You may want to buckle up here, for I have set afoot a wayward ramble the likes of which I haven't done recently. (hint: someone's going to prison before it's all over). Enjoy.
When I was a little kid, my grandparents lived in Mammoth Spring Arkansas, which is the largest cold-water spring in the US, I believe. Just a couple hundred yards from the spillway below the springs, there's a bend in the river (The Spring River starts there) called the "Gooseneck." There was a cafe on the bluff over the Gooseneck which was Grandpa & Grandma's favorite haunt.
The Gooseneck had a rack of hokey hillbilly postcards with shitty puns up on the counter by the covered cake-stand full of donuts. One postcard was a cartoon of an enormous lady sitting at a soda fountain eating a sundae accompanied by the clever legend "Travel broadens one." This may have been the origin of my love-hate thing with cornball humor.
Gran & Gram gave me $5 for Christmas one year, and it was the most exciting and most fruitful shopping binge of my life. Mom and Gram took us across the border to Thayer, Missouri to a five-and-dime store, and I took my time choosing how to spend my massive wad of cash. FIVE DOLLARS! This really was a lot of money to me - I was maybe 5 and a candy bar was still ten cents. This would have been 1970.
I chose a little bottle of that clear amber-colored glue and a pot of silver glitter. I could just envision all the things I would festoon with my precious horde of glitter. It seemed so special not to buy something already glitter-encrusted, but rather to have the ability to bathe any other object in glitter--what a glorious prospect. I also bought a teeny cheap plastic baby doll with eyes that opened and shut. Mom and Gram were probably bored, but they let me take my time, and I brought all my little treasures to the counter, and although I still love bargains and shoes and pretty things, no shopping trip to John Fluevog or Neiman-Marcus or Archie McPhee has ever rivaled that one for sheer awe and excitement. I remember looking to the front of the store, and them standing patiently waiting for me to make my selections. I'll never forget the look of that store or that feeling. Nope, it'll always be with me. *magic*
Anyway, Gram and Gran spent a staggering amount of time drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes at the Gooseneck Cafe with the other old-timers. There was a jukebox and a pinball machine. Grandpa would give me a quarter for the jukebox every time we went.
Once, my cousin Charlie was in town from California. He was about 5 years older. I was about 8 or 9. I went to put my quarter in the juke box and Charlie looked over my shoulder and told me which song to play. I didn't want to play it--I didn't know it, I wanted to hear something I liked - something like Hot Rod Lincoln or Delta Dawn or some such, but, whatever.
I returned to the table and sat down. Mom glowered at me as the dulcet tones of Elton John's "The Bitch Is Back" wafted through the cafe, no doubt delighting all and sundry. She was so angry. I didn't get it. I didn't know what a bitch was - I'd never heard that word. Now, if "shit" had been in the title, I would surely have known better and wild horses couldn't have made me play it. I'd heard "shit" from some older kids on the schoolbus, and I certainly knew better which made it all the more charming, but I'd be damned if I was going to utter such a thing in my mom's presence.
At that point in my life, I really wanted to start a cussing club, wherein all members must use "shit" or "fart" in every sentence. However, everyone my age was naturally a baby, and none of them were cool enough to be invited, so I just had the cussing club inside my head. Imagine that: there were no 7- or 8-year-olds in my acquaintance I deemed sophisticated enough to be potty-mouthed with me. I'm just that fancy. I'm still having that party, by the way, but occasionally I treat hapless strangers to the delights of my cussing club. This is why if you ever meet me, you'll notice I use "shit" and "fart" on every possible occasion.
When singing opera or in church, as soloist, I've always secretly feared I'd goof up and break out of my dramatic coloratura soprano to say in normal speaking voice "SHIT!" I never have, and perhaps that fear has kept me aware and on my toes. Fear is a great motivator.
Anyway, mom looked at me as if I were the fount of all evil in the known universe. I was experiencing the Vietnamization of my relationship with her and would soon be seeking an exit strategy. I mean, shit! I didn't know. Don't look at me - it was Charlie's fault, the old fart!
Anyway. Now Charlie is on Death Row. I'm not saying it's because he made me play "The Bitch is Back" instead of "Convoy!" But he IS on Death Row.
17 comments:
g bro - damn skippy his course was set early - his mother was criminally neglectful. Terribly, terribly sad.
Well, the funky shoes give me a reason to get out of bed every morning, as they are my special purpose.
It was long, slow and painful, but once I got out of the house, we began to normalize relations and now we co-exist, even lovingly. :)
Oh Christ I just shot coffee out of my nose. Even though I know better, I wasn't expecting quite *that* rim shot!
liz - I aim to please.
Dayum. Karma really can be a bitch, huh? But you know what? I really believe there are people who are bad because they are bad and a few others who are bad because of various and sundry influences on them.
myron - I agree. My cousin is borderline retarded and a sociopath. His mother neglected him as a baby and he thus wasn't properly socialized. It's really sad. Profoundly sad. A good mother makes life so much sweeter, but a selfish and mean mother can ruin a life. Poor Charlie didn't have the intelligence or the inner strength to get past it.
That's tragic about Charlie. Are you in touch with him at all?
Do you still remember what you made from your special purchase of glitter? You were a creative, sensible child, I must say; I would have gone for 50 candy bars, easy. And would have eaten about half in the same day, too, most probably. OR gotten a few greeting cards to send to friends, hee hee AND candy.
meg - Yes, from the very beginning Charlie's life has been utterly tragic. No, he doesn't stay in touch with any of the family although some still write him. The year she died (2004) our grandmother told me he said he loved her but he wasn't going to write her or any of the family any more because it made him feel bad. Bless his heart. His parents, grand parents and aunts and uncles all are deceased except my mum, too, so there's less and less to hold on to, there.
No, I don't remember a single thing I bedazzled with the glitter. I think it was the potential that excited me more than the actual deployment of glitter. "I'LL GLITTER THE WORLD!" It was like a savings account of festivity - a party in every pot.
Cool story. I remember those days when 5 bucks was fort knox. Before I could read I played obnoxious stuff on the pizza hut jukebox. I figured they shouldn't have it in there if they consider it offensive.
Mr. Manson made a lot of people do things they really didn't intend to do, or at least that's the story they tell.
Your cousin had pretty eyes.
Ok, this is all fine and dandy and great. But, all I want to know is:
How do I get myself one of those cakes you been bakin'?
It's my birthday soon, ya know.
Or, I'll trade you something of mine. I'll bake you bread or something.
I NEED THAT CAKE!
Well shit, that was a very intersting story!
hammer - Yeah, it was a staggering amount of money, 5 dollars was! And I suppose you've always been as subtle as a flying, well, hammer.
leazwell - I don't know if it was a good thing, but I sure did repent my actions later on!
dick - *LOL* I just did a grueling 3 hour stint in IKEA with a couple who were choosing stuff for their apartment re-model - so I'm a little slow on the uptake - I had to read your comment 3 times to get it! Yes, such powers of persuasion!
kelly - I've been sending and giving cakes to compensate for how phenomenally anti-social I've been and will continue to be until I finish real-esate school at the end of March. *harumph* I think I owe you a cake. :)
mushy - you're SO in the club, you little fart!
I missed your blog. I'm anxious to catch up on everyone's now that I have a chance to!
I never had any Cousins on death Row, but I did have a couple I grew up with in prison on drug charges.
While they are a recreational 'thing' for most users, drugs become a scourge for many in our generation.
One of my cousins ended his life in a County jail cell after he got arrested for burglarizing a pharmacy in the company of a younger female cousin.
We all have some common ground, Phlegmmy. My heart goes out to you and your family on this one.
PF. Out of the ballpark. This one's a homer, for sure. I'd say something more profound except there's this laughing problem I'm having...
What a great piece. You should do this really often.
Fear IS a great motivator, unless you're Charlie, I guess. And that's the real shit.
bottle job blonde - I'm so glad to see you're back around - I knew it was a tough time, what with that accident and all. Wilkommen! Bienvenue!
hollyb - Yeah, There's plenty of heartache to go around amongst the tragically neglected children of my aunt.
lj - Glad you enjoyed it - as I hit the post button, I questioned my sanity, thinking you'd all think I was retarded from the git-go.
fathairybastard - Charlie got off to such a supremely crappy start that there was nothing left to be afraid of, I suppose.
Post a Comment