Idiots Guide to Surviving the Queen of Hearts in a 9 to 5 Setting

 I'm told that there are topics you should never talk about openly in mixed company for fear it may cause you harm or ruin your standing in society now or in the near future. Those topics of never never include religion, politics, sex, gender, racism, and your job. I have single-handedly defied every one of those rules of taboo as you know I have mentioned those topics freely with as much support, criticism, and educated sarcasm as I can muster from time to time. Yes, the rumor is true. You will get in trouble for speaking your mind. But I like to look at it as if there would be no point in having a mind if you didn't say what was on the damn thing. Somehow that makes me an idiot for using my brain. Interesting concept being considered stupid for voicing my  hard earn and well thought out opinions.  Which leads me to my topic of choice for this strange endeavor. There are days like today when all you can do is bear down and hold on in hopes of sliding through unnoticed by the boss or bosses just to make it to that Yaba Daba Doo 5 o'clock whistle. I somehow never make it and always get noticed before I can run out that door at night. It must be my magnetic charisma that attracts people to me before I can punch that freaking time clock in the gut and go home. I've heard it said that people ask me to do things more than they would ask my other co-workers because I am the calm one that doesn't make waves. I somehow have a zen approach to work. So I'm told. So because of that I have learned to adapt and survive the onslaught of commands that stands between me and my parked car that is just waiting to go home at the end of every day.

I have to say my employer is pretty cool, but we all know some that are not. I work for a private contractor so we work for many Commanders and Chiefs as some prefer to be called. Some feel right at home with the job title of "Dictator". For those select few I prefer the term "socially inept". You see it takes a real ASSHOLE to not understand that making people fear you is not the same as respect. When your crew (or in some cases, minions) have been forced to the point of fear and anxiety waiting on your every response, then they can't wait for your rude and painfully timed demise. When they say good morning to you what they are really saying is, "I hope you get your neck tie caught in the elevator door and it hangs you on your way down to HELL you fascist leach of corporate greed!" Or can I get you a coffee translates to, "can I pour this vat of lava liquid down your gullet so I can watch melt away through the gutter grate in the mop closet you piece of slithering sewage slim!?" Yes, I have heard it all before. I have seen the faces wink and nod to one and other as co-workers walk by. People talking about the boss behind his or her back. That is not respect. Employees talk to us outside contractors as if they are looking for a kind ear to fall upon, or a sense of sympathy, or simple justification that the are right and the boss is wrong, or maybe the hope that we work as a hitman on the side and need a little overtime. I'm not sure really which, but I do know I get an ear full the minute I go into a company that is run by a tyrant.

Case in point, just the other day I show up at this company ready to hang art from their private collection. I have found that in most cases that the prettier the building from the outside, the sadder the people are on the inside. Power loves beauty. However, beauty most often is shredded down to nothing but surface due to the corruption of power leaving much less to be desired from within. When you walk in there is not one smiling face and everyone looks at you like you shouldn't be there. How DARE you walk through those doors when I worked so hard to be aloud to be here. I earned MY RIGHT. Just who or WHAT do you think you are? But as a contractor we can leave after the task we have been called upon is done. Who are we? WE are the freedom from captive beauty.

So I'm early and call my contact to let her know I'm there. There is already anxiety on the line before I even meet face to face. I get a bad feeling as I get into the elevator trimmed in gold. The doors close in this pristine symbol of workmanship, but I can't help but feel like I just fell into a rabbit hole as I hear the echo of the elevator shaft churn my way to the the next level of the game. The door opens and I stumble out with all my tool portable and at the ready only to see my contact race over quickly to me. She gives a big sigh and roles her eyes.

"Well, Of course things have changed since I set this job up." She said in a worried manner. For the sake of privacy we will call my client Alice.

"Cool. No big deal. I can work around whatever. That is why you called in the specialist. And if i can't... well, no one died if they didn't get their art hung on the wall." I smiled and tried to pull it all off as ice breaking joke, but there was no smile... or facial expression for that matter. I like to joke to ease tension. People get wound up about there art and personal belongings. They call on my company because we specialize in handling delicate objects. Still they treat you like you were just found out on the street corner and given this menial job. Awe look, they taught the bum to speak and get all prettied up for work. Can you say the rain in Spain lies mainly on the plains? They are blown away when I can. I joke to remind them that we all have our place. However, I could tell that Alice would not be impressed with my vocabulary after monitoring her stress level. That is when I realized Toto that we were no longer in Kansas.

Alice motions to a painting on the wall, "She wants to de-install this piece and put it into her office with a few others before we can get stared with what I called you here for."

"SHE" is apparently what the boss liked to be called because EVERYONE referred to her as "SHE". I took the painting off the wall form its security mount and we proceeded to take it to HER office (another word for the boss but not as favorable as SHE). It was like going through a castle of twisted mazes, fancy over sized fixtures to show off grand wealth, locked doorways to empty rooms, and over extended hallways that lead to nowhere in particular. I'm already lost when we finally reach HER layer in this extravagant building. Through the door and down another long hall. Offices on one side and cubicles on the other. We are heading towards an EXIT sign when I begin to think, "Where are we going now?". And then we suddenly stop by the EXIT sign pointing left and beside the exit door to the right was HER office. But it was funny to me that it looked like the exit sign was pointing towards HER office. The door was open. There was a receptionist in a station right across from the door and she and Alice started whispering to each other. But this was no ordinary whisper as they were more like mouthing a conversation without any noise at all. I was standing right there and could not understand one word. Then my client sticks her head into the open doorway and announces that I was there ready to install her art. What I heard next was very loud and VERY clear.

"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR SUCH NONSENSE! ARE YOU AWARE OF HOW BUSY I AM AND HOW IMPORTANT MY TIME REALLY IS?!" A voice boomed from the room meaning to inflict stress into who ever crossed its path.

"Uh... yes... yes, I do." Alice spoke back softly.

"ARE YOU AWARE OF THE FACT THAT I HAVE TO GET THIS GRANT OUT AND DEBRA SAID SHE WOULD BE HERE TO HELP... AND GUESS WHAT?! NO DEBRA! NOW I HAVE TO DO THIS ON MY OWN... AS USUAL!"

"Yes... I understand."

"I DON"T HAVE TIME FOR THIS LITTLE ART PERSON NOW! TELL HIM HE CAN WAIT UNTIL I'M READY!"

"Okay, I'll just start on some of the other floors with him."

"EVERYONE CAN JUST WAIT ON ME FOR A CHANGE!"

I had a feeling everyone waited on HER in any case and the change would have been if SHE had called into the office and couldn't be there because SHE was sick forcing everyone to have a day off of waiting on HER. But even then SHE would probably have people leave work to bring HER things to HER home just to feel important. We turn around and start the long walk back to the elevator. My client informs me that we will start work on another floor.

The door to the elevator shuts, "I asked her when a good day to do this would be and she said toady. I had to plan this for months now. NOW she doesn't have time. Oh well, she is busy with that important grant. You stick your head in only to get it bitten off. She just has to vent. You just can't take it personal you know. You can't take it personal." She was talking to me without leaving me any room for responding. Alice was pretty much just talking to herself.

The elevator opens and we walk into this vacant room. There are two maintenance workers unloading art out of a box looking totally lost as to what to do with it. The have this look on their faces as they subtlety roll their eyes to each other as if saying, "You call this art?". They were being led by a tall man with white curly hair who was frantically in conversation with himself under his breath. He had the crazed quick "I will snap on your ass" look to him like someone you didn't want to say the wrong thing to. He had this expensive gray pinstriped suit on. Apparently he is in charge of all the art in the building and from what I can tell he just inherited the job only hours before and was not happy about his new position. Discussion begins soon after introductions about where everything goes.

"Well, we have two on the ground level," the curly haired man began.

"Two? I thought we had three?" Alice questioned.

"We do, but I'm not happy with the one over the desk. So I'm going to change that one."

"Well should I have Keith start on another floor?"

"No he can start there and hang the two and then come back when I have figure out what to replace the one with."

"So should we go floor to floor."

"Sure. Right now there are two for ground, one first floor, three for third, maybe six for fourth..."

"What about second floor?"

"I don't have anything yet. Oh and I may change first floor. So maybe go to third next."

"What about fifth floor?"

Maybe we should start there and work down."

"Do you have anything for fifth?"

"No. Maybe we start with ground then go to third?"

"Could we start with fourth?"

"NO. She has that grant meeting until noon. We can't start on four."

"How about I start on the ground and you guys come and find me when you get ready for the next floor. Maybe start on the first next," I finally chime into the conversation.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. You just get started," said Captain Curly trying to regain control of the ship that wasn't HIS.

Th two now appearing to have morphed into Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee right before my eyes get into the golden rabbit hole to venture into another realm to discuss what would be, could be, and should be next. I can hear their conversation fade as they go up or down or sideways or back in the echoing elevator shaft. I go into the rabbit hole soon after and find my way to the ground level. I see the two paintings. They are in an entrance way right as you walk in from the automatic doors. The doors were extremely sensitive and I kept triggering them off with every move I made. They kept opening and closing frantically. I began to work while the doors mimicked my every move. I started to feel like I was going mad with the sensor catching every motion I made in this small space. Open/close, open/close, open/close.

I had a hammer in my hand and a wicked thought came across my mind when suddenly from no where I heard, "So, you are about done here?" a voice calls from behind me.

It took me off guard and brought me back to reality. The anxious familiar face of Captain Curly and I talked in great length in just a few seconds about how long it took me to security install one painting. This bit of information would let him know how far ahead of me he would have to be if he was to keep me moving along.

"Well, he have a few changes." He said formally. "We have added some pieces. You can stay longer if needed right? Good," he spoke quickly never giving me a chance to respond, " what I think I'll have you do is go to second floor, then to first, and follow up on third. You might want to go to fifth after that and by that time we should have ground figured out. Then lets met up on fourth. She should be done with her meeting by then. I may have some pieces I may add here and there so you may have to go back to a few floors, but I'll let you know."

"That's fine," I said trying to stay calm in thinking about his little geographical map of layers to their little labyrinth while the automatic doors kept their uneven rhythmic beat. Why these people felt the need to make this more difficult to follow than an M. C. Escher painting is beyond me. But like I have always said, dysfunction comes form the top down and a ship runs only as good as the captain that is steering it. Or in this case the SHE behind the helm. "Just out of curiosity though, I was told there were ten pieces to hang. It sounds like there could be more. How many paintings are we now talking about?"

"Well," I can see the the imaginary chalk board he begins to look at in order to figure out this equation, "let's see. There is the 5 and 3 from earlier. Take away the 2 but added 6 on the fourth. I don't know maybe double the original you were told."

Now what started out as a two hour job is now looking like a good part of the day with the added pieces and playing floor tag with the elevator. It is also looking like my lunch is going to be late due to HER scheduling of when I can be on the fourth floor. My stomach starts getting angry, and when that happens then the day is pretty much shot until it gets what it wants. So i start busting my tail to get the job down racing in and out of the elevator. I get to the point I barely put my tools away in order to hit the ground running as soon as those golden doors open. Before I'm I can finish on each floor, Captain Curly adds another piece and keeps telling me we can probably stop after I do the third floor because She would no be ready for me to do the fourth floor today. But every time I thought I was going top the third floor I would get pulled to another. The third floor was like this dangling carrot being held over me. And I was SOOOOO hungry. Then there was finally no other floor to do  but the third. I was heading for the rabbit hole for one last job when it opens... and there stands Captain Curly.

"Good news," He said. "She is out of her meeting and we a short window of time that we can do the fourth floor. We will do that one first since there are so many to do. Then you can finish on the third."

By now I knew there would be no lunch. Why was I jump through hoops for these people like this? We get to the fourth floor and I look around. A second elevator door opens and it all made sense to me. A man rushes out yelling, "I'm late, I'm late! I'm so sorry, I'm very late!" Apparently he was supposed to have a meeting with HER and was running behind schedule and literally RUNNING down the hall crying out that he was late with papers falling behind him. A grown man in a three piece suite acting like a cartoon character. I got it it all of the sudden. That place made people CRAZY! SHE drove everyone insane with her schedules that twisted and turned making time in keeping appointments with HER even more difficult than keeping up with what floor you needed to be on. She confused people and pushed them with massive pier pressure. She undermined everyone's decisions to the point that they could not make logical conclusions on how to start and finish any given project. Anyone that walked into this establishment felt HER presence and instantly fell into an abyss of anxiety. I had to get out of there. Then a huge commotion happened when some people apparently higher up on the food chain started questioning Captain Curly about what I was doing on the fourth floor.

"Who gave you authorization to hang these painting? Did she give you that authorization?" A very stern woman barked firmly.

"Oh, I have authorization," commanded Captain Curly.

"Yes we have authorization. I put in a work order months ago for this to happen today." Alice was trying to come to the Captain's rescue.

"But did SHE give you the authorization to hang those there?" The stern woman pointed at the pieces of art on the floor against the wall.

"We have authorization," Captain Curly said with a certain confidence.

"BUT did SHE give you authorization to hang THAT particular art there?"

Captain Curly looked a little sheepish for a moment, "Uh... no, no she didn't give me authorization to hang those there. I just decided..."

"Well that is what SHE wants to know. WHO decided. Who authorized those particular pieces." The stern woman looked very pleased with herself that she won the war of words as she crossed her arms. "I think you should go talk to her."

Captain Curly sunk and swallowed, "Fine." Then he and the others walked down the hallway to HER office leaving me there by myself.

So I start working. Then a huge a staff of people file out into the room of unhung art lead the QUEEN herself. You could see it in her eyes that someone was going to loose their head. she stormed through the room giving everything and everyone a look of disgust.

"I do not like this." SHE finally spoke. "This is NOT what I WANT." They talk briefly about options. Then SHE throws her hands up in the air and leads the mob back to her office. A short time later Captain Curly walks up to me.

"We are done today. just finish that one you have in your hand and we are done."

"What about the third floor?" I asked knowing that was my final task.

"No third floor. She wants to... CHANGE somethings around now." And just like that he walks off and jumps into the rabbit hole.

Then Alice pops out. "Don't hang anymore. Just finish that one and you can go." She then disappears.

Then the stern woman walks up to me. "You know she doesn't want you hanging anymore right?"

"Yes. I'm just finishing this on then I'm out of here," I reassured her.

"Good," she said with this "I told you so" tone to her voice. Soon I was all alone.

I didn't bother putting all my tools away. I just piled them up and jumped on the elevator. I got down to the floor with the parking lot. Did you ever get that feeling when you were a kid when you got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and It was dark so you ran back to your bed because you just KNEW there was something there that was going to reach out and eat your face off? Well I am a grown man and definitely felt like that way then. I ran for the door. I dropped the extension cord. Fuck it! I'll but a new one. I was making a break for it and not looking back. The automatic doors didn't open right away. I guess I used up their batteries earlier that morning. The doors finally opened and I ran to the company vehicle. I tore out of the parking lot with the idea that speed bumps were more like shock testers and if your car didn't break away when you hit them hard then your vehicle was in great shape.The vehicle past inspection that day with FLYING colors and I only lost one hubcap.

I began to calm down the closer I got to the shop. I pulled in the driveway and laughed as I told myself I made it. I walked in the door hungry but relieved. But before I could put my appointment book down at my desk my boss walks over and tells me there is a message on the answering machine for me. I slowly walk into the room with the message machine. I creep up on it slowly. I reach my hand out to touch the playback button. I notice that my hand is shacking. I tighten my grip and shake it off. I play the message.

"This message is for Keith," It was Captain Curly, "You were here this morning and we were wondering if you could come back this afternoon and finish putting the paintings up in the Director's office?" I could hear the "Psycho" theme music in my head right then.

I head back to Wonderland. I jump in the rabbit hole. I walk the maze. I venture down the long hallway to HER office. I can hear her telling someone off on the phone. Captain Curly approaches me and tells me that I will be working directly with HER for the afternoon. Then he escapes as he hears her slam the phone down. SHE appears in the doorway.

"DO you know what you are doing?" SHE questioned snidely. "I mean, do you think what you have done here is acceptable? Do you not know your job and can't see that these do not look good the way you have installed them? Just what were you thinking?"

I felt a little mad in every since of the word by that point. There was no sense in justifying my action especially since she was pointing and complaining about something I didn't even hang. This was a wrestling match I couldn't win. Or could I? I had to work for her that day but I didn't have to stay there. I knew where freedom was and just needed finish the job at hand and find my way to the door. I knew what to do. I felt a little naked without my hat but madness is really is all in the eyes anyway.

"Well, when I think about the things I thought I begin to realize that what I thought I was thinking about is totally irrelevant to what I'm thinking right now, which is not what I thought. However, I find it to be a good practice to always go with my first opinion which is whatever was the first thought out of my mind to think." I let my eyes wonder around the room aimlessly to create the effect.

"What?" SHE was a deer in the head lights now. Stunned.

I had to act fast. "What, what?"

"What are you talking about? Are you making fun of me? Is this how you represent your company?" She was clearly angry.

"Representation is only half of my strong suit. We aim to please and pleasing is what we aim to do. Clearly you have been upset by the work I have done and this is my chance to correct the problem. For example I can hang this here," I remove the painting I didn't hang in the first place and hold it on another wall,"or I can hang it here." I ran across the room, "How about here? Or maybe over there. OH, behind that door. You know, these would look really great upside down. It would give it this really cool abstract effect. I have hung things from ceilings before but the lighting in here is that great."

She looked at me trying to figure out what I was up to. My behavior might have warranted the suspicion of extreme sarcasm, but the fact that I could act as well as mouth off was hard to read. Now she began to think I was a special needs person or one of those waaay out there artist types that couldn't get a job anywhere else. My commenting on the lights was intentional as knew she was a person that fancied herself a perfectionist and any mention of imperfection would get her complete attention. "No, I like them where they are. Just move the paintings in closer together. What do you mean the lighting is bad in here?"

"Clearly you have been inside much too long now. You can't see that the walls are sick and absent of color. Everyone in here looks so miserable. We really should change that."

"The walls ate not absent of color. They are a tradition white that I picked out myself."

I grab a drill and drill through the wall.

"What do you think your doing? You just put an unnecessary hole in my wall!"

"I'm letting the wall breathe. Why you yourself just told me how the walls looked pale. They are sick I tell you. They need to breathe."

"I said the walls are WHITE not PALE and don't appreciate..."

"Exactly. WHITE! Is this an insane asylum or a productive place of work. You need color in here. Reds, yellows, and blues. Green would go nicely there. You know all the fine arts museums are going with color."

I knew I had her attention now. "The museums are using color?"

"Oh yes, very lavish color. It makes the art pop out. You should also turn off these neon lights and use lamps. It creates more of a mood. It makes you feel like you are home. Especially since we live to work and work to live. I mean with as much time as we spend at the office we should be comfortable here and it should feel like home because we are rarely at our own homes." Before it all has time to process I move across the room. "I would remove the blinds and put in curtains. I would also remove that EXIT sign by your office door and put an ENTER sign in it's place. I think it would make it much more inviting."

"Somehow I don't think the fire marshal would approve." The receptionist finally spoke up.

"I'll be the judge of that." Her Majesty spoke reminding everyone of who was still boss. "I never liked that sign being there in the first place. Curtains you say?" She turned towards me.

"Paisley." I responded.

"Really."

"Absolutely. I've seen them in major institutions. I mean it makes perfect since. Could you imagine anything else other than paisley?"

"No, I was just thinking that the other day in fact."

"I'm sure you were as we all know great minds think alike."

Flattered she then tells me, "Why don't you finish re-installing these here. When you get done with that there are other pieces in the three remaining offices here. Just put them where you see fit."

"Are you sure. You have much more of an eye than I."

"Well that maybe true but I trust you judgement." She turned and looked in her office. You could see the wheels turning from the back of here head.

"And what would be the distance between these pieces here you would want me to change?"

"Just use your judgement," she said never looking back at me. Then she walked into her office.

I put the piece I never installed in the first place right back on the hook from where it originally hung and then walked off to install in the three other offices. After I finished with that I pack my gear up to go home. As I was walking down the hall I happened to turn around and I see HER saying good night to fellow co-workers. I try not to look obvious as I speed up down the long hallway. There was only one elevator and I didn't want to leave room for conversation. I push the button. Come on, come on. The doors open she is almost to the elevator. I rush in and push the number to freedom.

"Can you hold that elevator" I hear HER voice as SHE manages to slide through just in time.

The doors now closed with the two of us in the golden rabbit hole. "You definitely have a strange approach to what you do." She told me. "But I guess in the art world you have to look at things differently."

"There is more than one way to view the world. There is more than one way to look in. There is more than one way to look out."

"I guess that makes sense... to some in any case."

"I find there is no sense to be made when there is no sense in making sense to someone that has no sense at all." The doors of freedom open. "And there in lies the irony."

I walked out. "We have more for you to do at some point." SHE holds the door to tell me that the game between us is fare from over.

"I look forward to that encounter." I smiled.

"I'm sure." SHE let the door go and it closed taking HER away.

The moral of the story? You can't fool the foolish or make sense out of nonsense. To play the game you must first understand the rules and know that the rules can be broken. NO ONE can hold anything over you. And when you realize that,... check... mate.

Tales From the Mushroom

  
The Wizard

The problem I have with the Harry Potter movies is not enough hats.

Tales From the Mushroom

Jambalaya George in the 

Curse of King Killgaro

I really miss the old time summer movies.

The Real True Grit

I remember asking my Grandfather when I was young what the difference was between a man and a boy. He told me in his tough and graveled voice that a man has rough hands from a hard days work. His back hurts but he doesn't tell anyone or make a big deal about it. A man doesn't take shit from NO ONE! I said I wanted to be a man just like him when I grew up and I wanted to get started right away. He laughed and told me to go to the end of the drive way and pick up some loose gravel. He said if I grind the gravel in my hands a little each day then my hands will be ready when I need them to work. With rough sandpapered hands I would be able to put up a fence faster than the rest of the boys or dig a hole quicker. Why I could even take a steer down faster than anyone my age if I already had a working man's hands. I did just what he told me. It hurt but I didn't let anyone know. At 5 years old I was on my way to manhood.

To be a male in my family was easy. The only guide you needed was to watch as many John Wayne movies as possible. The Duke was the Lee family guru of etiquette. If someone gets in your face you show them the knuckles. If someone tried to take something from you, why you just flash the old double barrel. A man sees the whites of your eyes and knows the the hammer is falling rather than be hit from behind with a cheap shot. They only see your pearly whites smile when they go crawling away from you. I wanted to be that. To be honest a little part of me still does. I don't think I'm the kind of man my Grandfather would have been proud of. I come from a long line of war veterans. A man doesn't talk about his feelings. You bury them along with your buddy on the battle field. If your foot hurts you shoot the other one to keep it company but a man would be damned to sit in a doctors office waiting to be helped. Whenever a bully threatened me the advice my father gave me was not to put my thumb inside my fist when I threw a punch. Growing up I thought that in order to be a man there must be pain, and an underlining life of hardship around every corner to conquer. But I wasn't a fighter. I liked animals and drew pictures all day. I let my family lineage down. I talk freely about my feelings. I don't rule with my fists. Is it possible that a man of girth and bran stillness can coexist in the same mind with that of peace and inner perspective? If it can then I am failing miserably. I am a pacifist and a time bomb all at the same time.

You see I didn't grow up with just the Duke. I also grew up with men like John Lennon singing about all you need is love and give peace a chance. The roles that men played have changed dramatically over the years since my Grandfather's youth. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. preached to love and not hate. He chose to march instead of destroy. He talked about fighting the good fight. How do you fight without your fists or guns? Steve McQueen would have run over your ass if you got in his way. Clint Eastwood would have filled you full of lead if you asked him how the weather was outside. Geronimo the great Apache chief lead his people by running miles across Arizona and Mexico on foot everyday and destroying anyone who got in his way before he was finally caught and forced to sign a treaty. Charles Bronson took no prisoners. Bruce Lee was unstoppable. Today's men like Samuel L. Jackson or Jeff Bridges are tough but never take themselves too seriously. So what happened between my Grandfather's and my generations? Where did all the men go? John Wayne never asked for peace. He just laid people to rest.

As much as I don't believe in war I have often thought about enlisting. Deep down I feel like it is a family duty and an honor I must uphold. How can I really understand peace without fully understanding war. But I made a decision and I have to firmly stand behind it. That is another characteristic of a man. You form your morals and you live by them. No one or outside pressures should influence that. If they do then you have no real conviction. John Wayne was full of convictions. So am I. That is one thing the Duke and I have in common.

I was there when ever one of my pets died. One of my dogs had a disease and her organs began to shut down. There was nothing we could do but make her comfortable. A real man would have probably put her out of her misery by breaking her neck quickly or shooting her with a gun. I didn't. I tried to make her as warm and comfortable as possible. I noticed one morning that she was bleeding from the mouth and nose. I cleaned her up and brought the kids in to the room with her and explained to them what was going to happen to her and what I was about to do. They said good-bye. I took her to the vet. I held her the same way I held every pet I had that died in my arms. She continued to bleed as I cleaned the blood away from her face with my hands whipping off the excess on my shirt. I held her in my lap the whole time. The vet told me she might loose control of her bowels when they put her under. I told them I was holding her anyway. She went peacefully soon after. She was just a dog. She was just an animal. Men wore animals on their backs. Men smelled like leather or and any other catch of the day. And yet when my dogs eyes rolled back in her head I kissed her forehead and cried like I have done with every pet that has graced my life. I'll bet John Wayne never had a pet.

My father-in-law's dying wish was to be buried on land that they owned. I was to help bury him. Can't man up any harder than digging a hole and putting a loved one in it, right? I didn't think I could do it. The memory is still there and I always think about it when the cool winter winds start to blow. The wood of the shovel digging into my hand. Moving earth and large rocks out of the way with just our backs. The brothers and I had amazing energy to do what we did in such a short time. We took one break and I lied down in the grave. I wanted to know what it felt like looking up through the twisted branches, earth, and rock. What did it feel like to be dead? I couldn't tell you. I'm alive. What I saw when I was on my back was sky. What I understood is that I'll never know what death is until I'm dead.

We laid their father down and spoke a few words. Men Don't cry. They just get the job done. I cried. After we said our peace the wind picked up and it began to rain and snow just a little. We finished burring him before the rest of the family showed up. I was so exhausted after that. I have never been so tired in all my life. My Grandfather's advice was meant to prepare me for this but you never really are. I'll bet John Wayne never did that.

I have raised my fists before. I have lost every time. My hands may be worn but there has never been massive strength behind my punch. I wish I could hit like a drunken sailor. Harrison Ford was my childhood hero. Every time I got in a fight I imagined the theme song from "Raider of the Lost Ark" going on in my head. Ford has this way of making fights look real. You can see the anxiety and frustration in his face as he punches his way trying to get himself out of another mess. Always thrown into the fire but never reluctant. I saw myself  that way for a while.

I remember a group of people holding this guy back from completely killing me and mopping up the floor with my toothpick body. I stood up and people were yelling at me to run. I start to stagger off when I heard, "HEY YOU LITTLE FAGGOT!" No one calls me or anyone else around me that! I turned into Harrison Ford all over again. I spun around for round two only to met up quickly with four knuckles. My head shot back so quickly I thought it broke off. I saw blood fly out of my mouth so fast I thought it was launched in outer space. My back hit the cold sidewalk so hard that it knocked the breath out of me and I passed out.

When I came to the person I was defending was standing over me. I didn't know him but these other guys were giving him a hard time and calling him faggot and pushing him around. I hated that term and felt like stepping up to the plate if no one else was. People always assumed I was gay and gave me a hard time growing up. It didn't matter if the guy was gay or not. I wasn't. I just felt that no needs to be picked on for being different.

"That was probably the dumbest thing I have ever seen in my life," he said as I came to.

"Your welcome," I said trying to feel my mouth.

"Do you really think violence is going to help anything? Suppose you kicked his ass. WHICH YOU DIDN'T! What is next. So what, you're going to go out and beat everyone up who utters a bad word. You're going to save us all Superman. Who to you think you are, Indiana Jones or something?"

How did he know. Anyway, he helped me up. I asked him, "So are all my teeth still there?" I half smiled.

"Yeah, your teeth still there," he said as he started to walk off. "It's your brain that's splattered all over the sidewalk."

After my head quit hurting I thought a lot about what he said. Not even Harrison Ford could take on the world. I doubt the Duke could either. But Ford and the Duke together! I didn't have someone that would get my back like that. So I had to think about how to fight in other ways. John Lennon came to mind about that time period. He fought with words and song. He was a force to be reckoned with. I could be a load mouth. Well, I mean that I could articulate how I felt and have a punch with the volume of my voice as much as he did. So that is what I did. John Wayne was a big man and could be in movies like the "Quiet Man" and get away with it. I'm a little man and had to get comfortable with who I really was. I didn't have my Grandfather's hands no matter how hard the grit I used to grind in the palms of my own hands.

It was a few days ago when I asked my 5 year old son how school was. He looked up at me and said, "I got pushed around today by a bully."

That old wound I had started hurting. I just gritted my teeth to hide the pain. I got angry. NO ONE shoves MY boy around! I could hear my Grandfather's voice loud and clear above my Mother's gentle "turn the other way" approach. Lennon was now getting his ass kicked by Metallica's "Seek and Destroy". I looked hard at him and said, "No matter how hard they push you, you stand right back up. Even if their bigger than you. You stand your ground Son."

"Do I push her back?" he asked.

"What?!... Push who?!" It took me a minute to register. "Oh no. No, no. She is a her? The bully is a girl?"

"Yeah! Should I push her back?"

I sighed, "No."

"Should I trip her and make her fall in a cactus?"

"What?! No! NO! Who told you to do that?"

"So what do I do?"

I sat down I held out my sandpapered hands. I looked at them both front and back. I could see the splinters from the days work. I saw bruises that must be weeks old.  My hands are so callused and have hurt for so long they numb now. I can't feel them anymore. I cut people when I try and touch them. I can't tell how soft a woman's skin is anymore or how fragile a child's hand is now. I just have to imagine how that person feels to me and then I know how soft I need to touch so that it doesn't hurt them. I have to touch now by remembering to feel. How was I going to feel my way through this one?

I put my hands on the table in front of me still looking at them. "Son, did I ever tell you the story about Davy and Goliath?"

"How is this going to help me?"

"Just listen. Did I tell you the story or not?"

"No. Can I go play?"

"No." He rolled his eyes and I began MY version of the story. "Goliath was this notorious giant who took whatever he wanted without asking. People were scared of him and they never stood up to him because they were afraid he would do something terrible. Everyone lived in fear while Goliath stole and lived off other peoples hard work."

"And then one day they shoot him with a gun," he interrupted.

"NO! Who told you... what is wrong with you? There are no guns. This is before guns were even made."

"Were there dinosaurs?"

"I'm not going that far back in time."

"Then they chopped him up with a sword."

"No. This my story and I'm telling it." I stopped long enough for the calm to return in my voice. "So one day this boy named Davy gets fed up. He is tired of being pushed around. So he walks across the town courtyard and calls out the to the giant who always sat at the end of the garden were people brought him whatever he wanted. Goliath stood up and cast a shadow a mile long as he approached the unruly boy. People stood all around the courtyard just staring at the commotion the boy was making, but not one of them interfered. The boy said he had had enough and he wasn't going to let the giant take anything else from his family ever again."

"So Davy beat him up?!"

I looked at my hands again. "No. There was a fight. The giant kicked Davy around like kick ball. But every time Davy fell down he would just get right back up again and shout "NO MORE!". The giant would kick harder and Davy kept getting up. No matter how hard Goliath hit Davy, Davy would just get right back up. Then Goliath hit Davy so hard it knocked him back 30 feet into a market wall. The giant thought he was done and laughed as he started to walk away. Then he told the crowd watching that was a lesson for all of them. Before the dust had settled out of the rubble the boy stared crawling back. He couldn't walk or stand but he was NOT giving up."

"So he got mad and beat the giant up?!"

"No," I said with a slight smile.  "The giant walked over to the crawling boy. You could feel the ground shack and rumble with each stride he took. He stopped right in front of the crippled boy and lifted the mighty sole of his shoe and crushed Davy like a bug in front of all the men, woman, and children watching. He killed Davy. No one interfered. They ALL watched this boy stand up to this mean nasty giant all by himself. The boy stood up for what he believed in even though he knew he couldn't win. He stood up for what they believed in too. And do you know what happened soon after that?"

"No, what?" he said now totally drawn in by my story.

"One by one people started standing up to Goliath. The giant would try and hurt them too but someone else would soon jump in or get in the way. News spread about the boy who stood up to the evil giant and soon people from all over were coming to tell the gigantic dictator what they thought of him. If a boy wasn't afraid then they could do it to. Soon there were too many people to keep off, even for Goliath. He took off running as the people chased him to the ocean. Without anywhere to go he jumped in the water and started swimming. He was a big man but it is bigger ocean. They never saw Goliath again. The moral of the story is that you are not going to win ever fight in your life. But you ALWAYS stand up for yourself and what you believe in. You never back down. You don't have to physically fight back. You just have to stand you ground. I real man can influence and unite others in his beliefs if he is strong enough to stand in the face of his own fears. Do you understand Little Man?"

My son thinks for a little bit. "Yeah. I guess I shouldn't push her back. I guess I get right back up again even though she made me cry and might step on me like a bug."

"Yeah," I consoled, "something like that."

The next day I asked my son how school went. He looked at me and said, "Fine."

"So the bully situation went better today?" I asked him.

"No. She took a ball from me and wouldn't give it back."

"So what did you do?"

"I told her I had it first and then she told me to move and get out of the way. So, so I didn't and she, she pushed me and I fell."

"I see. And what did you do?"

"I stood up and said no. And then Arlo and Max took the ball from her and gave it back to me. But then she looked like she got her feeling hurt so I gave her back the ball."

I felt proud. "See! There you go Little Man. That was very big of you."

"And then she threw the ball in my face real hard and I cried a lot."

"And that's my boy," I smiled back. "There is something I forgot to tell you. You can't win every battle. ESPECIALLY with girls. You gotta pick and choose and know which one's you can win before challenge a girl."

"So which one's can I win?" he asked looking for an ounce of wisdom.

I knelt down and said real softly, "When I figure that one out for myself, I promise you'll be the first one I tell."

"But I don't push back, right?" he whispered.

"Not physically. That one is a game you'll play your whole life." I whispered back.

John Wayne had kids but I'll bet he didn't raise them like I'm raising mine. And then again maybe he did. Maybe the golden age of cinema got manhood all wrong. I mean men are arrogant, vain, and even stupid at times. But we are not without feelings. Emotions dictate our actions. We may control those actions so that emotions do not dominate the situation but we move on gut feelings. Even Rocky Balboa cried at the end of Rocky II after beating up Apollo Creed for the boxing heavy weight title. Maybe I'm the next John Wayne for my generation. Yeah, that was a stretch but I'm pretty confident when I say a man is more than the size of the pistol he is packing. My hands are warn but I still remember what it was like to be a boy. I always will.

I'm sorry Grandpa, I let you down. I'm not a man like you. I wanted to but it just isn't me. But even though we are so different I love you, miss you, and still hold in the palm of my sandpapered hands the teachings you gave me that helped motivate and mold my life over the years. The real question now is could you have been man enough to accept me for the MAN I became?

Tales from the Mushroom

I loved the circus growing up. I always thought I would end up in one. Maybe I will when I finally do grow up one day. Hehehehehehehe!

Captain Slurpee and the Great White Lie

It is funny how a song can take you back to a particular time and place. That was the case just the other day when I was going to work. I was racing down the back streets hoping to improve my all time record of dropping the kids off at school and beating the time clock with my boss standing over it counting the minutes. Then I heard this song I had not heard in years. It was Captain and Tennille's "Love Will Keep Us Together". It was the crowning jewel of the 70s. The Cheese Whiz of the cheesy variety. And yet I found myself being honked at as I was sitting through a green light just listening to this really dated song from yesteryear. As bad as it is it leaves me feeling really good. It takes me back to my innocents. I travel back in time to my childhood and the years spent living with my Grandmother. It reintroduces me to my first girlfriend. I was 5 years old and she was 6 in a world that felt like a Captain and Tennille song. Life was all light and fluffy. We both had families with problems, but when you are a kid it is just part of the norm and everyday no matter who is shedding tears. For us it was just one big recess.

My girlfriend and I (who used to just be my buddy) got into all kinds of trouble. She would usually start it by daring me to do something. I would do it because I was to stupid to realize that I would get caught and get into trouble before she had her turn. I would get yelled at and then hit with the flyswatter by my Grandmother when I got home. The flyswatter was the equivalent of the switch. I would cry. Shanna would go home laughing. And then we would do it all over again the next day.

I remember the first time Shanna asked me to go with her and her mom to the bank. Going to the bank meant that they usually stopped off at the local convenient store and got a Slurpee. I loved Slurpees and this was my first trip without my family taking me anywhere so it was a big deal. We sat right next to each other in the back seat of this giant car. You have to remember that this was in the 70s and seat belts were not in vogue yet. Every car on the road was enormous until the Ford Pinto came along. But let's not dwell on mistakes.

Shanna's mom drove up to the bank window. Shanna reaches over and grabs my hand. My first thought was "weird". I saw adults do this and I always thought it would be slimy and gross after a while. But then again it felt kind of nice and comfortable. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night when all you want to do is curl up in it. And that's when it happened. THAT song came on the radio. "Love Will Keep Us Together" was a huge hit that year. At least it was in San Angelo, Texas. Shanna and I didn't say much on the way to the corner store.

When we got there we rushed in to get our one of a kind Slurpees. Another cool thing about that beverage is that you got to make your own. As a kid you didn't get to do much on your own so this was waaaay cool. After we got our drinks we walked over to the pinball machine and watched the teenagers play. I loved the sounds and lights it made. I was completely in  trance. Shanna reached over a held my hand again. Why did she keep doing that? I guess I didn't mind so much because I don't remember pulling my hand away.

We got back in the car to go home after a quick emergency refill of Slurpee. Kids invented the refill. It wasn't legal back then. But how are you going to tell two troublesome kids no. So like I was saying, we get back in the car. We must have let go of each others hand in order to get in but I'm not sure when because we were still holding hands on the way home. Her mom asked us if we wanted to listen to some of her music. Then she plopped in an eight track tape. And guess who it was? Like I said, it was a popular year for Captain and Tennille.

Shanna looks at me and asked,"So what are you going to wear to our wedding?"

The question didn't even phase me as I quickly answered, "I really really want this Batman T-shirt and my mom says we can't afford it. So I'm going to save up and buy it. I'm wearing that to our wedding."

"That's stupid. You can't wear that to our wedding. You have to wear something fancy and nice," she scolded.

"Batman is nice! It is a real nice t-shirt too!" I shot back.

"You can't wear it to our wedding."

"Why not?"

"Because you are marrying ME! That's why not! You need to wear nice shoes, a dress shirt, and a bow tie."

I sighed, "Okay. So what color dress are you wearing?"

"I'm not wearing a dress. I don't like them. Not even for you. I'm wearing A nice white shirt and white pants. I have them in my closet now." She sounded very proud of that fact.

"You can't wear white. You'll get it dirty."

"Then what color should I wear?"

I looked at my lime green frosty drink. "I think you should wear green."

"Boogers are green. I'm not wearing a booger on our wedding day." She shook her head. Then she smiled. "Hey, you wanna see who can drink their Slurpee the fastest? I'll give you a head start."

"Okay!" And I took a big gulp. A few seconds later... "OOOOOOOOUCH!"

"HA HA! Brain freeze! Your so stupid." she began to slurp on her straw.

"No I'm not"

"Yes you are," she said with more confidence than I had used. "That is another reason we need to get married. It's so I can tell you what to do."

"I don't need you tell me what to do!"

"Yes you do. All boys need to be told what to do. That's what girls do. I tell you what to do and you do it. Very simple. So you just better just get used to it."

I couldn't  win with her. I never could. So I was just content in my Slurpee and holding her hand. She was content in being right as usual.

"Your so stupid," she laughs.

"No I'm not! And if I am then why do you want to marry me?"

"That makes no sense. You either are stupid or you're not." She shook her head as if a gesture could say a thousand words. Words I have heard from her before. Then she looked out the window. "Because I like you." She held my hand tighter. I was cool with that.

After a few moments and the end of the song of the year she turns to me and said, "So do you think your parents will come to our wedding? You know, since they're not around much now."

"Shanna," Her mom interrupted, "I think that's enough talk about a wedding. You both are to young for that anyway."

"Okay," we both said. It was quiet for a little while.

Shanna's mom turned down our street for home and Shanna holds my hand even tighter and said, "Hey you wanna see who can drink their Slurpee before we pull into the driveway? I'll give you a head start."

I looked at her and said, "Okay!" You can assume what happened next.

There were more trips to the corner store that year. I heard that damn click of the eight track tape in her mother's car to the song that wouldn't fade away over and over again. Shanna and I held hands, drank Slurpees, and watched the pinball tournaments in the back of the store by the bathrooms next to the bucket of mop water. Despite what was going on at home, I felt good.

Then one day she calls me over to her house. She tells me that things are going way to fast and we have to call off the wedding. She gives me her red Ronald McDonald plastic watch to remember her by. I give her my Lime green Hamburglar watch. She hugged me. Weird. At first. I went home to my Grandmother's house. Shanna didn't tell me they were moving. A few days later she was gone. The neighborhood felt different after that. It felt like winter all the time. Cold and empty. There was no one to get in trouble with. Shanna was right. I was stupid. I never really knew what she meant with all the talk about weddings. I thought it was just a game. Why did she hug me? Why did she always want to hold hands? I didn't have a clue. But I sure missed it when she was gone.

When you are a kid you are always caught in little white lies. Everything is little when you are a kid. But suddenly things start getting bigger. No one took me to the corner store anymore. Captain and Tennille lied. Love can't keep us together. Now Shanna was gone just like everyone else in my life. I started to realize how she had managed to show me how good life was... my life... our life. Then one day it's all gone and all your left with is a stupid song in your head.

My mom came back for my sister and me a few months later. My parents tried the family thing again a few months after that. I always thought my mom and dad needed to hear that song. Maybe there life together would have been as simple as mine Shanna's was. Maybe not. My parents are still together and now I have my own family. I wonder how Shanna's life turned out. All I know is that I'll always remember her whenever I walk into a convenient store that has a Slurpee machine. I'll think of her when I smell the mixture of mop water, motor oil, bad air fresheners, and cheesy nachos accompanied by the sounds and lights of a pinball machine. It is funny how some of the weirdest things help you to remember some pretty good times. And they may not have been long winded but they are times just as important in developing who you are. Apparently this song reminds me of my buddy Shanna too. It is such bad song, but It made me realize in my car that was stopped at the green light the other day that I AM stupid. Love does keep us together if only for a short moment in time in our hearts. Do you remember when the coolest thing in the world was holding hands. I do. I need to remember to do more of that.

So, for old times sake, as Humphery Bogart once said, "Play it again Sam."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BURIAZwJkPc&feature=related

Tales from the Mushroom

I love B-movies! I hope to be in one some day. I have a lot of great ideas. Here is one I can't wait to star in. It is an Indiana Jones meets Planet of the Apes theme.