University Mall - Part 3

Don't hit me, chicken!

By far our most productive excursions to the mall were those that involved taking pictures there. We would find particular joy in going into places we were not allowed to be and taking our pictures there. One such place was a photo studio. No one was around, so I jumped on the stool in front of the background and Paul took my photo (very professionally, too). We were terribly worried about what an employee of the place would do if we were caught. We didn't understand grown-ups very well in those days. We found a door that said Authorized Employees Only and promptly

A bathroom, not girls and pizza, was among the unexciting things we discovered behind the "Employees Only" warning.

entered only to find stacks of boxes and maybe a forklift. I guess maybe we thought there would be a big mall employee party going on with pizza and girls and soda. There was not and we left. Photographic evidence still exists of the time when we found a sign on a bed in the furniture department at ZCMI. "Plush and Firm" read the sign encased in an acrylic stand-up frame. Upon reflection we realized that the sign applied equally well to my backside. So we took a picture of my backside with the sign below it as if to caption.

By Request - Part 2

The day have finally arriven!

There you has it. Enjoy!

By Request - Part 1

It was a cold winter evening. I was wearing my fine denim trenchcoat of which I was very fond. Paul also was appropriately dressed for the weather. We were on our way to Albertson's grocery store to develop some Kodak disc film and post an item for sale on the community bulletin board at the entrance to the store.

There was in our neighborhood a man who lived on a corner who was reputed to confront people who cut across his lawn. As we approached his house Paul said "Watch this!" and made a snowball. It was very firm. Wisely, he threw it directly at this man's large front window which, when struck, vibrated terribly near the point of shattering. I shouted something along the lines of "Holy crap!" and we both bolted down the street, continuing toward Albertson's but at a much more hurried pace.

Boog For Sale.

We arrived at Albertson's, posted our for-sale bulletin and purchased some terribly cheap canned goods to take over to the nearby Little Caesars Pizza Pizza to exchange for crazy bread during some promotion they had going which we took advantage of at least once per day. Next stop: the film center to drop off my state-of-the-art film for processing. Suddenly a hand was on my shoulder spinning me around and I was face-to-face with this man whose window Paul had nearly shattered with an ice-ball. Let's call him The Interrogationator since I think that's what Paul called him. He has a real name but I don't know what it is and The Interrogationator suits me.

He started his accusations by telling me that he knew I was the one who had thrown the snowball at his window and did I know how he knew? Because he had followed me and he recognized my trenchcoat. I told him he had the wrong guy. I did not throw any snowball at any window. He said he knew I was lying, and to prove it he told me that he was a detective on the Orem police force for 30 years. I said that was fine with me, but I still didn't throw a snowball at his window or any other. Meanwhile, Paul was making his way casually toward the exit. Apparently The Interrogationator wasn't such a great detective that he noticed TWO! people running away from the scene of the incident. The Interrogationator noticed that I had my wallet out and demanded to see it. I refused. The lady working the film center looked at me sheepishly, embarrased for me that this guy was making such a scene. He told me that he could have me taken to the police station for questioning. I told him that I doubted that he could but even if he could he wasn't likely to. He made several more officious statements that were meant to intimidate me and I told him that if he was going to do something about it he ought to get on with it cause I had to finish filling out my film-deposit envelope.

Finally The Interrogationator left and I finished depositing my film. On my way out the door I saw the Interrogationator talking to Paul outside by the pay phone. He was telling Paul not to worry, that he wasn't angry with Paul, but that he knew I was the one who had thrown the snowball. He regaled Paul with several tidbits of information about his experience as a police detective and after that he left. But the thing he left most was an impression of his excellent skills in detection. Then we got our crazy bread.

University Mall - Part 2

It's the palm tree shadow in the foreground that I'm hoping will draw your eye in this photo.

One day we ran out of pennies and had to find some other way to occupy our time at the mall. This was done by dressing me up in a Suicidal Tendencies t-shirt, sunglasses, tight jeans, a long wig and those knee-high moccasins that were the style of stoners, f-dudes and burnouts of that time period. We went to the mall and fooled many, many people into thinking I was cool. One woman was particularly fooled. She came and sat next to me and began running her fingers through my wig and telling me what exquisite hair I had. Honestly, I had no idea who this woman was or why she would do such a thing. When she didn't immediately stop telling me how much she liked my hair and when, 30 seconds later, she still didn't stop, I began to get terribly uncomfortable and in my distress I told her it was a wig, by lamgun! And I ran out the door. I'm not sure where Paul was when this happened. He was probably off buying junk at that magic shop. When I told him what happened he thought it was the best thing since slurpees and wanted to do the f-dude charade again. I told him that he would have to be the f-dude from now on cause I wasn't having any more of it. Me dressed as an f-dude is my raison d'etre. Paul, how in the name of Lamgun did we get our hands on those leather moccasins?

Force is Machine

The Nitzer Ebb show last night in SLC was very great. Here is the play list:

Getting Closer
Let Your Body Learn
Shame
Hearts & Minds
Captivate
Godhead
Blood Money
For Fun
Ascend
Lightning Man
Control (I'm Here)
Murderous
Join in the Chant
Encore 1: Fun to be Had
Encore 2: I Give to You

University Mall - Part 1

Sometimes we walked to this very mall 3 times in the same day.

There was very little that Paul and I would not do at the mall. One thing that we wouldn't not do involved a game that we invented wherein we would fill our pockets with pennies and plot to induce individuals into picking them up after dropping or throwing the penny near the individual but only if we were on a tile floor. Carpeted floors don't ring with the sound of dropped coins, you know. Another method was to leave the penny in a highly visible location and wait for someone to pass and collect it. An elaborate scoring system was invented based on which people were least likely to pick up the penny. Children and custodians were worth only one point. Teenagers were worth a whopping 5 points. Everyone else was worth 2. If a fight broke out, 10 points were awarded. This was not as uncommon as it sounds. We played this game often enough to come up with a name for it in order to reference it while not directly engaged in said game. The name we came up with for the game was "The Penny Game" and it was very fun. In this aspect it was very unlike the game that Paul made up where you grab a handful of orange berries off a bush and drop them one at a time in front of you as you walk. The point of his game was to step on the berry and squish it before it bounced twice. I think. It was a very, very bad game though I would be surprised if Paul told me he had ever given it up completely. He was very fond of this game. I tried to convince him on every occasion that his game was bad but he remained unconvinced somehow.

Unforgettable Encounters

I like to think that I could be friends with just about anyone. Sometimes I'm not so sure.

BigJason and I used to have this really bad habit of stumbling upon persons of unusual nature. I think you'll agree.

Once upon a night, BigJason decided to stop at Wendy's on our way to someplace or other. He ordered a baked potato among other things. After paying for his food and advancing to the next window an employee of Wendy's described an unanticipated occurrence to BigJason. "Um, we're out of baked potatoes, so..." We waited patiently for him to finish his thought. He didn't. Instead he merely looked at us. This continued for an uncomfortable duration of time. Encouragingly, BigJason replied "So...." Astonishingly, the employee repeated himself, perhaps unsure that we had heard his first unfinished statement. Another uncomfortable silence followed before BigJason, realizing we were about to get nowhere with this guy, said "So, what? So you'll give me my money back?" The employee then explained that they couldn't do that. What happened next, BigJason? Somehow he wound up giving us fries or something instead
of the BP, but we had to perform the duties of customer service ourselves until an agreement could be reached cause this guy wasn't helping. He was done. Now granted, fast-food employees can often be found to be of unusual nature so that story isn't as compelling as this next one.

We were browsing the deli at Albertsons Grocery Store looking for some delicious deli meats when an individual I will refer to as Bozo began to walk past us repeatedly. He kept looking at me intently and after a few passes smiled at me knowingly. After a few more passes he said to me, pointing, "There's a drinking fountain right over there." I thanked him for the unnecessary information and tried to continue my browsing of the meats. Bozo then said that it looked as though I could use a drink. I asked him why he would say that and he gestured toward his eyes with a couple of fingers and rolled his eyes around. Then he imitated taking a drag on a joint and pointed at me. I nudged BigJason to draw his attention to the matter and he nodded to indicate he was following the events closely. It was hard for people to ignore what was going on there in the delicatessen. "You're stoned," Bozo said to me. "You should go get a drink." Apparently people who are stoned like to get drinks. I was blissfully naive to this before that day. I told him that I thought HE was stoned. Why else would he be badgering an innocent deli customer? Bozo then said he knew I was stoned cause my eyes were bloodshot (they weren't) and again suggested that I get a drink from the fountain. This guy was alone. He was not some punk teenager with a need to impress his buddies. I could see no reason for this guy to be hounding me. I don't think he was mentally handicapped but he was definitely mentally deficient. After a few more points and gestures to indicate that I smoke dope he tired of his charades and moved to another part of the store, presumably to accuse someone else of something equally unlikely as me being stoned.

Nights-time Monkeyshines (Part 2)

I can't think of anything to say about this picture that it doesn't already say for itself

There were many evenings when Paul and I were sitting in his room wondering what we could do to entertain ourselves apart from talking about the time when he decided to hang his athletic supporter from the ceiling and the hilarity that ensued thereafter. This story relates the tale of one of those times. Maybe two.

Just then we realized that we were in for a nightful of unevent if we didn't do something and fast. A group of friends had decided to go camping that night and not being a camping type of guy I declined to go with them. But I knew their favorite campground and told Paul we might could cause a ruckus for them if he was so inclined. He was and we gathered the necessary ingeredients required to do so.

Ingredients:
1 rubber snake
1 Melty honeycomb wax candle
1 pair of leather shoes on Paul's feet (no socks)
700 firecrackers in a 32 oz. plastic cup.
1 box of matches.

We drove up the canyon to the campground where we suspected they had gone and soon found the campsite they had chosen. Everything was quiet and it was obvious the campers had already gone to sleep. In order to be more stealthy Paul removed his shoes and proceeded barefoot. Our first order of business was to try to frighten the campers into thinking they were being made the subjects of some satanic ritual. This we did by drawing a pentagram in the dirt in front of their tent door and placing the melty honeycomb wax candle in the center. This candle was quite disturbing looking. It was red and crooked from having gotten soft in the sun at some point. We figured it was precisely what satanists would use (we HAD been inside Academy Square where this type of stuff was a regular occurance, after all.) After lighting the candle we snuck behind the tent to await a response. It seems our camping friends were not bothered by the dim flicker of the candle light so we decided to light firecrackers and throw them over the tent one at a time. This produced a more enjoyable response. The tent door unzipped and someone blew out the candle. I doubt they even saw the pentagram or noticed the bizarre shape of the candle itself. After a few more firecrackers with not much effect we decided to give them what-for. We tore the heads off of a large number of matches and mixed them in with the firecrackers in the 32 oz cup. Then Paul snuck down to the back of the tent to set it nearby and light it when to our dismay the campers all came out of the tent and started milling around! Paul was trapped! He couldn't move without being seen. In an act of selfless bravery he lit a match and dropped it into the cup while he remained holding it! The explosions that followed were many and loud. Especially to Paul. It wasn't long thereafter that we realized the campers were packing up to go home. They were not appreciative. In order to remain undetected we stayed where we were. Paul was nearly trodden on while the campers took their tent down. While packing up, the campers discovered Paul's shoes and decided to keep them in retaliation for what we had done. (This event resulted in a later scheme to retrieve said shoes without bringing suspicion upon ourselves as the culprits.) When they told me about the "drunk hicks" the next day, they were triumphant about having taken their shoes away from them.

It wasn't until 10 years later that I revealed the truth of that night to my friends, the campers. Now we all look back on it. But I can't remember what that rubber snake was for.

On inappropriate attire

I'd rather be seen wearing this

Seriously, folks, wearing cowboy clothes in public is no more appropriate at any time than wearing sweatsuits, army fatigues, boy scout uniforms or scuba gear for fashion's sake. These clothings have a specific purpose and a specific place. In the case of cowboy clothes, these are 'boy'ing cows (and whoever came up with that term needs a serious talking to, by the way) and 100 years ago, respectively. Neither of these are done today in case you have remained unaware of the passage of time. "Well, I'm on my way to ride my horse and that's why I'm wearing these boots." Is this your reasoning? Is this the very best you can come up with? Then why for love's sake am I seeing you at the public library dressed that way? And in no way does that excuse account for your inordinately tight pants and that checkered shirt. And it most certainly does not account for the hat. We have come a long way in terms of head wear, people. We have gone from the oversize sombreros and 10 gallon hats of yesterYesterYESTER year (which, by the way, were only made that large in the first place because EVERYTHING starts out much bigger until people find a way to make them smaller. Take computers as an example) to the tiny sized ball caps of today worn by those I elect to refer to as "in the know." Please, if not for your sake then for mine and everyone else who is laughing at you behind your back, cease your relentless (and pointless) insistence on wearing that ridiculous outfit! And while you're at it, stop referring to your vehicles as outfits. We're talking about clothes here.

Based on a true story

I can't tell you how many times I've hit my head on that little tree in front there

Comments left by La brought me to the realization that there are several stories from the past involving me that have somehow been twisted and unjustly contorted to sully/defame. I am here to set you all straight as to "what happened that day in the church with the organist and stuff." Let us begin...

Paul and I were at the church performing service to elderly widows what needed help taking their blood pressure, a chore we were both well acquainted with and fond of, to be sure.* During our lunch break (and surely we required one, for working 8 hours with the elderly, while intoxicating, is liable to sap one's strength and we wanted to be in top form for our service to these dears ^§) we heard the softly ringing strains of the organ in the chapel. We discreetly entered the chapel so as not to disturb the organist. To further reduce stress to the organist, we climbed underneath the pews so that our presence would go undetected. We lay there enjoying^¤ the sounds of the organ when we decided we wanted to show our appreciation¹ to this hard working and talented person. That's when Paul discovered in his pocket the "burp-whistle" as it is called by nay-sayers. To us it was the "implement of gratitude demonstration"² and we used it generously and repeatedly from our discreet location. After several minutes of our appreciative display and none too few giggles of delight, (delight with the agreeable sounds of the organ)³ it was to our dismay that the organist announced "You think you're funny, but you're not!" We were astonished.^¥ At that point we were left with no choice so, stoically, Paul responded "Yeh naaah!" as we scrambled out from our place under the pews and returned to the appreciative presence of the widows for whom we toiled so selflessly.°

*Not entirely based on fact.
^§To the best of my recollection
^¤It seems to me
¹This is 100% absolutely true. Trust me on this one.
²It's like a whoopee cushion only you blow on it and it makes a pleasing sound.
³I assure you.
^¥ and rightfully so, I think you'll agree
°When have I ever lied to you?

Unique Passenger

I love technology

While traveling halfway across the country earlier this month I was waiting in line to board the aircraft and watching the disembarking passengers as they filed past. A group of three young women had apparently sat together and become friends during the previous leg of my airplane's journey. They were saying their farewells to one another and making a show of truly having enjoyed the last several minutes spent in each other's company. When one of the girls encouraged another to keep in touch, her newfound friend responded "I'll write you. I've got your..." At this point she ceased vocalizing, pointed to the cell phone in her pocket and mouthed the words "email address." This, I imagine, was an apparent attempt to prevent her companion from becoming the unwitting recipient of acres of spam. In the future, whenever I am spoken to, I certainly hope not to hear any reference to my email address.

Nights-time Monkeyshines (Part 1)

This is what I picture going on inside that little house during its tenure as a bakery

A couple buildings to the east of the Sev is a small building that has had a number of businesses reside there. It looks like a house. In fact it must have been a house at one point and somehow got zoned for business. This building is terribly inconspicuous.

One night, late, as several of us were going to the Sev for video games and slurpees we noticed that the small marquee in front of this building (which at that time was being used as a bakery) had the following advertisement: "Assorted Meat Pies / 89 cents."
We realized that with a little help from ourselves the sign could become much more humorous so we removed the "orted" from the first word. I'm pretty sure we didn't stop laughing for about 3 days.

Slurpees

The precise location where slurpees were purchased by myself oh so many years ago.

7-11 (hereafter referred to as "Sev" as originated by Senor Stubblebucket). Slurpees and video games. I remember one particular video game where one assumed the role of a ninja-type hero in pursuit of the lovely pixel captive. Or was there some other point to the game? I never got so far into the game that I actually knew what I was up to, but I'm here to tell you that I had the high score on that video game the whole duration of its placement within that particular Sev. It occurs to me now that the reason may very well be that no one else was interested in that game.
More important to my memory of Sev than video games are Slurpees. Pina Colada, Strawberry and Orange Cream. I remember when Sev began selling Coca-Cola flavored Slurpees. That was the day we ceased to buy any other flavor. Except on the days when there was red slurpee and Paul was wearing a light colored t-shirt. Red slurpee is great for staining other people's clothing in a game wherein you throw small amounts of your slurpee into the air for your friend to catch in his mouth. Paul and I played this game a lot and while the refreshing sensation of ice cold slush in your eyeball on a hot summer day was certainly enjoyable, the precisely aimed shots to the hair and clothing were more so. People who happened upon us walking down the street with melted slurpee dripping from our faces must have realized what I now realize...we were neat.