Peeing Downtown

A few months ago on a Friday evening after work I headed over to The Loon Cafe in downtown Minneapolis to meet up with my buddies Mitch Manson, Ted Booker and Mike Spicoli.  We were having pre-show drinks before the ‘Golden Smog’ concert, which was down the block at The Fine Line Music Cafe.  So we were there for an hour or two and eventually it’s time to head over to the Fine Line for the show.  I figure I'd better pee at the Loon before we go, as it will be a lot easier going there than at the concert.  I head down the stairs to the bathrooms, but about halfway down I hear gales and gales of laughter coming up from the Men’s bathroom.

I get to the bottom of the stairs with the Men’s room on the right, and there are like 4 or 5 guys down there just laughing their asses off.  They are practically crying as they’re pointing into the bathroom and saying stuff like:  “That’s my guy!”  “Oh my god!”  “No way!”  I’m wondering if I should even go in there, but I am curious, plus I had to pee.  It’s a small bathroom, but I push my way through the guys and past the only stall to the two urinals.  The far urinal is taken so I stop at the first one, but as I am whipping it out I suddenly noticed that the guy next to me is standing there peeing with his pants down to his ankles!  Now I see why everybody is laughing!  He’s just standing there with his bare legs and ass hanging out and peeing like nothing is the matter.  What?!  The dudes behind us are still laughing hard and I assume he is with them and he’s trying to be funny, so I start laughing too. 

But then he says to me:  “What?  What’s so funny?” like he has no idea why everyone is laughing.  Huh?  Seriously?  Then I think, am I being punked?  Are there hidden cameras?  This has to be a gag.  Nobody in the world pees that way with their pants around their ankles, especially in public unless they’re under 4 years of age.  I am speechless and just shrug my shoulders,  trying not to look at him.  Then he says:  “I don’t know what’s so funny…this way I don’t dribble on myself.”  And then I think, oh crap, he must be mentally handicapped or just slow or something.  Then I realize that all of the other dudes have left because the laughter has stopped and it’s just me and him now.  Then while I’m still going and he’s washing his hands he says:  “Does it always snow here in April?  Is that not uncommon?” and he sounded completely normal as we talked about the goofy weather and the late snow we’d been having that spring.

So now I am completely stumped.  Was he with the other dudes and just being funny?  I think not since they never referred to him by name, and they all left.  Was I being punked?  I think not because nobody ever jumped out and pointed out the hidden cameras to me.  Was he mentally handicapped?  I think not because he sounded completely normal when he talked.  Was he a foreigner from a weird country where all the dudes pee with their pants around their ankles?  I think not because he did not have any accent and I am not aware of any such countries.  Was he like Tom Hanks in the movie ‘Big’ where a small boy gets trapped in a man’s body?  I think not because that is just a movie and cannot happen in real life.  

By process of elimination, all that leaves me with is that he was just an ever-so-slightly weird dude who has always peed that way since he was a kid and never changed when he grew up.  But that doesn’t make sense either because I cannot believe that somewhere along the line somebody didn’t pulled him aside and said:  “Dude, guys aged 4 and older do not do that on this planet.  There’s a better way.  Keep your pants up.”  He simply MUST have had a friend along the way to straighten him out right?  I don’t know…I really wish I had said something along those lines to him, because now I fear I will never know the mystery of the man-boy ankle-pants pee-er.  If anybody knows him, or knows somebody like him, please comment below and help clear up the mystery.

Busted In Trempealeau - Part IV (The Aftermath)

The Aftermath

Well after getting arrested, a failed attempt at going to court for possession of marijuana in Trempealeau County, and then me hitchhiking through a blizzard that long day in the spring of 1986, Mark and I had to call and get new court dates.  Mark got his for a month or two later, in May, right at the end of the school year.  Being young, dumb and adventerous, he decided that he would ride his 10-speed to court.  Huh?  Yep...he informed me that it would be really cool and shouldn’t be much trouble at all.  Nevermind that fact that his bike was old and crappy, or the fact that he had never ridden it more than a mile or two, like from the dorms to his classes at the University of Minnesota...he thought it would be a snap to jump on his bike and pedal the 125 miles or so each way to court and back, camping along the way.

He got a map, figured out the side roads, and calculated it would take him 2 days to get there.  So he loaded up a backpack with some shorts, tee-shirts, a nice shirt for court, a water bottle and a blanket.  Well it did not take him 2 days, it took him 4 days.  I do not remember all of the details of his horrible adventure and that may be on another blog, but he called me from the town in Trempealeau where court was and basically said it was the worst 4 days of his life.  It rained most of the way so he was constantly cold and wet...he did not have much money so he was starving...he tried to sleep in a barn one night and got chased out...and worst of all, his ass was hurting so bad that he could not sit down anymore.

Apparently when he realized he was not going to make it to court on time he found a phone, called the courthouse, and they must have felt sorry for him because they said that they would hold court for him whenever he got there.  Luckily his assigned public defender also felt so sorry for him that when court was done he took Mark home, gave him a hot meal with his family, a shower, and best of all -- packed his stupid 10-speed up in a box and paid to have the bike and Mark shipped home on a Greyhound bus.  He literally saved Mark's ass.

Mark got a $350 fine and 4 months probation.  Me?  I just kept delaying court.  Eventually it was summer break and then I was back at my parent's home in Waukesha...but still with no resolution.  Finally they said they would just take care of it over the phone...$350 fine and 4 months probation, same as Mark...minus the horrible bike ride and broken butt.

The three lessons I learned from all of this:  1) Hide the weed better.  2) When a truck driver offers to set you up with a ride at a truck-stop, you take him up on that offer.  3) When the wheels of justice grind slowly it is often to your advantage.  Delay court for as long as possible.

Busted In Trempealeau - Part III (The Long Hard Journey Home)

The Long Hard Journey Home

So after getting arrested and then our failed attempt at going to court a couple of months later on a Friday morning, Mark and I drive the 18 country miles from the courthouse back to the town of Osseo at I-94.  It is now early afternoon and Mark has to bring the car back to Mindy in Minneapolis.  I decided I would see if I could hitchhike east to Waukesha and see my girlfriend Lona there for the weekend, and then take a Greyhound back to Minneapolis on Sunday night.  I told Mark to sit at the gas station where he could see me standing on the east-bound ramp.  Give me a half hour and if I didn't get picked up I would just ride back to Minneapolis with him.

Well he drops me off at the ramp and is prepared to turn around and go wait at the gas station, but the 18-wheeler literally right behind us sees me get out and he stops to pick me up.  Cool!  So I wave Mark off and he heads west and I head east with the trucker.  I am stoked.  It was a nice sunny spring day, but the temperature was probably only in the 50's...I just had a jean jacket on and was hoping I would not have to wait too long for a ride.  So I get a quick ride and I am off to see my girlfriend for the weekend!

We head down the freeway and I quickly find out this guy is the epitome of cool.  He had been bored and welcomed the company, and he had millions of stories to share.  Stories about life on the road, seeing UFO's late at night, all kinds of characters he had met around the country, and the various situations as well as chicks he had gotten into over the years.  Plus he had one of those new-fangled 'radar-detectors' on board so he could drive "As fast as my rig will go!"  So we were trading stories, laughing, cranking tunes, and making good time…I'll be in my girlfriend's arms soon but in the meantime I’m having a blast!

Eventually we get close to Madison, WI and he tells me that although I want to continue straight down I-94 east an hour past Madison to Waukesha, he has to turn off in Madison onto I-90 southeast as he his heading to Chicago.  I hadn't much noticed what was going on outside as I was having such a good time inside the truck, but as I looked out I realized the skies had darkened considerably and there were actually a few snowflakes coming down.  The closer and closer we got to Madison, the darker and thicker were the skies and snow.  My nice spring day in Minneapolis had turned back into harsh winter down here in Madison. 

He tells me there is a truck-stop a few miles before Madison where he could stop and arrange a ride for me if I wanted, but I knew he had not planned on stopping and was just going to do it for me to be nice.  I did not want to trouble him, and encouraged by my earlier success with him picking me up right away I said no, just drop me off at the I-94/I-90 split and I will thumb a ride from there.  He looks reluctant, but he says okay and pulls over on the side of the freeway.  I jump down to the snow-covered shoulder, forced a huge smile and waved him off. 

Holy sh*t it was cold out.  All I had on were jeans, a t-shirt, my jean jacket and tennis shoes.  I was so looking forward to seeing my girlfriend, but I was now a bit worried as I watched the friendly 18-wheeler slowly chug off into the evening's growing dusk and the gloom of what was turning into a blizzard.  I did not have a watch but the minutes felt like hours as I stood on the side of the freeway with my thumb stuck out in the dark howling winds, snow swirling all around and falling hard.  I had mistakenly thought the entrance from I-90 to I-94 would be like a ramp, but it actually was just a gradual turning continuation of the freeway and people were flying by me at 70 mph.  As an occasional hitchhiker I had it stuck in my head that if I was on a 'ramp' hitchhiking was legal or at the very least the cops wouldn't hassle you, but on the freeway it was not legal and they would nab you.  But now I was not even on a ramp...should I just start walking down the freeway?  I knew the next exit with a gas station was another 20 miles away. 

I figured anything was better than standing there slowly freezing to death while cars and trucks were whizzing by me and occasionally honking at me.  So I started walking and thumbing...still nothing.  I was wearing dark clothing and nobody could see me until they got right up on me, and nobody wanted to stop in the darkness of the nasty spring blizzard.  After awhile my hand and thumb were frozen solid and I was getting desperate.  No civilization of any kind ahead of me, but on the north side of the freeway off in the distance I saw a light.  I thought maybe I could head for it and see if I could find a phone and call Lona to come get me, as I was only about an hour from Waukesha.

The light looked to be at least a half-mile away.  I carefully crossed all 4 lanes of the freeway, but when I got to the other side I reached a cornfield full of snow.  My heart sank when I saw the snow was about knee deep.  Another decision...do I tromp across this huge snow-covered cornfield in my tennis shoes on the chance that there was someone at this light off in distance?  I looked back at the trucks whizzing by on the freeway kicking up snow in my face and decided to chance it with the light.

It was not easy going...large step with the right, foot sink down, left foot up and out of what was it's latest hole, repeat, repeat, repeat...my sneakers, socks and pant legs were now full of snow and my toes were completely numb.  The field seemed endless as I keep trudging along with my head bowed down into the wind.  Every once in awhile I would take a quick glance up at my target but the light did not seem like it was getting any closer.  There had better be someone there I kept worrying, as the thought of coming all the way back across that field to the damn freeway was completely demoralizing and seemed out of the question.  Eventually the light got bigger and the building it was coming from slowly began to come into focus. 

It was a business of some sort, but it looked closed.  When I got within a 100 feet I realized it was a garden center...not a huge chain place, but a small-town garden center that was definitely closed as the sign in the parking lot was turned off.  There were no other buildings around, just a dark country road leading to this building.  Maybe I could find a way in to the building and get warm and find a phone?  Could I really do something like that?  Fortunately I did not have to make that decision.  The light was on the backside of the building facing the corn field and as I got right up to it I heard voices.  Yes!  There were people inside!

I ran the last few feet up the short hill to the building, looked through the window on the door, and there was 3 or 4 people sitting around a table in the back break-room having a few beers after closing time on a Friday night.  I pounded on the door and one of the guys yelled:  "We're closed!"  I pressed my face up to the window and gave the most pitiful look I could muster up, which was not hard.  A lady got up and came over and unlocked the door. 

I craved the warmth and practically fell into the room as the door opened.  They regarded me cautiously as one of them inquired what the hell I was doing there.  While trying to warm up my frozen ears with my frozen hands, I started to tell them the abbreviated version of my story...that I was stuck on the freeway hitchhiking from Minneapolis and could not catch a ride.  I was so close to Waukesha, and yet so far.  One of them got me a blanket, and then a beer, and then a phone.  I called Lona, the lady gave her directions, and then the garden center people and I chatted for an hour and a half while I slowly warmed up with the heat and the beers.  When Lona got there I thanked them profusely for saving me, and then we finally made it back to her house to end what was a very long day.

Part IV - 'The Aftermath' is next...

Busted In Trempealeau - Part II (Our Day In Court)

Our Day In Court

So Mark and I got arrested, charged with possession of marijuana, and spent a night in jail.  It is now a couple of months later in early spring of 1986, and it is time for our big day in court in Trempealeau County, WI.  We get up and nervously walk the several blocks over to my car parked in the student ramp, dreading the 2 hour car ride and then who-knows-what in court.  We get in and turn the key and...nothing.  My '72 Dodge Charger will not start.  We frantically mess around with it for awhile before giving up and running back to our dorm-room to hurridly make some phone calls and find another car.  We eventually get ahold of Mark's girlfriend Mindy...she's busy, but she said if we can make our way over to her apartment in Dinkytown we can use her car. 

So we jump on our bicycles and get to her place as fast as we could, as we are now facing the possibility of being late for court.  She's got an old rusty Buick with no gas, but it works so we gas up and hit the highway...me driving as fast as the thing would go while Mark looks out for cops.

Well Mark apparently was not looking good enough because before long I see the cherries flashing in my mirrors and it's a Minnesota State Trooper pulling us over for speeding on I-94 about 5 miles before we hit the Wisconsin border.  Dammit!  Now we're really going to be late...also...as the trooper is making the walk from his squad up to our car, I remembered that Mark had grabbed his bag of weed before we left and threw it in back.  When will we learn?!  I look behind me and yep there's the bag just sitting on the seat waiting for that cop.  I quickly reached back and grabbed a t-shirt laying next to it and threw it over the bag.  Had the cop seen that?  Are we going to get busted for possession of marijuana on the way to our court-date for possession of marijuana??

The cop walked up, looked at us, took a quick look through the window at the back seat, and then thankfully turned his attention back to us.  He asked why we were going so fast.  I thought about telling him we were late for court, but then I was sure he would ask what for and I did not want to get into that, especially with a quarter ounce of weed sitting 3 feet behind me.  So I said I didn't know why we were driving so fast, that we were stupid college kids who like to drive fast...he dutifully wrote me out a nice fat $100+ speeding ticket and sent us on our way. 

We are now seriously in danger of being late for court.  Do we speed and risk getting pulled over again, or go the limit and risk missing court?  First of all I smacked Mark upside the head and told him to hide his damn weed better.  Then we decided to speed more carefully.  We raced down I-94 as fast as we could go with our heads on swivels...me watching in front and Mark looking in back.  Also, whenever we would see a turn-around in an upcoming median I would mash on the breaks in case there was a cop lurking there, and then floor it as soon as we were safely past.

Before long we made it to the Osseo turn-off 88 miles into Wisconsin, but it's going to be close.  We fly the 18 remaining miles south down the country roads to the courthouse, nervous as hell as we get closer and closer to the place we had spent that night in jail a couple of months ago.  We get to the courthouse, park, run into the strangely quiet building and there is nobody around?  Was court over?  Where we that late?  A quick look at the clock on the wall showed that we were only 10 minutes late.  We walked around for about another 10 minutes until we finally found a clerk-type person coming out of a room at the end of a hall.  We ran up and told her we have a court date but are not sure where to go and cannot find anybody. 

She informs us that Ol' Joe Patterson had died a few days ago and everyone was at the funeral today.  Huh?  Everyone?  Yep, everyone but her...she still had to work.  This was a very small town and apparently when somebody dies just about everybody drops what they are doing and goes to the funeral.  Court was cancelled.  Well thanks for letting us know that.  This was before the internet and cell phones and all that, but still a call to our dorm-room would have been nice to save us from busting our asses to get down there for nothing.  This was a Friday.  She said to call on Monday and get a new court date.  Okay...so we get back in the car and make the 18 mile trip back up to I-94.

Part III - 'The Long Hard Journey Home' is next...

Busted In Trempealeau - Part I (The Arrest)

I have driven past there a thousand times, but I get a little uneasy every single time I am on I-94 going through Osseo, WI, which is on the northern tip of the long and narrow county of Trempealeau in western Wisconsin.  Sometimes I tempt fate and stop and get a Blizzard at the DQ there, but usually I just drive past Exit 88 and be thankful that it is in my rearview mirror.  This next story has 4 parts that will be spread out over a week of posts:  The Arrest, Our Day In Court, The Long Hard Journey Home, and The Aftermath.

The Arrest

This was in the winter of 1985/86.  Me and my best friend at the time Mark Smith were in my '72 Dodge Charger and were heading back up to college at the University of Minnesota.  We had been home for the weekend at our parents' house in Waukesha, WI, and were now making the 5 hour trip back up to Minneapolis on a Sunday night.  Mark and I were roommates at the dorm in what was my 2nd year and his 1st year of school at the University of Minnesota, and we could never seem to stay out of trouble for very long.

Before we left Waukesha, I went over to his parent's house to pick him up and he told me he was all ready to go except for one thing...he had a single pot plant that he had grown for fun that fall out in his back yard that he had moved to his room when it got cold.  It was just a little plant with probably no way of getting anybody high, but it had sentimental value to him and he wanted to bring it back up to Minneapolis.  So I distracted his parents with small talk about school while he grabbed the plant from his basement bedroom and threw it in the back seat of my car...then we headed out.

Several hours later we pulled into exit 88 at Osseo to get gas, about 9 pm and dark out now.  I was pulling into the gas station parking lot when suddenly the cherries go on behind me and there's a cop right there.  Huh, why?!  Mark and I had had a few scrapes with the law in high school and it was never good, so I was instantly paralzyed with fear and felt like I was going to puke as I stopped the car and awaited our fate.  The spotlight was on us and he walked up with flashlight in hand, shining it in the car as he approached the driver window.  But he stopped before he got to my window and was staring through the back window with his flashlight beam on (oh crap, we forgot all about the plant!).  Yep, Mark's skinny little 2 foot pot plant was laying on the back seat in full view.

I guess he pulled us over for a broken taillight, but the cop did not care about that now as he excitely called for backup thinking we were drug runners or something.  He asked us who the plant belonged to.  I looked at Mark and he looked like he was going to puke too.  I thought about it...if they just take him in, what am I gonna do?  I didn't have money for a hotel....I didn't want to sleep in the car...I didn't want to drive home alone and have to come back and pick him up.  In a moronic show of solidarity, I told the cop it was both of ours.  "Huh?"  Yep, both of ours I kept insisting.  The dismayed cop told us that we didn't both have to go to jail, just one of us has to own up to it.  I was stuck on the stupid idea of sticking with Mark no matter what so I just flat out said again and again that it was both of ours.

Okay...so he searched us, searched the car, cuffed us, threw us in the back of the squad car, called off the backup, and informed us that he was charging us both with possession of marijuana.  So while the I-94 freeway runs through the northern tip of Trempealeau County, the jail/courthouse is on the southern half, 18 miles away.  The whole way there he kept asking us if we had any money.  No...we're poor college students.  We had a little gas money and that was it.  He told us he would let us go for $400.  Then he lowered it to $300.  Was this bribe money?  Or was he saying that's what the bail was?  It didn't matter...we had about $10 between the two of us so that was not going to work.

We finally get to the jail, pull into the garage, and he parks the squad car right next to a huge pile of weed about the size of a pick-up truck.  The cop pulls us out of the back of his car and leads us past the enormous pile of nice looking buds while carrying our sad, crappy little plant in his hand.  Jesus, couldn't he just throw our one little plant on this big pile of plants and call it a night?  Maybe if we'd had $300.

So he brings us in and we go through the whole drill:  another search, fingerprints, pictures...then into adjoining cells for an overnight stay in the crowbar hotel.  Wait, I know my rights...I get one phone call!  I called my girlfriend Lona collect in Waukesha.  I am not sure what she can do, but I just wanted to hear her comforting voice.  It's late now though and she is sound asleep.  She gets on the phone and I tell her I'm in jail.  "That's nice, I'm glad you made it safely." she mumbles.  "No no, I am in JAIL!" I yelled.  "Okay then, sleep tight, I love you...call me tomorrow." and she hangs up.  Sheesh, that was a waste.  That was not comforting at all.  I layed down on the thin metal cot and tried to get some sleep, which was almost impossible with the harsh bright lights they kept on all night long and the nauseating country music blaring from seemingly all around me.

Early the next morning after a few restless hours of sleep I am awaked by grunting from the next cell over.  It's Mark...he's bored and doing push ups.  Whenever we had tried talking to each other they yelled at us and told us 'no talking'.  I felt like we were in 3rd grade.  The night before we had tried tapping messages to each other like in the prison movies we'd seen, but neither of us knew morse code and had no idea what we were tapping so we gave that up after awhile.  The hours dragged on.  Then I hear him turning pages.  He's got magazines?!  The only thing I had found in my stupid cell was an instruction manual under my bed for I want to say a toaster or some small appliance like that.  I read the 4 page document over and over and over again till I had it memorized and wanted to cry.  This was inhumane.  Bright lights, country music, tall ceilings with no windows and absolutely nothing to do except try and pretend that all of the disgusting boogers on the wall next to my bed were not really there...that I was not really there.

I was getting claustraphobic and worried that they would never let us out of there, but finally they came for us a little before noon and led us to the courtroom.  The judge said we had to come back for another court date and he set a date and that was that.  We could go!

I assumed they would drive us back to Osseo but they said no way, they were too busy.  But our car...it was 18 miles away.  Tough sh*t they said.  So we walked down the courthouse steps, got to the road and started walking.  As soon as we got out of sight of the jail we stuck out our thumbs and started hitchhiking.  Before long a cop we had not seen before pulls up and tries to arrest us for hitchhiking.  We explained that we just got out of his jail and were trying to get back to our car.  He stared at us for awhile...contemplating...trying to decide what to do with us...finally we get a break as he grudgingly says he will give us a ride back to the freeway, but only after he takes care of an errand.  He leaves and we were not sure what to do so we started walking and hitching again.  After about 20 minutes he returns, yells at us again for hitchhiking, and then says to jump in.  We nervously get in the back of his car, but thankfully uncuffed this time, and finally get back to our car and finish our road-trip back to the dorms.

Part II - 'Our Day In Court' is next...

Air Mishap #2

Okay, this is a fun one.  One summer afternoon back in maybe 1994 or so, me and my buddy Chris Galanos took off out of Madison, WI in a 2-seat Cessna 152 and headed west to Devil's Lake in the Wisconsin Dells to check out the scenery, fly through the canyons and cruise around.  Well it was fairly windy out so the plane is bouncing around pretty good, especially when we got to Devil's Lake where the winds were swirling through the canyon.

So we dip into the canyon and are flying pretty low over the lake with the canyon walls on either side of us and people swimming on the beach and fishing offshore and probably staring up at us (it’s a very small lake surrounded on all 4 sides by canyon walls with a beach on one end).  I’m smoking a cigarette (I used to smoke but quit 5 years ago) and Chris is smoking a bowl and having a couple of beers.  Well I go to tap my ash into Chris’s empty beer can and suddenly we hit a gust of wind and my lit cig hits the side of the can and goes flying.

Where did it go?!  F*ck!  Of course I start to smell smoke, but it was acrid smoke like the chemical smell of burning carpet so I realized it’s under one of our seats.  The damn plane is burning up for all we know.

Chris is tall and a 2-seater is tiny…2 adults are basically shoulder-to-shoulder.  We try reaching forward under out seats to feel it but come up with nothing.  I tell him to look in back…the luggage compartment behind our seats is a small narrow little space just large enough to cram a small suitcase or two into.  So I'm in the left pilot seat and he’s leaning over his seat on the right with half his body in the luggage space and his legs bouncing around in the space above his seat.  Well he can’t find the cig and he gets stuck, wedged between the seat and the side of the plane with more of him in the back than in the front.  In addition, the plane has dual controls with a steering wheel on either side so as he’s struggling to free himself and get back into his seat his feet keep smacking into his steering wheel and pitching the plane violently down further into the canyon.  The whole time I’m trying to fly the plane in the gusty winds and keep it from going down any further or hitting the canyon walls...plus the end of the canyon is coming up soon so we have to ascend out of there.  Also, the cig is still burning.

Chris cannot make it back to his seat so I ask if he can keep going forward into the luggage compartment.  He makes it, but it’s almost comical seeing this 6’2” guy who weighs at least 200 lbs curled up back there with this stoned/worried look on his face.  Also, now he is weighing down the back of the plane so it’s pitched nose-up dangerously and I have to push the throttle full forward to keep from stalling and to be able to ascend out of the canyon.  Well we clear the canyon wall and make it out of there, so I grab the map to find the nearest airport because we need to land asap and find the lit cig before we have a full blown fire on our hands.

I see a little non-tower 1-runway airport on the map about 10 miles away so I gun it for there.  Unfortunately the wind is blowing strong and perpindicular to the runway, so I have a dangerously overloaded/tail-heavy plane landing in a strong crosswind that is blowing the plane sideways…it was a crazy tricky landing but we got her on the ground and I immediately shut it off and jumped out and found the cig had rolled way under my seat and burned down completely and left a long black burn-hole in the carpet, but then luckily it had just gone out.  Lesson learned…no more cigs in the planes.

How To Eat Plain M&M's

Hi ya'll.  I have been pretty busy this past week helping to bring a new Baby Sneaks into the world.  His 'sleep-all-day/poop-puke-and-party-all-night' attitude reminds me of my college days and he appears to be a chip off the old block.  The first two songs he heard on the radio on the car ride home from the hospital:  Zeppelin's 'Ramble On' and then AC/DC's 'Its A Long Way To The Top If You Want To Rock And Roll'...absolutely perfect...I could not have scripted it better myself.

Anyways, the car ride home with my wife and two kids got me thinking about all the future car rides/vacations we will be taking, and then that got me reminiscing about all the family vacations me and my 2 sisters and parents took back in the day.  At least once or twice a year Mom and Dad would load us kids and piles of luggage all up in the station wagon for a trip from our house in upstate New York to visit relatives in Minneapolis or St. Louis or Wisconsin or Savannah.  Long, hot, cramped trips spent fighting with my sisters over who crossed the imaginary line dividing our precious space in the back seat, or who got to ride in the way-back and for how long...but one way my mom tried to get us to behave was the promise of treats, or more specifically, small bags of plain M&M's.

When we'd finally get it together long enough for Mom to give up the goods and hand over our 3 bags of M&M's, it was like Christmas and we would happily count them, sort them by colors, trade them...and then finally eat them.  A lot of miles, a lot of bags, and a lot of time eating our M&M's.  Well after years of hands on research and experimentation, I discovered that there are 2 ways to eat them properly.  As I made my way through a bag then, and still to this day, I alternate between the two methods.  I either:

A)   Stick 2 or 3 M&M’s in my mouth and just instantly start chewing them really fast and enjoy the immediate gratification of the succulent chocolate contrasted with the crunchy hard shell for a texture-high.

Or,

B)   I stick 2 M&M’s in the back side of my mouth between my cheek and gum and pretend they’re not there…sometimes upper, sometimes lower.  Then I just go about my business and fool myself into forgetting all about them…la, la, la…nothing to see here.  Then all of a sudden after a few minutes:  "Voila!”  I have a luscious, warm, liquid chocolate pocket encapsulated by an extremely soft, thin, leathery skin…almost like I imagine the skin of a soft-shelled turtle protecting it’s precious partner inside.  Then I apply just a slight pressure on the two jewels now trapped between the roof of my mouth and tongue and the delicious treasure comes oozing out, rewarding me handsomely for my patience by spreading out and coating the inside of my mouth with warm chocolate lava…yum.

Hail Mary

One of the characters in this next story is a guitar player who I will refer to as ‘Dave Malone’.  You will have to be the judge as to whether you think it’s the real Dave Malone or not.  For anybody who has ever known me and ‘Dave’ and/or has ever seen us in action at a late-night function, you invariably at some point have heard us lovingly refer to a woman named ‘Mary’.  This is her story.

She was a very short, old, fat, black woman who happened to be standing next to me and my girlfriend Mugsy Millen at the front desk of a huge hotel lobby in Tampa.  We were all checking in to the hotel and it was about 10pm.  It was the night before Mugs and I were setting sail with the ‘Rhythm & Blues Cruise’, in January of 1998.  This was an annual week-long Caribbean cruise packed with sweet bands playing music on board all week at various stages on deck and inside the ship.  Dave’s band was booked for the cruise, and they had also played a club gig that night that me and Mugs arrived.  They opened for Taj Mahal at the club so they were done earlier than usual, and Dave was just returning from the gig to the hotel. 

So me, Mugs, the old black woman and a few other people were waiting in line to check in when all of a sudden there was this loud commotion off in the distance.  A ‘raucous’ if you will, and I will try and and describe the raucous:  I looked over my shoulder about 200 feet away at the front door and there was Dave struggling with his pack and the revolving door and a doorman trying to help ease the situation...the whole while a drunken tangled Dave was hooting, hollering, laughing and exasperating the situation to the point that Hunter S. Thompson would have been very proud.  Finally Dave and his luggage were extracted from the whole front-door mess and he happened to spot me off in the distance laughing my ass off, so he continued hooting and hollering and yelled "Sneaks!!" as he stumbled his way over to the desk completely oblivious to the crowd in the lobby now watching him. 

The little old lady standing next to me was watching this whole scene, and as Dave made his way over she furrowed her brow and put her properly gloved hand up to her face and was mouthing "Dear me!" as Dave loomed larger and larger.  For some reason (maybe he sensed her deep fear and angst) after giving me and Mugsy a quick hug Dave set his sights on the frightened woman.  He’s a tall guy so he bent down low in front of her so their faces were level and excitedly said:  "Is your name Mary?  Can I call you Mary?  Hi Mary!  These are my friends Peter and Mugsy, and THIS is Mary!  Hi Mary!"  The whole time ‘Mary’ was backing up and stammering and looked like she was going to have a stroke.

Then Dave turned his attention to the guy behind the desk and introduced us to whatever name was on the guy's name-tag.  He instructed the man to give Mugs and I a good room, and when the guy didn't respond immediately Dave got one leg up on the counter and started to climb over, saying he would do it himself.  I somehow managed to pull him off the counter, got my room key, and then dragged him over to the elevators. 

Of course, there was poor Mary standing there waiting for the elevator and Dave rushed up and said:  "Mary!  It's been so long!  How are you doing?  Have you met my friends Peter and Mugsy?!"  Just then the door opened and Dave ushered us all in to the elevator.  By now Mary was absolutely scared shitless and you could sense her horror and dread as the door closed shutting her in with us while Dave was going on about something, his voice booming in the elevator as Mary frantically started pounding on the number "2" button so she could get out of there alive as soon as possible.

Well Mary made it out, mentally scarred for life, but alive.  So then the three of us continued on up to my room where we proceeded to drink the better part of a bottle of tequila mixed with Surge soda.  It was quite the beginning to our weeklong trip at sea, and the birth of our friend Mary who will forever live in our hearts.  In fact, she has risen to almost saintly status since that night and was the inspiration for the poem below written a few years ago:

Hail Mary, full of fear, Dave Malone is with thee;

Blessed art though amongst women,

And blessed is the fruit in thy hotel lobby basket.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our boat launch.

Amen.

Dome Dog

In retrospect, thinking about the Los Lobos incident (see S.S. post dated 8/10/11: 'Why Rock-stars Wear Pants), I suppose that it was probably fitting that my buddy Mitch's humor had caused me to spew the contents of my mouth onto somebody else, as I had done the same thing to him about 10 years ago.

It was probably the fall of 2001 or 2002 and Mitch Manson and I were at a Vikings/Bears game at the Metrodome in Minneapolis, sitting in my season tickets.  It was before the game started...people were filing in, music was blaring, highlights showing on the big screen…excitement was in the air. 

We were standing up at our seats with me on the left and Mitch on the right, beers in one hand, 'Dome Dogs' in the other hand, taking in the scene, talking and enjoying our lunch before the noon kickoff.  I do not remember exactly what I said, but we were joking around and I must have said something that caught Mitch particularily good while he happened to have a mouthful of hot dog.  Suddenly he bursts out laughing and a large, wet chunk of partially chewed up hot dog and bun came flying out of his mouth and landed in the hair of the lady sitting directly in front of us.

I'd had these two sweet aisle seats in section 218 for several years now and I knew this woman.  She was a nice woman.  A good woman.  I liked her.  She liked me.  I was trying not to laugh out loud and raise suspicion but it was so goddamn funny and horrifying at the same time!  Did she hear it hit her?  Had she felt it?!  Did she sense that this big wet glop of regurgitated mess was now a part of her??!  We stared and then both watched in horror when after about 10 seconds she started groping around the back of her head, somehow sensing that something wasn't right.  She had shoulder-length dark hair, curly to the point of almost being frizzy.  Basically she had 'large' hair and the dog/bun chunk had wedged itself in pretty good, nestled a few inches into her hairdo.

So she starts feeling around the back of her head and I'm frozen in terror, unable to take my eyes off of the glistening mass inbedded in her hair while she groped around.  Was she going to find it?  Was this really happening??  Suddenly her hand came upon the glob and she stopped moving.  Everything was totally still.  Time had stopped.  Then she slowly started extracting the revolting intruder from her curly hair until it was free and in her hand.  My god this is really happening I told myself.

She brought it around to the front of her and took a good look at it.  When it sunk in what she was holding in her hand she suddenly whipped around to confront her attacker.  She was fuming and her eyes were like daggers as she slowly hissed to Mitch:  "Did you just spit this in my hair?!" 

This is when things got weird.  Mitch was completely frozen.  I could see him standing there, she could see him standing there, but it was like he was in a place far, far away.  His body was there but 'Mitch' was gone.  He was just standing there, staring straight ahead with blank, unseeing eyes...slowly chewing what was left of the hotdog pieces in his mouth, but completely ignoring her. 

"Hey!  Did you just spit this in my HAIR?!!", she repeated, now lifting her hand up to show him the evidence.  Mitch just kept slowly chewing, staring straight ahead, somehow willing his face frozen with no emotion.  Her anger was now increasing exponentially as she realized that he was pretending she didn't exist.  Her row in front of us was probably a foot below us so he had been staring directly over her head...but now in an effort to press the matter she leaned forward, stood up on her tippy-toes and got right in his face.

"HEY!  You spit this in my HAIR!", she yelled.

To his credit, Mitch somehow remained absent, unattached to his body, and did not even flinch.  She was now almost eye to eye with him but he just kept staring straight ahead right through her...slowing chewing, with absolutely zero emotion or any perceivable sign that he was aware of what was happening 6 inches in front of his face. 

This whole time I was like an observer at a tennis match...head swiveling back and forth from her to him to her again, but with eyes like saucers and my mouth hung open in complete disbelief of what I was seeing. 

Finally she realized that Mitch wasn't going to crack so she viciously threw the handful of wet dog to the ground at his feet and whipped around with her back to us now.  I finally lost it and fell back and to the left into the aisle.  I swivelled around and was bent over in pain while trying to hold all of the laughter, food and beer in my stomach while not spilling anything.  After composing myself somewhat, I looked over and realized that Mitch had returned to his body as he gave me a sideways glance with an ever so slight smile and then took another bite of his Dome Dog.

It was over...but not really...the game hadn't even started yet so we had to sit behind this woman for the next 3 hours.  The poor lady kept running her hands through her hair every few minutes during that entire time, feeling around for more food. 

This was a defining moment in my life...one of several that Mitch has given me over the years.  I don't know if I have ever been so amused and horrified at the same time, and I still laugh and cringe whenever I think of that afternoon.  Thanks buddy.  In the words of a Crispin Glover character:  You are my density.

Flying mishap #1

I have my private pilot’s license.  Over the years I have had a few air-mishaps, but they mostly weren’t my fault.  Let’s see…I guess I’ll start with my very 1^st flight after I got my license.  It was the middle of winter.  I called my friend Laurie Tyler and told her I’d just got my ‘ticket’ and asked her if she wanted to be my very first passenger…she was excited and totally into so we rented a 2-seat Cessna 152 out of Madison’s airport and headed out.  I wanted to practice some touch-and-goes at an out-of-the way airport (where you power down, make the landing, and instead of coming to a complete stop you power up again as soon as you’re safely on the runway and take off again…then you circle around and do it again…good take-off and landing practice). 

So we headed west to Sauk Prairie’s small single-runway airport that didn’t have a tower.  I did a fly over to see which way the wind-sock was pointing and picked my landing direction (you always land into the wind).  We’d had a huge storm recently with tons of snow, but the runway looked like it had been cleared with just a few white patches and I figured it was okay or they would have the runway marked with a big X if it was unsafe…we circled around and prepared to land. 

I powered down and hit the runway going about 50-60mph, started braking, and soon we were fish-tailing all over the runway.  There were patches and strips of ice on it and I was swerving, hitting ice, then pavement and the tires would catch, and then slide on the ice.  There was no way I could take off again and suddenly I was off the runway and heading for a 10-foot snow bank that ran the length of either side of the runway.  Once I was on the snowy grass I thought we were doomed and I was frantically pumping the brakes and hoping not to hit the snow bank and/or flip over.  Luckily we finally came to a stop just before hitting the snow bank.  I looked over at a wide-eyed Tyler who had never said a word through this whole thing, and watched as she had to extract her white knuckles from the death-grip she had on the dashboard in front of her. 

Now we had to figure out how to get out of there.  You need a certain amount of distance to get enough speed to get an airplane off the ground.  We taxied back and found a length the longest stretch of runway without ice that we could find.  I went to the very beginning of it…full power with brakes on till the prop was whining away at full speed and then I released the brakes…we shot off with a massive jerk and started our roll down the runway with an ice patch looming in front of us and getting bigger and closer every second…I pulled the wheel back right before we hit the ice…we didn’t have enough speed to fly, but we kind of floated in what’s known as ‘ground-effect’ a few feet off the ground till the plane had enough speed to actually start ascending…we made it up into the relative safety of the friendly skies and got the hell away from that airport.