To tell this story properly, I need to do a little bit of setup first. This took place in early 2009 when The Girlfriend and I went on vacation to Chicago. For Christmas 2008 she decided that a good gift would be to purchase plane tickets and spend the better part of a week in the home of The Blues Brothers to visit my Brother from Another Mother, the goodly Professor Tillman. We decided to wait until the weather got a bit warmer than the Christmas season, due to Lake Effect Snow and Chi-town generally being negative below during that time of year. Plus, I had used all my vacation days for that part of the year and would not get some more until April 1st. Once we settled on the date, the only thing left to do was decide on what to do. If you have read my other blogs, Three had planned the last real vacation I had gone on down to the minute and if we deviated from said schedule, I got to deal with her being pissy for several hours. To combat this, my only prerequisite was that shit wouldn’t be planned down to the minute. A general activities outline? Sounds great. I was content to those terms and the general planning portion of the week was done. All I had to do then was wait until my vacation days leveled up to acceptable levels once again.
One of the first things we did in Chicago was get lost. The Professor had taken a few hours off work to welcome us at the airport and get lunch and get back to his apartment. Unfortunately, he then had to go back into work to finish out the day. That sucked, but The Girlfriend and I are both fairly self sufficient and decided to go exploring the greater Chicago-land area. The first thing we did once out of the supervision of a tour guide/semi-native was to hop a few trains and go exploring and get a more general sense of the area. Sort of a lay of the land type deal if we needed to go get anything or go to the many culturally significant areas around town.
When it came time to decide on which train to take, I decided that we should take The Green Line. Green is my favourite colour, so it was the first logical step. Or misstep, rather. We got lost. In the ghetto. It was a veritable Puerto Rican wonderland set out before us. We passed a run down part of town that looked like the background in that one scene of Child’s Play where Chucky took Andy to some shit-bag voodoo priests’ house to learn how to get a new body. Just run down buildings, abandoned warehouses, and broken bags of trash stretched as far as the eye could see. And the husks of burned out cars. We can’t forget those. Anyway, we finally hit the end of the line and had to get off and wait for the train to depart in the direction we came from. I got some neat pictures of the Coca-Cola bottling plant while we waited. The Girlfriend got real scared. I maintained that if we acted like we belonged there, no one would fuck with us. I was correct in that assumption. No one messed with us as I smoked my cigarette and admired the view of a Dunkin’ Donuts that had not seen a remodel since the Reagan Administration. Fun times!
We finally got back on the train and rode it until shit started looking familiar again. The we got off and waited for a bus. When we got on a bus that was going the right direction we were headed and settled in for the ride back to areas we knew. It was about this time that The Professor decided to call and check up on us to make sure we weren’t up to anything fun and/or illegal without him. I explained the situation and that we were on a bus back to his place and he asked what bus, and I told him. He paused for a second, took a deep breath and said, “grab the girl and get THE FUCK off that bus right now! Don’t wait for it to stop even. Run.” So, deciding the native might know something I didn’t about the Puerto Rican Wonderland splayed around us, I pulled the cord to stop, and we got off at the next stop to get another mode of transport. As it turns out, The Girlfriend was right, and we were on the right bus all along. But The Professor is someone I trust totally and completely. If he had a gun pointed at my head, I would only assume that something bad wrong was going on behind me at that very moment. The thought that I was about to be shot would never even cross my mind. That level of damn trust. In any case we made it back to the apartment safe and sound and were given a map with borders on it for further use in the city. And all this happened the first few hours we were in town. The bar has been set.
So Saturday rolls around after a Friday doing touristy things and sightseeing on our own. The Professor has the day off, and we make a plan to spend the day only doing awesome things. First stop: The Bongo Room (http://www.thebongoroom.com). The Bongo Room was an amazing wonderful place to get breakfast. It was kind of a hipster gourmet. But with more courses. While we waited for a table to open up we hit the thrift store next door. It was awesome in a way I have not seen since Village Discount moved up in Akron. I wound up picking up a UK version of the sixth Harry Potter book for a couple of dollars and we went to eat.
I don’t remember what literally anyone else ordered I was so focused on the plate of wonderful placed before me. Pear hotcakes. Shredded hash browns that make Denny’s look even more like a haven for hoboes with no taste buds. And for desert? Vanilla bean fucking ice cream. I made sweet sweet love to my breakfast and assumed the day would only be able to go down hill from there. The wrongness of my assumption was topped only by the fantasticness of the rest of the day ahead.
After breakfast we went back to the apartment to get cleaned up and figure out what to do next. Natural History Museum? Don’t mind if we do! The Professor turned to me before we went in and said, “There are tons of dinosaur bones and other assorted dope shit behind these doors. And also, small children on field trips and with parents. We cannot show our appreciation by saying ‘fucking astounding’ or some bullshit like that. Pull your earlobe and give me a look. That will translate to swears and nerd boners in front of the youth of the area.” I agreed and in we went. The afternoon was whisked away looking at dead ass lizard bones and tugging the shit out of our ears and nodding at each other in awe. After that I was satisfied that the day was thoroughly amazing and we should just go back to the apartment and call it a day. Turns out that our shit was just getting started.
We waited in the rain for a while for a bus to take us to Kuma’s Corner (http://www.kumascorner.com/). Kuma’s Corner was a heavy metal burger bar. The wait was an hour or so, or if you could get a seat at the bar you could sit and eat there. So The Professor and I ordered some blueberry beers and settled down to wait. The Girlfriend had agreed to babysit us as we drank and make sure we didn’t wander off into traffic or dance on anything people ate off of. The beers contained an insane amount of alcohol and tasted like blueberry pancakes, so we were slightly sloppy in about half an hour or so. The Girlfriend played games on my phone while we drank and chatted and watched a war movie on the TV above the bar. Then we noticed that several seats had opened up at the bar, and grabbed them with the quickness. We sat and ordered perhaps the best burger I have ever had in the history of burgers. Pepper jack cheese. Chili powder. Blackened meat. Onion rings. High Octane beer. War movie with shit getting blown all to hell. Plate/round two of awesome down; we decided to go out drinking some more. Like lots more. We had a babysitter to keep us wrangled and in check. We were golden. We went across the street to wait for the bus and took a picture in front of a Latina hair salon because it had a sign that said “el special” in the window. It was roughly at this point that we declared the day ‘The Best Day Ever’. When we boarded the bus we were literally retarded drunk. We started singing “In the air tonight” and miming drums. Then we moved onto “oh what a night!” You know, to show how special Best Day Ever was to us in the spirit of camaraderie and general bro-ing down. This was also the point where The Girlfriend regretted agreeing to babysit us and wanted to be literally anywhere else in the world than with two drunken singing man-children on a bus in the rain in Chicago.
We wound up going to The Green Mill (http://www.greenmilljazz.com/). Back in the day, it was Al Capone’s speakeasy. Lots of history went down there, so it was natural that we were meant to take part in it by drinking and watching a jazz trio perform and drink some more. After Bobby Sixkiller told us to shut our phones off at the door, we sat down and waited for someone to bring us some libations. The waitress appeared and I heard The Professor order something. I couldn’t hear what it was, but I said give me one also and went back to watching the trio perform. Turns out he had ordered Makers Mark on the rocks. What the fuck was I thinking? We had been drinking like immortals for several hours and here I was drinking Makers fucking Mark. The challenge had been thrown down and I had accepted.
It was about that time that The Professor had noticed several pretty young things sitting in the first row by the band. Assessments were made and he asked both The Girlfriend and myself if we saw any rings on their left hands. None that I noticed, so it was game on for him. They got up at an intermission and went outside to smoke. The Professor turned to me to bum a smoke, but I already had one and my Bic lighter out for him. THAT level of trust! He went outside and The Girlfriend and I started to chat as she assessed my intoxication level and ran the probabilities of us getting up to something nefarious later in the evening. Obviously I fooled her into thinking we were still in good shape to be out, but she did shy away from my whisky breath. I felt a vibration in my pocked and pulled out my phone. A text stating “fuck me. I lit the filter. Backup requested. Game on, sir!” was what greeted me on my tiny screen. I chuckled and took out my smokes, kissed The Girlfriend on the top of the head and went to go smoke.
The Professor was doing pretty well when I got outside. I introduced myself, apparently, and made with the wingman task of gathering as much information as possible to provide the best chance of one of these girls touching The Professor’s area. The Professor asked if they wanted to go bar hopping with us and got one of the girls’ numbers. She smiled and they walked back inside as I snubbed out my cigarette. The Professor laughed a hearty laugh and shook my hand. “I’m IN!” he proclaimed to no one in particular. After that exchange we went back to drinking and watching jazz for about an hour (maybe?) or so. Then we decided to hit another bar, a favourite watering hole of sorts. Mainly because they had a Tetris machine and some pool tables. So tell the girls where we are heading and hop in a cab to make dreams come true. The cab was immediately hit by another vehicle that took his rear view mirror off and the cabby jumped out to inspect the damage and exchange information. The Professor leaned over me to The Girlfriend and said, “I need you to do me a solid. I need you to get that girls name for me. I don’t think I got it when we were talking.” Before she could even answer I slurred, “her name is Hayley and she’s here from Nebraska.” Literally out of fucking nowhere. “Look as this motherfucker right HERE!” The Professor stated in awe. Even totally wrecked on Al Capone’s hooch I was a damn fine wingman.
We arrived at the Tetris Bar and promptly hit the bar for more liquid charm. When the ladies showed up we kind of split into two groups. The Professor had decided to charm young Kayley with his Tetris skills. I did my duty and went to entertain the other two ladies. The Girlfriend had sat down to watch Ghostbusters on the shitty black and white television above the bar and keep an eye on us at a distance. She didn’t want to scare the ladies off by making them think I was taken, thus cock blocking The Professor. She wiped something off my face, straightened my shirt patted me on the bottom and basically said, “Go be fucking charming. Help your friend get some. And don’t touch the dancers,” as she sent me over to the pool tables to distract Kayley’s cousins.
Now by this point I can barely stand under my own power. I am sloppy as hell, but I take a deep breath and pull my shit together to go be The Best Wingman Ever. I may have juggled; I may have done a magic trick. Honestly, I’m not even sure at this point. I did, however, keep those two distracted and a distance from The Professor as he made out with Kayley outside as they went to smoke. I think I had the advantage of confidence here. I wasn’t trying to get laid. I was merely trying to keep them distracted. Even the older one who I don’t remember being all that pretty or interesting. But flirt and distract, flirt and distract, flirt and distract. That was my mantra for the evening.
The Professor decided we needed to go to another bar, closer to his apartment I’m sure, to drink some more as he threw on more charm and plied young Kayley with more drinks. It also gave them the excuse of “leaving” her wallet at the Tetris Bar to go back for and make out some more. Possibly in a bus station in downtown Chicago. So as we walk to this other bar The Professor stops and bellers “TAMALIE GUY!!!!!” at the top of his lungs. The tamale guy is a staple of bar life in The Windy City. He is a man who makes tamales and sells them out of a cooler to drunken assholes like us. He turns to us and asks for cash. I have none, cab ride and all, but The Girlfriend hands him $5 and tells him to get what he can. We wind up with several fresh hot homemade tamales to eat at the next bar.
We arrive and grab some seats. The Professor and Kayley wander off to make out in a dirty bus terminal and we sit at The Boar’s Nest with the two other girls. And this is where they catch on that I’m spoken for and start to lose interest. I tell them that Kayley is in good hands and we'll be sure to get her back to their hotel in time for their flight the next day. They decided that is a capitol plan and go back to the hotel, my job as wingman finally at a close. The Girlfriend and I head back to The Professor’s place to get out of the rain and go to bed.
We somehow get lost and wander around in the rain for like half an hour. We duck under awnings when shit gets really heavy from the clouds and finally make it back to the apartment. We hear The Professor talking to someone, and I assume its Kayley and ignore it. As I’m using the bathroom The Professor starts questioning The Girlfriend as to why I wasn’t answering my phone. Bobby Sixkiller. I forgot to turn it back on! The Girlfriend settles down to go to sleep as The Professor and I go into the stairwell to smoke. He explains that he was talking to my voicemail when we finally made it back to his place. I pull out my phone and start to listen to these voicemails. After about thirty seconds I decide to back it all up, put it on speakerphone and let The Professor know what kind of comedic gold was being recorded. After we returned to Ohio I transcribed them to the best of my ability. They are as follows:
Call 1 – 2:50 a.m.
Adam…. This is John. Your lost ness is compromising the status. Of this day. As being The Best Day Ever. If you get lost, we would then have to submit this as Best Day Ever for a review. And this cannot happen. Cause it’s clearly The Best Day Ever. Please don’t be lost in the pouring fucking rain at 3 in the morning. Because it MAY not be The Best Day Ever if you end up fucking lost and mugged and dead. (Laughter) at 3 in the fucking morning. So could you PLEASE find your way back to my fucking apartment? And/or, slash, give me a call. Thank you. This is John. Bye.
Call 2 – 2:50 a.m.
Hey Adam, it’s me again. (Drunken laughter) Will you PLEASE, you wily homosexual, stop your fucking urban frolic, and get back to my fucking house. Pretty please. Because (drunken mumbled laughter) this is compromising today’s status, April 25th, you know, addendum as it is April 26th right now, Ah, (drunken laughter) is compromising the status, and I cant have that. So… if you could drag your flaming homosexual self back to my fucking apartment, PLEASE do. By all means. (Drunken laughter) Because this is a troubling turn of events. So, I’m going to keep calling. It's what I'm going to do… because obviously I can’t be fucking that girl if she’s going back to (jumbled drunken mumbles) this is problematic. To say the least. So. Thusly. If you could fucking give me a call And or get back to my fucking apartment immediately without getting on the trains, plane or bus that would be fantastic. Thank you much. Goodbye.
Call 3 – 2:54 a.m.
Hey… it’s me again (drunken laughter) why am I the only one enforcing the status of Best Day Ever today, which is The Best Day Ever. Because I have literally from start to finish fucking produced nothing but solid gold. You, on the other hand, have become LOST in my apartment. 2 blocks from my house. What the FUCK?!? What the fuck are you doing with yourself man, (jumbled drunken mumbles) seriously… fucking take a good look at your life. You NEED to somehow pull it together and get to my goddamn apartment, if you could. And bring Ice Cream, and/ or any other treat to fucking, like, sooth the burn of NOT having sex with that girl that would be FANTASTIC. Because I’m sitting here NOT having sex with her. So, in closing, please…what the FUCK.....what are you doing not in my apartment, in the fucking freezing cold rain. Please come home. Wherever you are. And/or, pick up the phone. Do SOMETHING productive with yourself. I love you. My name is John, and this is my message.
Call 4 – 2:56 a.m.
No message.
Call 5 – 2:58 a.m.
No message.
Call 6 – 3:00 a.m.
No message.
Call 7 – 3:02 a.m.
Adam, I hear you fucking with the door right now. I had to re-record my message cause I just kept talking last time I tried to leave you a message. I’m going to let you keep fucking with the door because this is difficult for you (laughter) OBVOUSLY a fucking hurdle you need to get over on your own. I can only lead you to the river, I can’t make you drink, nigga! So, in closing, as part of the Best Day Ever I’m going to expect this message reaches you, in good health. And that you then listen to it, and realize the folly of your wandering around the goddamn neighborhood. OH! That appears that’s you…is that you? I hear you fucking sloshing through my apartment, you fucking faggot ass motherfucker. Hold on, I’m going to go talk to you. Goodbye.
After laughing and crying about the messages and discussing how he failed to seal the deal, even with my supreme liquid charm turned up to 11 we head to the roof. To dance and frolic in the rain I guess? It seemed like a good idea at the time. In hindsight, it was amazing that we didn’t fall off. Or worse. There was a charcoal grill and a bottle of lighter fluid up there. I briefly considered us setting it on fire and kicking it off the building, and promptly hid this idea even from myself, as I knew it was terrible and would only lead to crazy jail like in the end of X-Men when Magneto was in plastic prison. I could not compromise The Best Day Ever like that.
Thanks for reading. But that’s it for now, kids
Heart,
The Doctor
Monday, November 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Ten Years Later
The day began like pretty much every Tuesday for the past few months. My alarm went off and I woke up to get ready for work. I went to the kitchen, surveyed the damage from a Monday night of roommates who liked to stay up late drinking, playing cards and breaking shit. I opened a Coke, lit a Camel and went to take a shower. You see, these were the days where I actually liked my job and wasn’t late for work all the time. So having to be at work at 10 a.m. meant that I woke up at 8 a.m. to get shaved, showered and whatnot.
But I digress, I finished my cigarette grabbed a clean towel and jumped in the shower. I flipped on the 1985 Sound Design boom-box I had inherited from my older sister that sat on the tank of the toilet to provide music for bathing as well as the occasional extreme bowel movement. There was also a small library of Maxims, old school Nintendo Powers, and porno mags for the extended dance mixes your colon was wont to produce from time to time. We also had Tetris and a Gameboy Color. Anyway, as I scrubbed my tanned muscular 20 year old body free of dirt and sleep I was only half listening to the radio. It was basically background noise to keep me from falling asleep with shampoo in my hair. But the news report about a runaway airliner DID capture my attention.
I was kind of baffled by it. I wondered “what the hell is going to happen here, exactly? Where are you going, guys?” But then a guitar driven guitar ballad captured my attention away from those thoughts and it was back to drinking my Coke in the shower and washing my balls. I shut off the radio, dried off, and dressed in a clean uniform and apron for work. It was around 8:20 or so, so I had time to join D.W. on the couch for whatever cartoon or mystery show starring Angela Lansbury he saw fit to watch on his day off. But nothing so tame was on the television that morning. CNN or some local news was what D.W. had graced the Nintelevision with as I sat down next to him with a fresh can of Coke and lit another Camel.
The story was about the runaway airliner I’d heard about earlier and my attention was again grabbed. When the newscaster went live to New York my jaw, stomach and heart fell. They showed footage of the World Trade Center. One of the Twin Towers was smoking with a big hole in the side of it. “Holy Shit…..” I said aloud. “Accident or on purpose, you think?” he asked between the guitar scales he was playing. “Don’t know. We’ll see, I guess”, was all I could say as I snuffed out my cigarette in the comically large mid-70’s ashtray on the coffee table.
It was about that time The League of Mothers started making calls to The Oregon. Realistically they weren’t much of a League. But we liked to picture our mothers all around a huge Bond villain conference table with a citywide map behind them plotting our demise and destruction. First to call was Lanzer’s’ mom. She asked if we were watching TV, were sober, and if her son was awake. Not in that order, I’m sure. He was not; it was before 9 in the morning, after all. She insisted that I go wake him up; post-haste. I did and he trundled his sleepy hung-over ass up to the living room to see what his mother was babbling about. His response to the NYC skyline billowing smoke out of a skyscraper was about the same as anyone sitting in the TV room, a look of shock and an almost dropped phone and some expletives. Joe had joined us, being awaken by the ringing of the phone and coaxed away from his path from the bathroom back to sleepy town by D.W. and the promise of shit going all wrong on the television. D.W. and Jim’s mom was the next to call after Lanzer hung up the phone. She pretty much asked the same questions as Lanzer’s counterpart. As we watched New York burn, and the second Tower get hit I realized I needed to get to work. As I was gathering my keys, lighter and wallet my mother called and we briefly discussed the doom being broadcast on CNN and I told her to keep me updated at work. She promised she would, said she loved me, and I tossed the phone to Joe saying his was probably the next that was going to call and left for work.
When I got to work my manager Judy had no idea what was going on so we switched the usual piped in music to the radio with a news station so we could be kept abreast of the situation. Being East Canton there was very little the customers normally discussed on an average day aside from the weather. This obviously was not an average run of the mill day because not one person wanted to discuss the cloud cover and the chance of precipitation. The hungry masses were convinced it was the End of Days. The Rapture. The Second Coming. The Apocalypse. We’re All Fucked Day. This went on for about half an hour or so. Making sandwiches and trying to hear what was going on in the world. The announcer formally confirmed that it was a terrorist attack. Judy and I locked eyes in a look that said “Fuuuuuck”. We then continued to make sandwiches for people and tried to keep the panic and concern off our faces. Then my mother called with a report that the first Tower had fallen, and the second was likely to fall any time now. I was starting to worry about my Brother from Another Mother at that point. John was in NYC for college, the belly of the beast as it were. I hoped he was safe and couldn’t wait until my shift was over so I could give him a call and check in to see if he was OK.
People kept going on about how the Akron/Canton area was the next on the terrorists list. You know, due to our production of wartime materials during World War II. What they failed to realize as the Akron wasn’t the top tire maker anymore, and that Hoover mainly made vacuums and wasn’t able to shift to munitions manufacture with the flip of a switch or the pull of a lever. Shit, their vacuum cleaners caught fire if you turbo charged the motor and tried to sweep up 50 pounds of flour with one. But the populous was still worried. Add to that the reports that were pouring in about Flight 93 basically crop dusting us and it was near a full fledged panic.
I got off work and went home listening not to the usual mix-up of Beastie Boys and Nirvana CD’s, but I actually turned on AM radio. Bad news kept rolling in by the second. By the time I got home I had heard 20 minutes of disturbing shit and had several messages on the answering machine. One from Stark State saying that all classes were canceled for the 11th, one from Bruce I think, and one from my very panic stricken girlfriend. I called her to say I’d be up as soon as I got a shower and made a few phone calls. John’s dorm phone was busy, and his cell phone said that all the lines were already in use. Not a huge surprise with all the primitive cell phone traffic on the networks out there. I sent out an email to him anyway, showered and left the house.
The girl I was dating at the time was going to Kent State, so it was about a 45 minute drive up there. I resumed the random CD routine because I knew we’d be watching the news up there and I wanted a break from all the horribleness happing. So I put on some tunes and hit the road. When I arrived on the Kent Campus, it looked like a ghost town. Completely deserted due to class cancellations and everyone being glued to their TVs. That gave people something to do besides panic, I guess.
Three and I sat on her top bunk eating pizza and watching the news on her 19” TV/VCR combo set up in the corner. Carolina Roommate wandered in, sat on her bunk watching for awhile and then went to smoke or call her family in North Carolina. Maybe drink, I’m not entirely sure. A few hours later and many news clips of shit on fire and other shit falling down I left for home. The rest of Kent was as deserted as the campus. The only thing actually open was the Sunoco station, and they were changing the signs. Gas went from two dollars and some change a gallon to around $6.50, in the span of a day. Yep, the panic was starting to set in and people were starting to lose their collective shit. All the other gas stations on the way home featured jacked up prices also.
The next day school was back in session and all we did was talk about what happened. Like an AA meeting, or group therapy. And it was pretty badly needed all around, I think. I think the one thing that stands out about September 12th was the lack of noise outside. The Akron/Canton airport was on federal lockdown. The lack of airline noise in-between classes on cigarette breaks was unnerving. Add to that the solemn mood of most people that day and it was spooky quiet.
Talk to your grandparents and they can tell you exactly where they were when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Ask your parents and they can tell you what they were doing, and where they were the moment they heard that President Kennedy had been shot. Pretty much anyone ages seventeen to adult? We can tell you what we were doing on Tuesday September 11th, 2001.
Several interesting post scripts to this little autobiographical entry:
1. The next day I climbed up on the roof of The Oregon and lowered the Pirate Flag to half mast. The guy across the street (Frito Lay as we called him due to him driving a Frito Lay truck for work) who usually called the cops on us because someone threw beer bottles at his truck and caught his mailbox on fire was out doing some yard work. We made eye contact after I lowered the flag and he gave me a kind of nod of approval. Like a “You guys are a constant pain in my ass and I think you steal my newspapers on the weekends, but you guys are decent people in your own fucked up little way. Well played, sir.”
2. On the 13th I went back up to Kent as per usual and saw the most fucked up display of Patriotism on the way home. I drove by this house:
See that porch? A scruffy guy was standing on that porch in a camouflage jacket with pins and metals on it. He had that haircut that middle aged men have that shows they haven’t been to the barber and had been rocking the same hairstyle since around 1974 or so. Also, he had a glorious Foghat mustache. But what really caught my attention was that he was waving a faded American flag. I know, everyone was waving flags that week. But he had it on the end of a RIFLE. He was on his porch. In a camouflage outfit, probably from Viet Nam, waving a flag on the end of a gun next to state route 44. Holy shit that’s Patriotic! Like if Captain America had walked by this guy would have called him a pussy and stolen his shield to wave off the end of something.
Thanks for reading. But that’s it for now, kids
Heart,
The Doctor
But I digress, I finished my cigarette grabbed a clean towel and jumped in the shower. I flipped on the 1985 Sound Design boom-box I had inherited from my older sister that sat on the tank of the toilet to provide music for bathing as well as the occasional extreme bowel movement. There was also a small library of Maxims, old school Nintendo Powers, and porno mags for the extended dance mixes your colon was wont to produce from time to time. We also had Tetris and a Gameboy Color. Anyway, as I scrubbed my tanned muscular 20 year old body free of dirt and sleep I was only half listening to the radio. It was basically background noise to keep me from falling asleep with shampoo in my hair. But the news report about a runaway airliner DID capture my attention.
I was kind of baffled by it. I wondered “what the hell is going to happen here, exactly? Where are you going, guys?” But then a guitar driven guitar ballad captured my attention away from those thoughts and it was back to drinking my Coke in the shower and washing my balls. I shut off the radio, dried off, and dressed in a clean uniform and apron for work. It was around 8:20 or so, so I had time to join D.W. on the couch for whatever cartoon or mystery show starring Angela Lansbury he saw fit to watch on his day off. But nothing so tame was on the television that morning. CNN or some local news was what D.W. had graced the Nintelevision with as I sat down next to him with a fresh can of Coke and lit another Camel.
The story was about the runaway airliner I’d heard about earlier and my attention was again grabbed. When the newscaster went live to New York my jaw, stomach and heart fell. They showed footage of the World Trade Center. One of the Twin Towers was smoking with a big hole in the side of it. “Holy Shit…..” I said aloud. “Accident or on purpose, you think?” he asked between the guitar scales he was playing. “Don’t know. We’ll see, I guess”, was all I could say as I snuffed out my cigarette in the comically large mid-70’s ashtray on the coffee table.
It was about that time The League of Mothers started making calls to The Oregon. Realistically they weren’t much of a League. But we liked to picture our mothers all around a huge Bond villain conference table with a citywide map behind them plotting our demise and destruction. First to call was Lanzer’s’ mom. She asked if we were watching TV, were sober, and if her son was awake. Not in that order, I’m sure. He was not; it was before 9 in the morning, after all. She insisted that I go wake him up; post-haste. I did and he trundled his sleepy hung-over ass up to the living room to see what his mother was babbling about. His response to the NYC skyline billowing smoke out of a skyscraper was about the same as anyone sitting in the TV room, a look of shock and an almost dropped phone and some expletives. Joe had joined us, being awaken by the ringing of the phone and coaxed away from his path from the bathroom back to sleepy town by D.W. and the promise of shit going all wrong on the television. D.W. and Jim’s mom was the next to call after Lanzer hung up the phone. She pretty much asked the same questions as Lanzer’s counterpart. As we watched New York burn, and the second Tower get hit I realized I needed to get to work. As I was gathering my keys, lighter and wallet my mother called and we briefly discussed the doom being broadcast on CNN and I told her to keep me updated at work. She promised she would, said she loved me, and I tossed the phone to Joe saying his was probably the next that was going to call and left for work.
When I got to work my manager Judy had no idea what was going on so we switched the usual piped in music to the radio with a news station so we could be kept abreast of the situation. Being East Canton there was very little the customers normally discussed on an average day aside from the weather. This obviously was not an average run of the mill day because not one person wanted to discuss the cloud cover and the chance of precipitation. The hungry masses were convinced it was the End of Days. The Rapture. The Second Coming. The Apocalypse. We’re All Fucked Day. This went on for about half an hour or so. Making sandwiches and trying to hear what was going on in the world. The announcer formally confirmed that it was a terrorist attack. Judy and I locked eyes in a look that said “Fuuuuuck”. We then continued to make sandwiches for people and tried to keep the panic and concern off our faces. Then my mother called with a report that the first Tower had fallen, and the second was likely to fall any time now. I was starting to worry about my Brother from Another Mother at that point. John was in NYC for college, the belly of the beast as it were. I hoped he was safe and couldn’t wait until my shift was over so I could give him a call and check in to see if he was OK.
People kept going on about how the Akron/Canton area was the next on the terrorists list. You know, due to our production of wartime materials during World War II. What they failed to realize as the Akron wasn’t the top tire maker anymore, and that Hoover mainly made vacuums and wasn’t able to shift to munitions manufacture with the flip of a switch or the pull of a lever. Shit, their vacuum cleaners caught fire if you turbo charged the motor and tried to sweep up 50 pounds of flour with one. But the populous was still worried. Add to that the reports that were pouring in about Flight 93 basically crop dusting us and it was near a full fledged panic.
I got off work and went home listening not to the usual mix-up of Beastie Boys and Nirvana CD’s, but I actually turned on AM radio. Bad news kept rolling in by the second. By the time I got home I had heard 20 minutes of disturbing shit and had several messages on the answering machine. One from Stark State saying that all classes were canceled for the 11th, one from Bruce I think, and one from my very panic stricken girlfriend. I called her to say I’d be up as soon as I got a shower and made a few phone calls. John’s dorm phone was busy, and his cell phone said that all the lines were already in use. Not a huge surprise with all the primitive cell phone traffic on the networks out there. I sent out an email to him anyway, showered and left the house.
The girl I was dating at the time was going to Kent State, so it was about a 45 minute drive up there. I resumed the random CD routine because I knew we’d be watching the news up there and I wanted a break from all the horribleness happing. So I put on some tunes and hit the road. When I arrived on the Kent Campus, it looked like a ghost town. Completely deserted due to class cancellations and everyone being glued to their TVs. That gave people something to do besides panic, I guess.
Three and I sat on her top bunk eating pizza and watching the news on her 19” TV/VCR combo set up in the corner. Carolina Roommate wandered in, sat on her bunk watching for awhile and then went to smoke or call her family in North Carolina. Maybe drink, I’m not entirely sure. A few hours later and many news clips of shit on fire and other shit falling down I left for home. The rest of Kent was as deserted as the campus. The only thing actually open was the Sunoco station, and they were changing the signs. Gas went from two dollars and some change a gallon to around $6.50, in the span of a day. Yep, the panic was starting to set in and people were starting to lose their collective shit. All the other gas stations on the way home featured jacked up prices also.
The next day school was back in session and all we did was talk about what happened. Like an AA meeting, or group therapy. And it was pretty badly needed all around, I think. I think the one thing that stands out about September 12th was the lack of noise outside. The Akron/Canton airport was on federal lockdown. The lack of airline noise in-between classes on cigarette breaks was unnerving. Add to that the solemn mood of most people that day and it was spooky quiet.
Talk to your grandparents and they can tell you exactly where they were when Pearl Harbor was bombed. Ask your parents and they can tell you what they were doing, and where they were the moment they heard that President Kennedy had been shot. Pretty much anyone ages seventeen to adult? We can tell you what we were doing on Tuesday September 11th, 2001.
Several interesting post scripts to this little autobiographical entry:
1. The next day I climbed up on the roof of The Oregon and lowered the Pirate Flag to half mast. The guy across the street (Frito Lay as we called him due to him driving a Frito Lay truck for work) who usually called the cops on us because someone threw beer bottles at his truck and caught his mailbox on fire was out doing some yard work. We made eye contact after I lowered the flag and he gave me a kind of nod of approval. Like a “You guys are a constant pain in my ass and I think you steal my newspapers on the weekends, but you guys are decent people in your own fucked up little way. Well played, sir.”
2. On the 13th I went back up to Kent as per usual and saw the most fucked up display of Patriotism on the way home. I drove by this house:
See that porch? A scruffy guy was standing on that porch in a camouflage jacket with pins and metals on it. He had that haircut that middle aged men have that shows they haven’t been to the barber and had been rocking the same hairstyle since around 1974 or so. Also, he had a glorious Foghat mustache. But what really caught my attention was that he was waving a faded American flag. I know, everyone was waving flags that week. But he had it on the end of a RIFLE. He was on his porch. In a camouflage outfit, probably from Viet Nam, waving a flag on the end of a gun next to state route 44. Holy shit that’s Patriotic! Like if Captain America had walked by this guy would have called him a pussy and stolen his shield to wave off the end of something.
Thanks for reading. But that’s it for now, kids
Heart,
The Doctor
Monday, August 15, 2011
Cake
Band I was given (by John Tillman): Cake
Song I love: pretty much all of them. I liked everything from 1994's 'Motorcade' to 2011's 'Showroom'. I like the fact that they are the only non-ska band from the 90s still in existence that still has a trumpet. Plus it kind of sounds to me like said trumpet has a dent in it for some reason. Or it's just all tarnished and worn out. I don't know, that's just how I picture it. I like the cheap-ass garage sale sound of the acoustic guitar. And I love the random chain of consciousness dreamlike feel of the lyrics. Shit like that is what You think about when you have a fever and are on nyquil.
Song I hate: I didn't really care for 'Short skirt/long jacket' for the longest time, and I'm not really sure why. I just didn't like the cut of it's jib. It kind of grew on me though. I think it was because it was the first pre-album single released off of 'Comfort Eagle' and it was so drastically different from everything they'd done up until then. But I gave it a chance as I drove around listening to it and it sucked less and less with each consecutive play.
Favorite Album: While I personally think that all 6 (7 counting the 'B-sides and Rarities' compilation) of their studio albums have start to finish replayability, an odd thing for a band to have two let alone SIX A-to-Z good albums, the one I love the most has got to be 'Prolonging the Magic'. It was what I listened to off and on pretty much all year my senior year of high school. It made an appearance in my car CD player at least once a week. when Lanzer and I went to see Tom Petty at Sour Titty's Gund Arena it was in the CD player the whole way home in the concert/Indians traffic. We listened to it like 3 or 4 times and would pause it as we analyzed the lyrics and thought up theories as to what the fuck John McCrea was talking about.
Join the best meme ever - Like this status I will assign you a band!
Song I love: pretty much all of them. I liked everything from 1994's 'Motorcade' to 2011's 'Showroom'. I like the fact that they are the only non-ska band from the 90s still in existence that still has a trumpet. Plus it kind of sounds to me like said trumpet has a dent in it for some reason. Or it's just all tarnished and worn out. I don't know, that's just how I picture it. I like the cheap-ass garage sale sound of the acoustic guitar. And I love the random chain of consciousness dreamlike feel of the lyrics. Shit like that is what You think about when you have a fever and are on nyquil.
Song I hate: I didn't really care for 'Short skirt/long jacket' for the longest time, and I'm not really sure why. I just didn't like the cut of it's jib. It kind of grew on me though. I think it was because it was the first pre-album single released off of 'Comfort Eagle' and it was so drastically different from everything they'd done up until then. But I gave it a chance as I drove around listening to it and it sucked less and less with each consecutive play.
Favorite Album: While I personally think that all 6 (7 counting the 'B-sides and Rarities' compilation) of their studio albums have start to finish replayability, an odd thing for a band to have two let alone SIX A-to-Z good albums, the one I love the most has got to be 'Prolonging the Magic'. It was what I listened to off and on pretty much all year my senior year of high school. It made an appearance in my car CD player at least once a week. when Lanzer and I went to see Tom Petty at Sour Titty's Gund Arena it was in the CD player the whole way home in the concert/Indians traffic. We listened to it like 3 or 4 times and would pause it as we analyzed the lyrics and thought up theories as to what the fuck John McCrea was talking about.
Join the best meme ever - Like this status I will assign you a band!
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