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Sunday, Tim, Beth and I sat around the campfire as the blanket of stars began to shine overhead and Tim read aloud the legend of Tucumcari. Tucumcari is the Comanche word for “to lie and wait” and was so termed as Tucumcari Mountain was used as a scouting point for the surrounding plains.
The Tucumcari legend also has its roots in a tragic love story, very similar to a Shakespearean masterpiece. The legend has it that two warriors, Tocom and Tonopah, were both in love with the same maiden, Kari. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Tocom and Kari were already secretly in love. When Tonopah found out, he killed Tocom. When Kari discovered Tonopah was behind the death of her lover, she first killed Tonopah and then herself. The tribal chief, Wautonomah, distraught by these devastating and tragic events also kills himself. As he lay dying he uttered with his last breath… “Tocom-Kari.”
And it was said that their bodies were buried on Tucumcari Mountain… forever in love, lying and waiting. As with the well known tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, the Native American version was very romantic.
As the fire began to die out, Tim and Beth, genetically morning people, soon retired for the night into the tent. Sunday and I, theatrically night people, had hours ahead of us before we could drift off to sleep. With the legend of Tucumcari still fresh in our minds we strolled under the star-filled sky with a half-crescent moon shining down on the desert landscape.
We walked passed the various RVs and campers, including a micro-tent with two ten-speed bikes locked to a tree near the tent entrance. I immediately thought of my brothers, John and Stephen, and their bike trip to Florida. I wondered who the two adventures were resting their weary legs inside that very small tent and where their bikes would lead them next.
Eventually Sunday and I made our way to a picnic table near the restrooms on the far end of the campground. We sat on opposite ends of the long table and laid back, our heads next to each other, facing opposite directions, staring up at the infinite number of lights in the sky.
You truly cannot comprehend the grandeur of God’s creation, and our very small place in it, until you have lain under the twinkling canopy of a starlit desert sky. With so many stars, so many suns and so many worlds above you, you quickly realize that your life on this small planet, near this small sun, in this average galaxy is not nearly as important as you once thought.
We chatted for some time about life and humility and the legend of Tucumcari. Then we lay a while, silently absorbing the immensity of the light show surrounding us. We stared and dreamed and Sunday looked over to me and said, “It’s romantic out here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…” I fumbled.
Suddenly, we found our platonic relationship getting cloudy. We looked at each other with momentary mixed emotions. Our trance was broken as Sunday bolted up.
“I’m heading back,” she said as she quickly hopped off the table.
“I’m going to stay out here a while,” I said. “Have a good night’s sleep.”
“Okay,” she said as she dropped her head and silently thought to herself for a moment, before turning and heading back to our campsite.
I focused my attention back to the stars above me, wondering if I imagined or misinterpreted or over-reacted to the something or nothing or whatever that did or did not almost not happen.
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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
The foundation of any great movie is a great script. There are some scripts that are so solid, so tight, so perfect in execution that they are worthy of recognition apart the film itself. Some such scripts that immediately come to mind include Citizen Kane, Casablanca, Chinatown, The Matrix, Raiders of the Lost Ark and Back to the Future.
Last night I watched Back to the Future for the first time in many years and was amazed at how wonderfully full and vibrant and completely intertwined the story unfolded. Every scene has a goal and an obstacle that effectively builds upon itself to a wonderfully satisfying climax. Every line has meaning and subtext and foreshadowing and history. And, for a time travel film, the logic of the time travel and its effects are completely logical and believable.
On top of all of that, the story is a wonderful mix of genres. Back to the Future is a science fiction, teen comedy, coming-of-age, action, melodrama. Effectively satisfying any one of those genres is an accomplishment in and of itself, but with Future, the unique combination of all of these genres makes the sum greater than its parts.
The casting of Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, Lea Thompson, Crispin Glover and Thomas F. Wilson are perfect. As a matter of fact, Wilson, as Biff, is so perfect in capturing the role that he has been typecast ever since.
This film is a real joy to watch, even though some of the topical humor is somewhat dated. As you watch the film, take a moment to enjoy the incredible writing for which the film was built upon. It is a rare piece of screenwriting.
My tent set-up heroics quickly faded into our memories as we scoured the small town of Tucumcari for some grub. We decided to partake of some quality economy food at the local Golden Corral Steakhouse. This was the first real meal we’d had all day, so we devoured the out-of-the-box tasting buffet like, well, four people who hadn’t eaten all day. Not wanting to close out the meal with the available bland tasting, lightly flavored ice milk, we walked the streets of the town and eventually stopped at one of my all time favorite haunts… a mom and pop ice cream shop. I quickly inhaled a hot fudge sundae and was officially and effectively stuffed.
We continued walking the streets of the small, historic town as the sun began to set. Tucumcari is one of the stops of the famed Route 66 and was heavily visited when that thoroughfare was in its heyday. The walk was very pleasant and gave us a good chance to stretch our legs.
When we returned to the campground we finished unpacking our camping supplies only to find something missing.
“Sunday,” I asked, “where’s your sleeping bag?”
“My what?” she replied.
“Your sleeping bag,” I repeated.
“I don’t have one,” she confirmed.
“But, I told you we were camping on this trip. What did you think you were going to sleep in?” I continued.
“I didn’t really think about it,” she answered.
As I looked over to her large stack of luggage I tried to comprehend that amidst all of her belongings, there wasn’t a sleeping bag, or tent or RV in there somewhere.
So, what did we have… three sleeping bags, two blankets and four people. Interesting. Since I asked Sunday to join our trip, it was my responsibility to fix this minor problem.
“Okay, how about I’ll open up my sleeping bag and put it on the floor. We’ll have to share the opened bag as our bed bottom and then we’ll each have a blanket of our own. Is that okay?” I asked.
“That’d be fine,” she said with a thanking smile and I went about making up the sleeping arrangements.
As the sun slumped below the New Mexico horizon, the temperature started to drop. Tim made a small fire and I finished constructing the makeshift tent sleeping assignments. I wasn’t overly concerned about sharing my sleeping bag and blankets with Sunday. Having traveled to Miami for a play, to South Carolina for a regional theater competition and to New York for graduate school auditions, sharing a floor with someone was not new to me. As long as I had enough space to fall into an unconscious state, that was enough for me.
As a matter of fact, sleeping on the ground was something I had perfected in college. When I was a freshman, I would see students scattered throughout campus, crashed on the ground or sleeping on a bench. I remember looking at them with disgust, claiming I would never do such a thing.
By the time I was a senior, my scholastic and social schedule were overbooked. Plus, my car had died, so I had to ride my bike everywhere. Everyday I would ride eight miles to school, then eight miles to work, then eight miles to school for rehearsal, then eight miles back home. So, if you were counting at home, that means I was riding 32 miles a day while living on milk, Oreos and four hours of sleep.
This hectic lifestyle enlightened me to the benefits of sleeping on any surface that didn’t move. As a matter of fact, to make sure I wouldn’t miss class I would sleep at the foot of the door of my next one, so when the previous students left, I could roll off the floor and fully awaken myself in time.
This day in New Mexico, however, I was more concerned about Sunday being comfortable having to sleep next to me than me having to sleep next to her.
Everything was going as planned, until the stars came out.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
In a time where it seems that Christianity has become the acceptable cultural punching bag, it's easy to get lost in the anti-Christian arguments instead of focusing on some of the great cultural accomplishments that Christianity has offered to us.
In Christianity Today, they captured some of these great moments in a nice article, from the reality of the Crusades to the Inquisition to some of the more basic impacts, such as literacy due to the bible or education during the dark ages.
You can read the entire article HERE.
I grew up watching the original Star Trek television series and, like many others, considered Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, McCoy and Scotty almost as family. The advent of syndication gave Star Trek a second wind and the release of Star Trek: The Motion Picture brought the original cast back to kick off a successful movie franchise.
Star Trek: The Motion Picture was uneven and unimaginative, rehashing familiar television storylines, but the release of the second film, Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Kahn was the film all Trek fans had been waiting for. It brought back a character from the original television series that was seeking revenge against Kirk. It was fun and had a lot of great action, wonderful character interaction, the unexpected death of Mr. Spock and exceeded all of the Trek fans expectations.
With the success of Kahn the Trek fans were frothing at the mouth for the next great adventure. The follow up was Star Trek III: The Search For Spock. Like most fans at the time, I expected ST3 to be Kahn, but even more so. In reality, it is a very different story. It deals with Kirk's journey to put his friend, Mr. Spock, into his appropriate final resting place. He sacrifices his friendships, his career and even puts his life on the line because of his love for his friend.
Star Trek: The Original TV Series
I sat down with my movie nut daughter to introduce her to the Star Trek universe. After watching ST3 I turned to her and said "that is some of the best acting I've ever seen William Shatner (Kirk) perform!" Now that the glow of Kahn expectations was over 20 years old, I was able to take in ST3 for what it was, an introspective story on male friendships, of sacrifice, of grieving and of loss. There are some powerful and quiet moments as Kirk struggles with the loss of Spock and the internal battle he faces over it. Sure there are chase scenes and space battles, but this story is so much more than Kahn or any other Star Trek film.
Revisiting this film was a tremendous treat.
If you have the time, I strongly suggest watching Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in one sitting as they are three films that tell one, continuous story. Follow that up with Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country and you've tied up the original franchise very well. Avoid Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier as they are far less than they could have been.
Twenty-two years ago, I walked out of the theater thinking Star Trek III was an incredible disappointment. Buffering a few decades between viewings has given me the objectiveness to appreciate the story the filmmakers were trying to tell, instead of the story I had expected to see. Rent the DVD and watch Shatner at his best as the infamous character of Captain James T. Kirk.
I grew up camping. My family and I camped in Massachusetts, on the top of Black Mountain, in the Rocky Mountains, the Smokey Mountains, in Indiana, Illinois and many other places. We didn’t stay at the K.O.A. campgrounds either, those were for wusses… and they cost more money. K.O.A.s were too luxurious for us. Paved roads, hah! Community pool, please! Electricity, what is this, a hotel?
No, we roughed it. We were tough. Give us a small clearing, a level site and home was where the tent was.
So, heading into our first foray of camping at the K.O.A. in Tucumcari, New Mexico, I was completely confident. I would have been comfortable putting down stakes anywhere in the arid Southwest, but my fellow travelers were not as seasoned as I, so we settled for the relative luxury of a K.O.A. campground at the base of Tucumcari Mountain.
K.O.A. at Tucumcari
I was a seasoned veteran. My friends looked to me for guidance and experience. But, I had forgotten one, minor thing… I didn’t actually do any of the work when I camped with my family. I was a kid. And a lazy one at that.
Being a man, with a beautiful, yet unattainable woman watching my every move, I had to keep up appearances. So, Tim and I unrolled the tent and fumbled with the supporting poles and zippers like a blind spastic trying to juggle jello. After recovering from that temporary setback, I pulled out the ten plastic stakes, ready to secure the base of the tent to the rock solid floor nature had provided us. I looked up to my best friend.
“Where’s the hammer, Tim?” I asked.
“Hammer… hmmm. It’s not in there?” he questioned.
“Nope.” I verified.
He turned to his girlfriend and asked, “Beth, did you bring a hammer?”
What!?! Why not just take my take out a pair of hedge clippers and castrate me right there! Asking his girlfriend if she brought a hammer so we could put up the tent? How emasculating! I stepped back as if hit in the gut with a sledge hammer, feeling emotionally sterile as Tim and Beth rifled through the hidden orifices below the hatchback.
Moments later he popped his head above the trunk and surmised “We forgot it.”
Tucumcari Mountain
Great men do great things at important times. This was my chance. This was my time! I had to save face so I could beat my Neanderthalic man-chest with honor. I quickly scanned the surrounding area like a predator on the prowl. Eventually I found my prey… a big, red rock. With tiger-like reflexes I closed in on the immobile object and snatched it from its family of pebbles.
Determined to prop up my canvas cave, I placed the plastic stake through the tent loop, pulled the base of the tent tight, diagonally angled the stake into the ground, raised my still warm rock carcass and swung with the force of Atlas.
You know, the sound of a rock hitting plastic is very anti-climatic.
Despite my Herculian efforts, the weak, orange plastic stake did not puncture the hardened rock of the New Mexico ground. With unflinching determination, I put a little mustard behind my next swing and struck the stake with such a force that it’s little plastic top sheered off and flied through the air like a royal head during the French Revolution.
That’s was unexpected. My Dad always brought a hammer. And our tent had metal stakes. I grew up in Florida, where the ground was made of soft sand. What the hell am I doing in a dessert trying to pound a plastic stake into pure rock with… a rock?
Using my college algebra skills, I quickly recalculated our actual stake-to-tent loop ratio and figured we could lose one and not know the difference. I reinserted another plastic stake into the loop, pulled the tent base tight, angled the stake, raised the rock and struck with all of my force.
Again, the stake head sheered off. “Off with its head!” I exclaimed in a faux French accent.
A retiree watched with bemused curiosity from the comfort of his RV at the camp site next to us.
“Need a hammer?” he chuckled.
Acting as if it were an unnecessary excess I replied “Well… sure.”
Using our K.O.A. neighbor’s hammer I slugged the plastic stakes into submission, eventually piercing the solid foundation and securing our tent to the floor.
Like after a great mammoth hunt, I was exhausted and hungry. Tim and I proudly marveled at our great accomplishment. Our reveling in self-congratulatory pronouncements was interrupted by the women complaining about being bored, hungry and bored.
Sure, they looked disinterested and completely unimpressed, but deep inside I knew that my masculine heroics were that of legend and would resound in their memories for years to come.
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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
Waiting for the girl you like to call you back. Staring at water about to boil. Watching paint dry. Having a colonoscopy. All of these have one thing in common; they unnaturally warp time in a way that makes you want to smash a ball peen hammer into your skull… repeatedly. Watching the western Texas landscape fly by your window for over four hundred minutes could now be officially added to that mix.
We were spoiled during our first few days by quickly moving through Florida, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. Texas was different. You know, they say everything is big in Texas. You know why? Because Texas is the size of Pluto. It’s massive. If you were to take all of the egos in Hollywood, convert them to land mass and throw dirt on it, you’d have Houston, at best. Texas is THAT BIG!
The day before I was pleasantly surprised by the rolling green hills of eastern Texas, but about thirty minutes west of Dallas you begin to see the Texas made famous in television and movies. There’s a lot sand and dirt and sand and heat and sand and bushes and sand. For about ten minutes I kept thinking, “Wow, this is cool!” After that it became mind-alteringly monotonous.
To put it into perspective, let me state it to you this way… imagine the worst spouse you could ever devise, give them a squeaky, nasally voice with a severe allergy to silence. Take that spouse, give them long polished nails and have them scratch a chalk board. Get into a small sports car with that spouse and chalkboard and combine that with blowing an air horn in your ear and that’s almost as painful as the first hour of watching mound after mound of fine Texan sand move past your car window.
Seven hours later we were still watching the rolling dunes grace our peripheral vision. So, crossing into New Mexico was like giving birth to a porcupine. It hurt like hell getting there, but you sure were glad when it was all over.
Tim pulled out his AAA Trip Ticket that outlines your path, gas stations, restrooms, dining and lodging options and stated we were only thirty-five miles from our next destination.
Tucumcari, New Mexico… home to a tragic Indian love story and the beginning of an ill prepared, problematic camping experience.
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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
From Newsmax.com - a great article about one of the passengers on Flight 93. Thomas Burnett was one of the passengers who led an effort to retake the plane and apparently both he and his wife had a premonition of his early death.
What is even more inspiring is his return to his Catholic faith prior to the event, even forgoing lunch in order to attend daily mass and also saying the rosary.
You can read more about this great man with great faith here at the Newsmax.com website.
I was walking through Best Buy last night and a new Stryper CD, called Reborn, caught my eye. Stryper was a rock band that came out in the mid-80's that brought Christ to the heavy metal scene. They were the first Christian band to cross over to mainstream success. They were heavily criticized for being both Christian and heavy metal, but who more needed the word of Christ than heavy metal fans. The name Stryper comes from Isaiah 53:5, "by his stripes, we are healed" referring that through the wounds of Christ we are healed of our sins. They wore yellow and black outfits, had big hair and tossed out bibles to the crowd during their concerts. Their albums Soldiers Under Command, To Hell With The Devil and In God We Trust sold millions of copies and a couple of Top 40 hits.
In spite of all of the theatrics, best of all Stryper were excellent musicians. It had been 15 years since their last release and I was curious how the latest CD would sound. To my great satisfaction, Reborn is an excellent album. Reborn is more rock than heavy metal and all of their songs are either God speaking to us or us praying to God. The songs are catchy and full of spirit. If you're a Stryper fan, then I strongly recommend getting a copy of Reborn. It is receiving great reviews and is worth a listen.
Somehow, waking up in Dallas gave me a sense of movement, accomplishment, a sense of making progress on our journey. Being the last of eight children, our parents never had a lot of money and our travels were primarily limited to visiting family in the northeastern part of the country. We almost always camped on our journeys, so staying in a nice hotel like the Red Roof Inn felt like a gift, an added bonus for taking the trip. With every state line we crossed as we headed West meant I was entering unknown territory, like Lewis and Clark, except on paved roads with fast food restaurants, air conditioned restrooms and, of course, sans native residents wanting to kill us.
That morning I convinced Tim to let me take the first drive of the day. Sitting behind the steering wheel, with the car successfully repacked, I was suddenly aware that our luggage had created a massively dangerous blind spot. Basically, the entire back hatchback window was blocked by our finely organized belongings. It did not daunt me, however, as in college I had to drive a large van with an extended back for my student aid position, so maneuvering a slick, speedy hatchback out of a parking lot was no problem at all, no matter what sight limitations challenged me.
Or so I thought.
A moment after sliding the stick into reverse and easing the Acura backwards, the car shuttered with a small “thunk!” I had hit something.
I got out of the car to find a small scratch on the back bumper and an equally surprised man from Los Angeles staring at the back of his rental car. As L.A. Man and I exchanged insurance information, Beth stewed with an excessively agitated “I told you so” look being equally distributed between Tim and myself. Tim calmed her as we re-entered the car, showing friendly confidence in me by allowing me to continue to drive his almost new, newly scratched sports car.
I’m sure to Beth’s surprise, I carefully continued out of the parking lot and made it to the interstate without hitting anyone.
As I put the car into fifth gear and settled into my shift behind the wheel, I pondered the unfortunate event in the parking lot. Considering the random nature of the universe, what are the odds that a man from Florida, driving a car he does not own, would back into a man from Los Angeles, driving a car he does not own, in a parking lot smack dab in the middle of the country? I mean, think of all of the people in California. Now think of all of the people in Florida. How many of those two groups would happen to be in Texas and how many of those would be driving cars they don’t own and how many of those would have stayed at the Red Roof Inn in Dallas, and how many of those would have parked in my blind spot and how many of those would have backed up at the same moment in time that I put that car into Reverse and how many of those would I have actually hit?
If you really think about it, what happened that morning was incredibly special!
I doubt I would have been able to convince anyone else… or myself, for that matter. I actually felt terrible. I just damaged my best friend’s car to kick off the third day of our trip. Normally, a trip such as this would strain any friendship. Add to that beating up his new car… well, that sure won’t soften the journey any.
The best thing I could do is to wait and let the event slip slowly into the ether. Eventually another conversation, another landmark, another state line would cross our paths and we’d all be focused on the next big adventure.
For now, I kept my eyes fixed on the road, staring at the arid Texas landscape quickly passing us by.
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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
Illegal immigrants from all over the country rallied yesterday to show just how valuable their participation is to our economy.
I think its a great idea... I just hope the INS was out with their cameras, took pictures, followed them home and deported them.
Here's my take on how to solve the illegal immigration issue:
- Severe financial punishments to companies that hire illegals including paying a huge fine, paying for lost taxes and the cost of deporting the illegals back to their homeland.
- Mexico's government is so corrupt that waiting for them to make their economy more robust is a lost cause... or at least a long term wait. Until then, we have to secure our borders, whether that be by troops, walls, etc. Bush convinced me terrorism is a threat. Believing that means leaving the borders open is insane.
- When illegals currently serving time in our prisons are done, they are deported. (I think they currently are).
- The cost of keeping illegals in our prisons with life sentences or on death row is deducted from financial aid currently provided to those countries.
- The cost of healthcare for illegals in our country is deducted from financial aid currently provided to those countries.
Will fixing this immigration issue effect our economy? Short term, things will cost more. Long term, the cost that illegal immigrants put on our health care system, our prison system and not paying taxes will be a great economic benefit.
If you want to get into this country, follow the laws. If you don't follow the laws on how to come in here, why should we believe you will follow any other law placed in your way?
If you want to come here legally, we'll welcome you with opened arms. If not, then you're a criminal, end of story. Expect to be treated as such.
Anyone know why the Lord wants us to go to New Hampshire?
With dates of my Mom's 80th birthday changing, it has left us with potential conflicts. Probably the most time we'll get up there during the new date is a long weekend, so the family and I decided to still take some of our vacation days in the originally allotted time in early June, where we had no conflicts.
So, we wrote down all 50 states and put them into a hat. We said a quick prayer and offered up our travel plans, asking the Lord to send us where ever He wanted. Gabe pulled first, DC second, Dea third and I was last.
The first time, there was some confusion on the rules, but New Hampshire was picked twice of the four choices. We decided to do a do-over and tried again. This time, Gabe pulled Texas, DC pulled Florida, Dea pulled New Hampshire and I pulled Montana.
We threw away the other states and put those four back into the hat and pulled again. Three New Hampshire and one Texas.
I put Texas in one hand, New Hampshire in the other and asked Gabe to pick.
New Hampshire.
Behind my back I juggled them around and asked DC to pick.
New Hampshire.
Behind my back I juggled them around again and Dea picked.
New Hampshire.
So, it appears the Lord wants us in New Hampshire. We did a quick scan on the internet and couldn't find much of obvious interest up there. Does anyone have any divine insight as to why the Lord wants us to go to New Hampshire?
We sure are curious.
Last night, I sat in my movie room multi-tasking... I was watching the Lightning get bumped from the playoffs by the Senators, I watched the DRays blow a save and lose to the Red Sox while on the phone with work about a server issue. While juggling these three things I noticed sparks suddenly fly out of the ceiling fan above me.
I turned off the power and, with the help of my wife, took down the fan. It appears that the vibration of the fan caused a small back and forth motion that wore down a wire shielding, eventually exposing that wire to metal, thereby causing the sparks.
My only thought as I drifted off the sleep was "Thank God I was awake." If the sparks had started to fly after we were all asleep, there's a good chance our home would be little more than smoldering remains.
A special nod to our guardian angels for coming through.
The summer of 1988 was brutal. Much of the country was struggling with a lengthy and devastating drought. Crops were dying, the elderly and children were told to avoid prolonged exposure to the heat and four travelers from Florida were racing down the interstate, heading full speed toward the desert.
The Mississippi River at normal height.
The effect of this unique lack of rain was most evident as we passed over the Mississippi River. This once grand waterway was nothing but a trickle. Boats leaned sideways on large sandbars that were previously river bottoms. The normal shipping lanes had literally evaporated and national commerce was feeling the heat.
The Mississippi River during the Summer of '88.
I had dreamed of seeing the Mississippi in all of its grandeur ever since elementary school, but as we passed over this river turned creek, I was disappointed and saddened… like seeing your favorite actor or actress twenty years passed their prime.
As we crossed Louisiana into Texas I had an insanely naïve idea that, somehow, all of Texas was a desert. I guess it was from growing up watching shows like The Rifleman and Bonanza. All of my references of Texas was formed and reinforced through those shows. So, for some reason, I thought the minute you crossed into Texas, you would find yourself surrounded by hot sands, blowing tumbleweed and, if you’re lucky, you’d cross paths with other cow-poke on their way to Tombstone.
To my surprise, the land between Louisiana and Dallas was, despite the drought, beautiful and green. The hills rolled peacefully and I found myself happily content for the first time in two states.
The sun set just prior to our arrival in Dallas, where Beth had secured us another free bed to stay for the night. However, somewhere between packing Sunday’s luggage and daydreaming about the wild west, our donor had a change of heart or plans, so we checked ourselves into the Red Roof Inn.
As we unpacked, Tim and I noticed that the Boston Red Sox were playing the Texas Rangers on television. Both being Massachusetts natives and having watched a professional baseball game in person only once before, we were excited about hopping over to field to see the game. Our hopes were dashed upon seeing on the television the towering left field fence known as The Green Monster of Fenway Park… in Boston.
The Green Monster at Fenway.
Oh well. We’d have another chance in Los Angeles.
We finished up our night at the Hard Rock Café in beautiful downtown Dallas. The restaurant looked like a cathedral with rock idols as their gods. A large stained glass window of Elvis Presley, titled in Gothic writing, “The King” was oddly uncomfortable to me. We spied a museum’s worth of collectibles and numerous signed guitars from the likes of Eddie Van Halen as we made our way to our table.
A little later, as we waited for our food, we spotted the guitarist from a then up and coming band called White Lion, who was to open for AC/DC in Dallas the next evening. It was a very brief, very small celebrity sighting, but made the evening more fun.
The Hard Rock would end up becoming our home away from home during our trip. For now, the atmosphere, food and company made for a satisfying conclusion to our second day on our trip to Cally.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
Looks like our friends south of the border are planning to legalize drug possession for personal use such as cocaine, pot, heroin and ecstasy.
You can read the story HERE.
Good, maybe then they'll be too stoned to cross into the US illegally.
My son is nine years old and finds things most nine year olds find funny, burp and fart jokes.
In honor of that age where the sound of passing wind is funnier than any other punchline, I present a whole webpage of fart noises:
http://www.soundboards.com
With such time honored favorites as "Skid Marks," "Colon Powell," and "Heiny Hiccup," you get an idea of just what you'll be hearing. So, if you find wind passing funny, stop by the soundboards website and listen to your hearts content.
A monologue, in acting speak, is a solo performance piece most commonly used by actors for auditions. Monologues are usually pulled directly out of plays, however they can also be original works or compiled from other sources.
The most successful monologue I ever used was one I pieced together from a fictional article Howie Mandel wrote for Inside Sports magazine about a child's annual trek to a shuffleboard camp. I titled it When The Lemonade Tastes Funny and used that monologue to get into the fine arts college, to place in the southeast regional Irene Ryan theater competition, as one of my exit monologues from the college prior to graduation and to get numerous professional gigs. When you've struck monologue gold, you mine that baby as many times as possible!
During our extended drive to Dallas, Sunday began rehearsing a monologue for an important audition scheduled upon her return from our road trip. It's really hard to practice a monologue silently. After all, a monologue is spoken and you're not only training your mind to remember the lines and create a logical thought process in your head, but you’re also training your mouth to speak all of those words correctly. During this process it’s not uncommon for an actor to uncover, within a monologue, a localized brain fart… that place where the logic of the author is not readily apparent to the actor and in the same place, every time, the logic in your head fails and the next few words evaporate into thin air. For the actor, this is a trial and error process that will continue until you’re able to build a thought process bridge over the jagged rocks of indecision.
For the rest of us in the car, it meant having to hear Sunday stop at the same line of her monologue over and over and over and over again. Sunday worked through the sixty-second monologue repeatedly, "...What makes you so certain! What gives you the right? I've lived my whole life under your roof, dampened by the weight of your broken dreams! You look at my life and see your... your-" and she'd pause, flip her head slightly, messing her hair, study the script, then continue on, "...your missed opportunities, your failures." And the monologue would continue until the end, then she’d start again, always pausing at "You look at my life and see your..." pause, flip, hair, script, "missed opportunities, your failures."
As we neared the Mississippi River, Sunday’s work on her monologue had reached the level of the absurd for the rest of us. "You look at my life and see your..." and without a beat, Tim and Beth, who had never studied acting, chimed in with lifeless tones "missed opportunities, your failures,” because by this time we all knew the monologue better than she did. Unfortunately, no amount of sheer force of will on our part could build that mental bridge for her. So the rehearsing and pausing and hair flipping proceeded with unceasing consistency until our skulls were ready to implode.
I felt her pain, though. I had been there, unable to make that connection between one word and another. I just never realized how excruciating that process could be for everyone else around me. Being forced to use the interior of a car as her rehearsal space was difficult on us all, for when you’re stuck in a car for hours with the same people everyday, it tends to amplify any character flaws and mute resistance, patience and sanity.
To our delight, the monological monotony was effectively broken by a sight few people had ever seen.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
In the time before cell phones, wireless broadband, instant messaging, text messaging and email, communication between two cars was naturally problematic. When traveling together their needed to be an almost symbiotic relationship between drivers in order for the experience to be completely effective. I remember, when taking trips with fellow church youth group members, we would travel in multiple cars and seamlessly move between lanes and traffic without any issues, as if the three cars were indeed one.
Our path toward the interstate in Mississippi was the opposite of seamless and symbiotic and having to rely on someone to guide us through unknown streets for almost an hour was wearing on all of our nerves. We were anxiously looking for a moment when we could speed up next to Aunt Patsy and ask her to pull over, so we could regain our bearings and understand how much longer this path would take, when Aunt Patsy abruptly pulled into an empty church parking lot.
We followed her and watched as she exited her car and, with a little hop to her step, approached ours. Tim rolled down the window and peered his head out.
"Are we lost?" Tim asked.
"No!" Aunt Patsy responded as if he were being excessively silly. "This is my church!"
Confused, Tim could only mutter "Uh-huh."
She pulled open his door, "I wanted to show you my church before you left!"
Did I hear that right? We've been on an unguided tour through the deeper recesses of Mississippian suburbia for an hour so we could see her church?
As my brain tried to wrap itself around that logic, the only thing I could possibly conclude was that this church must be something special, grand, opulent or unexpected in some way. As Sunday and I pried ourselves out of the back seats I found myself staring at a standard looking Protestant church, with a small parking lot, a small steeple and nothing... well, interesting. The magic or mystery or driving force behind our journey must have been inside this plain looking building. As irritated as I was, a part of me was curious to see just what made this journey worth it.
Tim, Beth, Sunday and I followed Aunt Patsy up to the church doors and with a quick motion Aunt Patsy grasped the handles and pulled. Nothing happened. She pulled again. Nothing happened.
She turned, still smiling and quickly dismissed the event, stating "Oh, well, it's locked."
As Aunt Patsy moved passed us and toward her car, we were struck motionless, desperately trying to fathom with confused expressions as to what had just unfolded before us. One by one we slowly turned and moved back toward the Acura, as if stuck in some demented Rod Serling Twilight Zone episode. Aunt Patsy, now sitting in her car, rolled down her window and motioned for Beth to approach her. As the rest of us re-entered the tight confines of the blue Acura, we watched as Beth received verbal instructions on directions to the interstate, replete with a lot of pointing and arm motions by our beloved guide.
Beth returned to the car and entered. We were all frustrated. We were all mad. And this made us all preemptively tired. Knowing that venting any of our displeasure would only exacerbate the issue, the four travelers remained steadfastly quiet. Tim put the car in first gear and started toward the parking lot exit. Silently, Beth pointed Tim in the right direction and we watched as Aunt Patsy gleefully waved her good-byes. As the car sped down the street, Sunday and I watched as our first host, the unforgettable Aunt Patsy, disappeared into the distance.
Now a solid four hours behind schedule, we eventually hopped on the interstate and started the long drive to Dallas, Texas.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
As we pulled out of Aunt Patsy’s driveway we were all back into our usual seating positions in the car. Sunday and I sat in the back, pillows at the ready, our feet propped up on small carry-on cases of toiletries. Beth sat in the front passenger seat, her feet squeezed tightly between more luggage on the floor. And Tim sat fat, dumb and happy behind the wheel.
As we followed Aunt Patsy through her quaint neighborhood I could already begin to sense some tension between Sunday and Beth. They were polar opposites. Sunday was exotic, Beth was wholesome. Sunday smoked, Beth didn’t. Sunday was a vegetarian, Beth wasn’t. Sunday was flirtatious, Beth was conservative.
I’m also sure Beth’s fiancé-protection radar was in full swing as well. After all, she had only known Sunday for approximately 24 hours. Sunday was invited on the trip by me and I was someone with whom Beth had only known threw Tim, so her cautiousness was understandable and predictable. Funny, though, that I didn’t see it coming. Actors pride themselves on being excellent observers of human nature, yet I never anticipated the frictioned environment between these two females on the trip.
It just goes to show how much more I had to learn and how much farther I had to mature.
As our daily drives continued, our morning seating assignments would rotate throughout the day. Tim and I handled most of the driving duties. When I drove, Sunday would move to the front passenger seat next to me while Tim and Beth cuddled and napped in the back. On rare occasions did Beth drive and, for the immediate future, Sunday was not allowed to steer our course... at least, not yet.
As I watched another batch of cookie-cutter style homes pass by, I started to grow restless. You know that internal clock that’s forever clicking in your brain? The clock that tells you that you’ll never make it to work on time with the amount of traffic on the road, or that your home team doesn’t have enough time to stage a dramatic comeback… or that you should have reached your destination by now?
Well, for all four of us, that clock began sounding an alarm.
We had spent almost an hour weaving in and out of neighborhoods and side roads and intersections and more subdivisions. Granted, I wasn’t paying close attention when we pulled off the interstate the night before, but surely it didn’t take this long to get to Aunt Patsy’s house. That clock in my brain was adamant in its objection!
I leaned forward and asked Tim, “How much longer to the highway?” Tim offered a bewildered shrug and continued tail-gating Aunt Patsy through one neighborhood, then another. I could tell Beth felt somewhat responsible. After all, she was the one who injected Aunt Patsy into the equation. Beth didn't know that she could be so eccentric, but she still felt responsible and we all began directing our frustration toward Beth. It wasn't fair, really, but we had to release our pent up irritation somewhere and in a car with 300 cubic feet of space, Beth was the unfortunate target.
Days later I would come to understand how uncomfortable it is being on the sharp end of pointing fingers and would come to fully empathize with her current position.
As my eyes began to glaze over while watching Aunt Patsy’s brake lights flash intermittently as we slowed and turned and sped up and slowed and turned, I couldn’t help but think “She can’t be lost, can she? Are we following a blind guide? Our short cut didn’t just turn into a bad Loony Tune episode did it? Should we have taken that left at Albuquerque?”
I sat back into my seat, sighing my frustration just loud enough so everyone was aware of my discontent. Our guide couldn’t possibly be this bad? Surely she understood our current schedule issues and comprehended our sense of urgency, didn’t she?
The question hanging ominously above us all was simply "where the hell are we going?"
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 9, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere FastGoin' Out To Cally - Part 8, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
You know, you hear a lot now about the oil companies making a lot of money and the government is yelling about the need to tax the oil company for being too successful (a windfall tax) .
That's Socialism 101... punish the capitalists when they make a lot of money. Standard stuff from the left... the government is not allowed to tell us how to live our lives, except when that lifestyle generates money, then the government is allowed to come in and take it.
That's Hypocrisy 101.
Now for Reality 101. Do you know how much money the oil companies make from every gallon of gas? About $.08. Do you know how much the government makes off of every gallon of gas from taxes? Between $.40 - $.50.
So, if the government is REALLY concerned about gas prices, they could put a hold on the taxes and we will immediately see a fifty-cent drop in gas prices. But no, lets go after the people who provide the gas instead of the people that don't, but take five times as much profit from the consumer.
The government is so full of corrupt people on both sides of the aisle. It makes me sick.
Do you know why we're more dependent on middle eastern oil now than we were ten years ago (up from 40% - 60%)? That's easy... just answer a few simple questions:
- When's the last time you heard of a new drill site for oil on American soil?
- When was the last time you heard of a new refinery being built on American soil?
- When was the last time you heard about a new nuclear powerplant being built on American soil?
The answer... never. The environmental lobby has squashed any attempt to harvest our own natural resources.
I have one question for the envronmental lobby - How the hell are we supposed to become energy independent when we can't even dig into our own soil to get the fuel that's just sitting there doin' nothing?
Politicians are pathetic. They speak and it's all just a constant hum of white noise lies.
Americans should demand more from our elected officials. But we won't.
And that's Apathy 101.
The next morning we all awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed. It appeared that a comfortable bed and an abundance of food was all we needed to put the wind back into our sails.
Knowing we had a long drive ahead of us, we all quickly heeded Aunt Patsy’s wake-up call, each of us making our way into the shower and then to the breakfast table. It was there, as we devoured home cooked eggs, bacon, pancakes and omelets-to-order, that we noticed the clock on the kitchen oven. The colon splitting the hours and minutes flashed with each second and if you combined those hours and minutes the clock represented nine forty-seven a.m.
In unison we all realized we were suddenly and inexplicably three hours behind schedule.
When we pressed Aunt Patsy as to why she didn't wake us as we requested the night before, she simply smiled brightly and said, “You all looked so tired! I figured you could use the sleep.” It was a nice sentiment, but as I savored my fifth bacon strip I thought and wondered and studied Aunt Patsy closely. Was she sincere in her concern for us or, behind her disarming smile, was she exacting her own sweet revenge upon us for the overflowing leftovers still cooling in her refrigerator from the night before?
The more I studied her, the less confident I became of her evil intentions. If she was being malicious, she was a master of such a deception. In the end, her genuine affection for us and her complete hospitality permanently dislodged any such idea from my mind. She was simply being... well... Aunt Patsy!
One thing was certain, however… it was only the second day of our trip and we were very, very late. We had to get going in a hurry. After breakfast, Tim, Sunday and I repacked the Acura while Beth asked if there was a fast way back to the interstate highway.
“I have a better idea! I’ll take you there myself!” Aunt Patsy exclaimed. For better or worse, we now had an escort. As long as we were quickly greet by an on-ramp and a multi-lane thoroughfare, we didn't care how we got there.
Knowing the hours that laid before us, at this point, Dallas seemed so very far away. Each passing minute in a car traveling under 60 miles per hour was growing tortuous and putting us further behind schedule.
The sooner we reached the interstate, the better.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 8, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows NineGoin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
As Aunt Patsy finished cleaning the kitchen, Sunday continued marveling at the astrological tile work above the living room fireplace. During our senior year I had come to find out that Sunday was a believer in astrology. She felt that all of these signs and stars and whatever else had some legitimate effect on all of us. The weirdest part was that, after a couple of questions she could guess anyone’s sign correctly. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember a time when she guessed wrong. I guess that means she wasn’t guessing at all.
Astrological symbols were sometimes used in character development in acting class, so I was familiar with the signs and their basic personality traits. They were not used in class as any sort of validation of astrology itself, but because each sign had well defined personality characteristics. When researching during rehearsals and developing your character work it was often helpful to assign your character an astrological sign that best fit that role in the play. It was a quick and easy way to have deep character analysis in ready-made form.
Aunt Patsy eventually made her way into the living room and Sunday eagerly began asking her about the tile work, hopeful she would be able to engage in conversation with a fellow believer. Aunt Patsy, however, was 100% southern Protestant. The tile work was put in place by a previous owner and they had left it up because of the workmanship. Not dismayed, Sunday tried to explain some of the nuances of astrology, but her audience was skeptical and tired.
I felt bad for her a little bit… and a bit guilty. It reminded me of a time when Sunday was asking me some fairly basic questions about Christianity. I was stunned that she didn’t know anything about it. “How was that possible?” I thought. In my own immaturity and ignorance, I incorrectly assumed that everyone’s life experiences were equal to my own. When I shared my disbelief with a fellow classmate, Leslie, who was a close friend of Sunday, she leaned into me and said “Why would she know anything about that! She’s Jewish!”
I felt like a jackass. How arrogant and stupid of me to make such assumptions. I realized that I had a lot to learn in college, about people and other beliefs. The journey of discovery never rattled the foundation of my own beliefs, but did make me evaluate them and try to put into place where other religions fit in my limited understanding of spirituality. It was a humbling experience. It’s a journey that I continue on even today.
As the evening wore on I tried to move the conversation toward sleep and tomorrow’s journey. We all agreed that we had a long way to go the next day... our goal was to make it to Dallas, Texas. We all needed a good night sleep, that was certain. But, even more important, we all needed to get on the road early.
We asked Aunt Patsy to wake us so we could be on the road by 7:00 a.m. She agreed and we all made our way to the soft beds awaiting our aching, tired and well fed bodies.
And so ended our first day on our trip to Cally.
********
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 7, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 6, (Text, Audio) Leftovers Goin' Out To Cally - Part 5, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 4, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 3, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 2, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 1, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted
As I crossed over the bridge of "People Over 40" I thought the toll for such a trip was a permanent loss of memory. Much to my surprise, I had not lost memories, I just didn't have an effective trigger to recall them.
As you all know, I'm writing about my trip to California in 1988. When I returned from that trip I wrote a lot of the events down. I have since lost that information and have been writing about our journey from my weary memory. Last night I searched through my boxes of keepsakes, looking for my notes on the Cally trip, but instead I found items such as my baseball trophies, my one and only home run baseball and various other items, including my junior high and high school yearbooks.
As I scanned through my yearbook I was amazed at how many people I remembered and how many memories flooded back in for ready perusal. People like Jodi Smith, Laura Gonzalez (my first crush in 3rd grade), Robin Banks (my second crush from 4th - 8th grade), David Greenblat, Tracy Steubs, Larry Forbish, Steve Bishoff, Andrea Bailey, Missy Marriot and more. I looked over all of the signatures, only recognizing a few.
I found a couple of pictures of me in the yearbook from our performance of Look Homeward, Angel (including the one here where I try and catch Mike Garcia). It was that performance that made me realize the effect of star power. I played the lead and after the school saw the show people treated me differently. Girls had crushes on me... well on my character, not really on me. At one point in the play, I have a liason with a young woman and we wake up next to each other in the morning (hint, hint). A few days later, after the play, a cute girl whom would never talk to me came up to me, flustered, and told me just how much she enjoyed the play. Then she said "you can wake up next to me any time," smiled and left.
That, my friends, is the power of stardom.
Anyway, my little trip down memory lane was a fun one. I got to relive some of the fun past moments and realize that my brain still fully functioned... it just needed a good kick to get going again.
And I realized one more thing... I have my brother Charles' junior high year book from 1977. I'll have to drop that off next time I see him.
When over twenty years has passed since your high school graduation, pull out the books and enjoy the trip. You'll be surprised how much comes flooding back... I was.
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