben and pushed him to the side as he began his acceleration. He was successful in getting past Ben, but it did affect his stride and balance. Nevertheless, he continued forward, reaching his peak speed for the run and dove. And what a dive it was! I knew that the time for interference had passed. At this point, I needed to stay still as Rich wanted or risk injury to us both. So I made myself as small as possible as he passed overhead. And as he dove, he tucked his head and shoulders and... holy crap, he made the roll! But, as I watched these fractions of a second unfold, I noticed he was rolling a little to the left... more than a little. I cringed as Rich, instead of entering a second full roll, smashed his head full force into the wall.
Rich was layed out on the floor. I quickly rushed over, as did Ben and all the various folks who were around in the other hallways. Rich was cradling his head in his hands, allowing some sounds of pain to escape. We all inquired if he was alright, and he insisted he was. "I'm fine! I'm fine! Leave me alone!" (Rich, despite having worked on an ambulance and knowing a lot about proper medical care, first aid, and the like, hates acknowledging ever needing such care himself). As he took his hands away from his head, though, we noticed blood. A quick look at the wall confirmed he hadn't just hit the wall, he'd hit the corner of the raised metal power outlet. The 10 or so of us gathered there rushed Rich into the floor bathroom (a men's room! And some of those present were women! Scandal!), where we allowed our de facto floor medic, Clive McEnroe to examine him and apply those rough, thin dorm paper towels to Rich's head as makeshift bandages.
Clive looked Rich over and announced the wound wasn't that large. "See!? I told you, I'm fine!" protested Rich. Clive continued, "Yeah, it's not big, but it's deep. I think if it were wider, I could poke your skull. You need to go to the campus health center." Rich would have none of it. He insisted there was nothing they'd be able to do for him, and that they were incompetent and a waste of time and besides, he had a test tomorrow and didn't have time for this. We forced him, grudgingly, to the bus stop where Ben and I waited with him for the campus bus as he grumbled protests. And we rode the bus with him. And went inside with him. And god damn it if that ass wasn't right. There was nothing they could do for him. They suggested he find a ride to the relatively nearby Windia Hospital. So we phoned one of the older fraternity brothers we knew owned a car (we were pledges at this point), Andy Greensleeves to come and pick Rich up, and that's what happened. Andy picked Rich up and took him and Ben and I went back to Bulkie.
We were hanging out in Ben's room for a while when Rich appeared at the door. We welcomed him back and all crowded up to see the staples in his head. He put down the papers he was carrying on top of a dresser and joined us in the room, taking a spot up on the top bunk, Ben's bed. Everyone was having a good time talking and laughing, but Rich was kinda quiet. Not alarmingly so, just less so than usual. Before long though, as he moved to get down from the bunk, he asked us what was on the papers he brought back with him. Surprised, we asked if he'd read them. He said he tried but it looked fuzzy. Hmm. We looked at the papers, which listed symptoms of a concussion. Vision problems was one. Tiredness. Problems with balance (poetically read just as Rich failed to climb down properly and almost knocked a dresser over). It was pretty apparent. Rich had a concussion.
Again, we insisted Rich needed medical treatment. Again, he protested, citing the test he had to take tomorrow. We asked him if he really thought he'd study alright with a concussion. That shut him up somewhat. We got one of the other brothers, Bryan Augery (who lived on the 4th floor of our lovely Bulkie South tower) who also had a car to be the driver this time and off went Rich to Windia Hospital again, this time with Augie (as he was called) and Ben.
It was late at night when they got there, and there was a bit of a wait to be seen, and even once they took Rich in, he was gone a long time. Ben and Augie were sitting in a room waiting when Dave arrived. Dave had epilepsy. Dave was also drunk off his ass. Dave's wife showed up at the hospital with drunk, epileptic Dave and said, "Here. YOU deal with him tonight." and drove off. So there were Ben and Augie, neither of them a day over 20, sitting in a room with drunk, epileptic Dave for what seemed like forever. And Dave, being drunk and epileptic, started to seize. The hospital staff came in and explained that it would be better for Dave if they kept the lights off. So they did. And Ben and Augie sat for an hour in the dark with drunk, epileptic Dave, who would periodically seize.
Eventually, they took Rich home, and he was fine. The ordeal was over. And no, Rich did not end up having to take his test. But this was only the first of Rich's many injuries, and the next would take place miles and miles from home, in beautiful, sunny Orlando.
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