DTY XL

My brother David turns 40 today.
Some stuff.

- When I was at UMass/Amherst, I had blown off an assignment for the class History of Jazz up to the day before it was due: a 10-page biography of a jazz artist. I recalled a paper David had written on John Coltrane a few years earlier so I called him, not sure what I'd be asking for. In the end, as I went to classes, he dictated his paper over the phone, into my microcassette recorder, which I rested next to the phone receiver in my dorm room. When I got back, I transcribed the recording and the next day handed it in.

- When we shared a bedroom, one Sunday David shifted his bed by 90 degrees as a redecorating move. Immediately he regretted it, but before returning it to its rightful place, he had me man his video camera to tape a short film about a man waking up in the bed and discovering it was moved. The man's reaction was an apocalyptic stew of rage, despair and depression, ending in weeping. Fade to black.

- When I was living with a couple of folks in the late '90s I was broke. I was making $8 an hour at a photo lab. Fresh home from work one night, I was going through the mail when my roommate called to me from the next room, wondering if I had her money for the electric bill that she had paid in full. As she was asking her question, I was opening an envelope from David. Inside was a blank piece of paper, and taped to that was a $20 bill folded up into a tight square. I removed the money, unfurled it on my way to the living room, and handed it to her, saying pay me back the difference when you can. David didn't owe me any money and it wasn't anywhere near any holiday.

- At my parents' house one weekday we were sitting around, watching TV, when one of us noticed that mailman had a companion with him as he approached the house. We took cover and peered out the front. The second man had a pen & clipboard and was dressed in civvies. As they continued on their way, we scampered from the front window to the top of the stairs, where we had a clear view of their progress to each house around the cul-de-sac. The clipboard man was making notes and watching, making notes and watching, and walking a good body's length behind the mailman. "Poor guy's just trying to do his job!" "Look at that asshole!" "Can you imagine that?" Our comments were half-serious, half-ridiculous. Maybe the mailman deserved this imposition on his route. We didn't know. Either way, as they were directly across the street, I suddenly threw open the window and screamed "Whyn'choo stop sweatin' him, man?!" then slammed it shut. We collapsed on the floor in fits of breathless, shuddering, red-faced laughter.

- When we were roommates in Quincy, we were watching a news report about a house fire that had been deliberately started by the owners' young son. "Imagine that?" David said. "You have kid and they end up going an' burning down your fuckin' house."

- One night when we lived at my parents', the movie theater David managed was closed due to heavy snowfall. Since we lived about a two-minute drive away, and were otherwise housebound, he asked if I wanted to go open up the Cameo and watch A Few Good Men with him. Which we did. A Few Good Men is not a very good movie, but I can vouch a hundredfold for its entertainment value if you can secure a private viewing in an old movie theater in the middle of a blizzard.

Happy 40th to David and may there be 400,000 more!

the other side of Matt Dillon

From time to time, usually while showering or falling asleep at night, I'll fantasize about meeting a particular pop culture figure and play out a conversation - mostly one-sided - wherein I ingratiate myself to him or her in some small way that in my mind shows them that I'm a level-headed person who's treating them as a person rather than a celebrity. It's a comforting routine; not at all important, and fun to do. Ironically, meeting these types of people in real life usually ends up with me stumbling over my words and walking away wishing I could do it over again.
Example: this morning in the shower I spoke with Matthew Perry. We were in a hotel lobby.
Me: Hey man, when Friends was on, I got the Chandler comparison a lot.
Him: Oh really?
Me: Yeah, and I just wanted to let you know I always took it as a compliment. That was a good character, and you played him well.
Him: Thanks.
And, Scene.
I think this routine stems from a few things, not the least of which is the deep tureen full of pop culture knowledge I have stored in my brains, which apparently needs to be dunked into and poured into moment-sized bowls once in a while. Another root of these imagined run-ins is my inclination to view (some) celebrities as people who were once not celebrities, and that they are still those people, in some way. Matthew Perry auditioned for the role of Chandler; he was not guaranteed it. He waited (I imagine) for a callback. Part (maybe most) of him was not expecting a callback. That part of him still exists (hopefully). As usual, I am reminded of Star Wars. "I know there is good in him." So being reminded that he simply did a good job at his craft is something I assume (perhaps outrageously incorrectly) Matthew Perry would like to hear from a stranger.
At the Shannon Airport in Ireland in 2005, in the customs line, I noticed I was in front of Matt Dillon. I quickly stirred through my reference database for something that might make it worth turning around and engaging him. Go way back, I thought. Tex. The Outsiders. No, nothing unique to say about those. "You were really funny in There's Something About Mary." He's heard that. Matt Dillon...hmm...and as I began to wonder "wasn't he in My Bodyguard?" (he was) I tuned in to the realization that the man behind him had made his move. The topic was, of all things, the film Rumblefish, an early 80s black and white film that starred Dillon and Tom Waits and was directed by Francis Coppola. The man was a Rumblefish fan, from the sound of it, and Dillon sounded genuinely interested in talking with him. They commiserated over the film having a certain 'look', which Dillon attributed to Coppola shooting in color, then later transferring the print to black and white.
Though the line was still long, and there would have been time, I stopped trying to think of something to say. This guy on the other side of Matt Dillon had taken care of the job I assumed I was there to do.

Rush Limbaugh is a pet owner

This afternoon in my car I tuned to Rush Limbaugh's show. He talked about his new pet dog or cat then took a call from a man in Missouri. The caller asked Rush why he shouldn't renounce his U.S. citizenship, given that illegals in this country have more benefits than himself. Rush paused, and began his answer:
"Well...you would hate yourself everyda-"
I switched it there.

Showing The Wiz To A Class Of Third-Graders In 2005

Last night while aiming for sleep, a memory bubbled to the surface, of a bit of prose I wrote back when I was substitute teaching. The class was music, and to try to keep the third-graders occupied, I elected to show a video. I first tried Fantasia 2000, but they grew restless halfway through Rhapsody In Blue. Next I tried The Wiz. This wasn't any more successful. I couldn't blame them - it's not aged great for young audiences. I pointed out that The Scarecrow was Michael Jackson. They didn't believe me. They made some off-color cracks about Michael - third-graders yes, but these were city kids - and I realized that between their general exposure to Michael and this terrible film, a little history needed to be taught. When I was your age Michael Jackson was the biggest deal on Earth. When I was your age Michael Jackson wasn't weird or scary. Who's your favorite singer? Michael Jackson was more famous than them. He was the biggest star since Elvis Maybe that's why he didn't make it.

Bumpersnicker

I was walking and had just had a talk that was weighing me down when I noticed a sticker on the rear window of a parked red SUV. "My son is an EMT. My son saves lives. What does your son do?" it read. Instant fiery rage. Fuck you. I kept walking, and made some decisions. I had my red keychain Sharpie with me (this was exactly the sort of situation for which I keep that thing with me). I looked for paper on the ground. Didn't find any, but no matter - I would find something. I'd need tape. I walked into Dunkin' Donuts and asked for a receipt. In the parking lot, I took out my wallet and found a Starbucks gift card receipt and scanned it for any information that could lead back to me. Then I turned it over and used the wallet as a desk as I wrote "MY SON IS DEAD. THANKS." I attached the tape and approached the SUV, a little thrill rising up as I realized the timing was going to be perfect. It was parallel-parked, and the stream of traffic going past it was about to end. I stood behind it, waiting for the last one or two cars to pass. I'd press my note below the offending sticker and cross the street. One car to go. Suddenly a faint beep beep, and the SUV's rear lights flash and stop. The owner, the goddamned EMT's mom, the most important woman of all time ever, steps off the sidewalk and climbs into her SUV. I cross the street, crumpling the note in my hand.

10 & 2

CBS aired a news magazine program in the 80s called 48 Hours. In one episode they followed around a NYC cabbie as he worked. One moment in the feature stuck with me - the cabbie points out a driver in a car nearby and notes that they're driving with their hands locked in position at "10 & 2" - the position we are all told as driving students is proper at all times. He went on to say that he needs to get away from that car, that driver, because they are obviously crazy. He said that anyone driving with their hands in the "10 & 2" position is crazy.
I was about 14 when I saw this. I wouldn't have a driver's license for another 5 years (late bloomer). But I carried this nugget of cab driver wisdom with me and for a long time accepted it as gospel truth. This was partly because as an angsty youth, I enjoyed seeing somebody espouse a blatant disregard for 'rules' and partly because he was in NYC, which meant he was right.
Only a couple of years ago did a lightbulb flicker in my mind and I realized that that cabbie was most likely insane.

The Last Day Of Work

a list:
1) fired for calling in sick from an ice cream stand on a hot Friday night
2) called and told my co-worker to tell the restaurant owner that after 4 years of dishwashing, I wasn't coming in today or anymore
3) at the end of my two week notice, told off an unreasonable customer by throwing his film negatives in his face and dancing around him in a circle while singing 'Got To Be Real' then telling him to get the fuck out of my store
4) went to collect my severance check and was told by the newspaper's HR people that I was fired for disgruntled cartooning
5) hoped for cake, got nothing
6) threatened the paper's owner with physical violence and told him he was a scumsucking motherfucker as he wrote out my final check
7) got drunk (in the restaurant)
8) got drunk (in the office)
9) terminated via email after one week on the job