I really love my life ....
.... and as weird as it gets ... and trust me .... it can get weird .... I love it with my whole being.
But like everybody else in the world .... there is stress and I vent. Not a a lot of venting ... only when the tea kettle that is my brain starts to whistle with steam ... but still .... I vent. I have some incredibly understanding friends that have known me most of my life that are kind enough to listen patiently, nod or shake their heads approvingly or disapprovingly, figuratively pat me on my rump and send me on my way with a better understanding of my problem.
There is one friend in particular that has been in my life for going on 27 years. She is that one friend that knows every calcified, brittle skeleton in my closet intimately ..... has gone on this long strange trip that is my life .... walked by my side every step of the way .... and still loves me anyway.
She deserves a plaque in the World Champion Hall of Fame of Friendship .... a ticker tape parade and a Nobel prize all rolled into one.
Funny thing is .... I intensely disliked her upon our initial meeting.
Here's that story:
When I was a kid ... about 17 years old ... a lot of us "wayward" kids would hang out at a little oasis off of River Road. It was an escape from our lives, from reality and most importantly from our parents. It was John Dunbar's house. This was a beautiful, historical turn of the century mansion tucked away high on a hill surrounded by numerous park-like, treed acreage. John, essentially, had his own wing of the house that acted as our "clubhouse".
Those of you who were lucky enough to be a part of that magical time back in the mid-80's at Dunbar's pad know exactly what I'm talking about. To say that it was a decadent, den of inequity would not necessarily be a huge stretch .... but it was infinitely more than that. It was an informal club of like minded kids that would casually meet for laughs, story telling and various types of illegalities that I refuse to go into at this time as it may incriminate me and about two dozen seemingly upstanding Louisvillians.
Entry into this self-contained world was without a doubt exclusive. There was only two ways to gain admittance into this rogue club .... by request of the proprieter himself or .... like me .... if you were deemed "cool" and lucky enough to be brought into the fold by a current member.
John Dunbar was quite a character unto himself. He was a lover of music with an old, mischievous soul. He was a belly laugher extraordinaire, an other worldly philosopher for his young years and a true gentleman. He was the king of his domain and we were his court.
In order to enter the Dunbar home ... you first had to gain entry from the dreaded guard .... his mother. The first and most traditional course of entry was a method that I lovingly called the "Eddie Haskell" .... essentially you would ring the doorbell and when his mother answered the door you overly complimented her, her garden or implied that she had lost weight and you instantly received a kind invitation to climb the stairway to heaven. Or .... the less traditional and spy vs. spy method .... or what I called "The Ronnie Panther Method" .... which was essentially scaling the wall of the house ninja style and climbing in the second story window. I, of course, chose the "Eddie Haskell" method.
Once inside the fortress walls and up the stairs to the second floor sanctum ... you were surprised to find a modestly and mostly brown plaid decorated area which was akin to a fraternity living room. Behind the living room was Dunbar's bedroom ... of which I have no idea what it looked like because .... NO ... I never went in there, thank you very much.
After school, on weekends and lazy summer days ... we kids would pop in and out throughout the afternoon and evenings whiling away our time doing nothing more than figuring out more clever and inventive ways to get in to trouble.
On the aforementioned historical afternoon, as I was sitting on the couch with a few choice malcontents, I heard some high pitched girly-girl giggling wafting up the stairwell. My inner 'bitch detector' immediately clicked a high level warning in my brain and I was preparing myself for a tiny, blonde goofball to flittily invade the room. What entered that doorway was nothing more than miraculous because it was completely contrary to what my intuition and expectations were prepared for.
Like some slow-motion, bad teen movie .... SHE breezed into my world. She was somewhat tall and her curves were entirely misrepresentative of her age. She had thick, dark, velvety hair that was so tall and teased that it defied the laws of physics. She was wearing a crisp, white, cotton spaghetti strap sundress. Her laugh and smile were as big as the state of Texas and as I glared at her impossibly chocolate brown eyes she gleefully made her way to the couch and with a hand flourish, plopped down next to me.
I attempted to ignore her while she dug through her giant pink, patent leather purse. I, of course, gave the other jokesters in the room a few good eye rolls for maximum perturbed effect ... and then she spoke.
"Got a light?" she asked in a lilting, dixie bell voice. I stared at her annoyingly as she held a Marlboro Light 100 cigarette between her long, perfectly manicured hot pink fingernails.
"Me? ... uhhhh .... no."
She then began talking and laughing incessantly about some vapid, unimportant topic and as she spoke I found her curiouser and curiouser .... I wanted so badly to find some blatant excuse to shrug her off as an empty headed, uninteresting interloper. However, unknowingly, I began to cock my head slightly askew and proceeded to stare at her awkwardly for what seemed the longest time .... as if she was an odd, slightly out of focus Picasso painting .... There was an interesting facet that I was missing and I just couldn't quite put my finger on it.
The more I began to interact with her, the more clear the picture became in my mind. As I sat there on that couch next to her .... a tiny, crooked, diabolical smile crept across my face as a very clear intuitive thought began to fill my head. Behind that preppy, prissy, perfectly proportioned face.... I detected a a bit of a hell raiser. It dawned on me in a split second that she was definitely one of us only cleverly cloaked. She was donning the mask of a proper debutante, but was in reality .... a dirty dixie bell. I found the dichotomy devilishly humorous and I was instantly hooked.
Despite delay, I introduced myself and, of course, got a giggle and a "that's not your real name is it?" response. Then she told me her name and then I knew without a shred of doubt that we were, indeed, kindred spirits.
I knew this emphatically because I had heard a story a few weeks prior about an epic party in a well known hoity-toity, luxury, high-rise condo complex. This event was one of those social soirees that historically go down in infamy and only get more grandiose as it is told and retold. This Dirty Dixie Bell had just recently moved into town and formed an amazingly simple plan to throw a party to meet new friends. She surreptitiously waited until her parents went out of town and then innocently told a few friends .... who told a few friends .... who told a few friends ... and so on.
Before I'm sure she knew what was happening .... this luxury high rise condo complex was horrifyingly transformed into a down and dirty, colossal kegger.
Her parent's home was, of course, thoroughly trashed .... but the coup de gras was when some beligerent moron, who was working with perhaps a dozen decent brain cells, decided that he was going to throw empty beer bottles from the 14th floor window. Now, this would not have ended so terribly badly if the bottles had landed somewhat harmlessly in a grassy knoll. Unfortunately, there was a deliciously more attractive bullseye that this clever, little simpleton was aiming for .... the pool.
It was relayed to me by more than one reliable source that once the party was thwarted by the powers that be ... she was found blubbering ... in her sassy, bubblegum pink party dress wading in the shallow end of the pool delicately picking up shards of beer glass with her bare hands.
Long story short .... her parents came home .... wigged out .... the condo complex charged her parents beaucoup dinero to drain the pool and properly clean it and the rest is ... as they say ... history.
As you can well imagine ... I had an immediate respect for her level of shenanigans and we became instantaneous, joined at the hip, best friends.
For the next 27+ years we laughed and cried our way through crazy adventures, boyfriends, colleges & life in general. She has been my whipping post, my rock, my sister, my confidante, my soulmate .... my bon ami.
There is nothing in this world that I wouldn't do or give up for this ol' gal. We are still what I consider best buddies ... but of course as you get older and have children .... life always seems to get in the way. I don't spend as much time with her as I'd like ... but ... I plan on living a long and if I have anything to do with it it .... luxurious and interesting life. When the kids are grown and the world slows down a bit .... I plan on spending some good quality time with my Dirty Dixie Bell.
We often joke and tease each other about growing old together. I tell her that we will end up in South Florida living side by side in a retirement community .... she will still be perpetually fussing at me for gossiping and cussing .... and I will still be needling her about cutting loose and saying the 'eff word more often. We joke about having a cabana boy named Javier that will be in the requisite banana hammocked uniform fetching our afternoon Pina Coladas. I will take care of her, as I always have .... and she will make me roll with laughter ... which is her specialty.
I hold dear in my heart those memories of my youth at Dunbars Pad and all the countless characters that I met there. Sadly, John Dunbar passed away at a tragically young age. It gives me comfort though to think of him often when I hear a particularly loud, boisterous laugh. I will forever think of him hanging out in heaven as a young cat ... pondering the great questions of the universe with the likes of Hendrix, Morrison, Garcia, Goethe and other notable literary and musical miscreants.
It only takes a moment to meet a lifetime friend .... someone who inspires you to be a better person, allows you to be your authentic self and unconditionally loves ..... that .... in a nutshell is .....
my Dirty Dixie Bell!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Bixby, Boners & Babbling Brooks
It is no secret to just about the ENTIRE city's population of Greater Metro Louisville that my father .... the infamous and mostly notorious Martin Twist .... and I are .... well .... to put it nicely we are estranged, disunited .... asunder. I'm not going to go into it in it's entirety ... so .... let's just leave it at that for now.
I can't remember a time in my life when I actually 'liked' my father. Which is quite odd .... because if you boil it down to it's absolute base .... we are corresponding parts of the same whole. He is a unadulterated lover of all things debauched. He is and was a lover of life and all that it represents. He inhales the world with a vortex of charisma and charm and gusto. That man has never shied away from a good time in all his born days.
However, where he and I consummately diverge is at the point of complete and utter sociopathy .... Essentially .... his behavior is that of one who lacks a complete sense of moral responsibility or social conscience. That man is a human tornado of destruction and wears a toothy grin as he wreaks havoc on the lives of the poor souls trapped in his clutches.
It has taken me a long, long time to appreciate much about this man .... but .... I will freely admit now.... the one absolutely amazing thing I have to give him full credit for is that he taught me how to travel.
No ... not just "travel" .... VOYAGE! (Doesn't that sound exotic???)
My father was NEVER one to book a trip on a commercial airliner, get on a bus, buy a pamphlet and see the sites. Our voyages were tales of legend! He learned how to fly .... worked smart (not hard) ... bought his own small plane and then would gather the 3 kids and my mom and set off for destinations unknown ... tiny islands in the caribbean, jungle mountains in Mexico, weird little po'dunk towns, etc...
One of the few times that I recall being on a commercial airliner as a child was the summer when I was 12 years old and our trip to Hawaii.
Here's that weird little tale:
My mother was beyond in love with Don Ho. For those of you who are too young or too pop culture retarded .... Don Ho was a Hawaiian balladeer. He was Hawaii's answer to Elvis. He had an afternoon television show in 1976 called The Don Ho Show. He was a sun-kissed, puka shell adorned, bronze god who hosted a variety show which featured live shots of him singing alluringly on beaches and leaning seductively against tiki huts. For housewives, at the time .... this, I'm sure, was an absolutely heavenly respite from the duldrums of wifedom. His most famous song of the time was a little ditty called "Tiny Bubbles". When that honey-tongued man sang that song on the television .... the far away look on my mother's face was priceless. It was as if Don Ho peered into that television camera and directed all his erotic charms to her and her alone.
My mother worked her bewitchery on my father and before you knew it he begrudgingly booked us on a two week summer vacation in the enchanted land of Hawaii. All I remember about the flight is that the airplane was humongous. It was only about half filled so my sisters and I stretched out lazily in the center seats for the long, arduous flight. (I have only been as far as Europe & California since that trip because I was so entirely traumatized by the length of this flight)
Apparently my father had booked us on an island hopping trip because we never stayed in the same hotel longer than a few nights. (Either that or we were continuously on the lam for stiffing the hotels ... who knows!) My poor mother would get us all settled in and then a few days later have to repack our many suitcases and off we'd go again into the wild blue yonder.
At one hotel ... I believe on Maui .... I was playing leisurely on the beach when I noticed a lot of people pointing and staring at a person walking along the surf. I couldn't understand for the life of me what the big whoop was. From what I saw it was just a tiny little man wearing an even tinier red banana hammock. As he got closer .... I realized just what the hoopla was all about.
On television, in the 70's , there was a popular show that most adults my age will remember called The Incredible Hulk. It was a knock-off of shows like The Six Million Dollar Man and The A-Team. The star of that show was Bill Bixby (well ... Lou Ferrigno was technically the star .... but they never gave that poor guy any lines .... SIDEBAR: he's deaf, right??) And .... for you crazy TV buffs ... Bill Bixby was also the star of a hit show called The Courtship of Eddie's Father.
Back to the story .....
So .... my Mom's pretty hot. Well ... maybe "pretty hot" doesn't do her justice. She was incredibly, beyond belief beautiful. She made a small splash in the beauty pageant industry and was Miss Green County, Miss Taylor County & was also a Kentucky Colonel's basketball cheerleader.
As Mr. Hulk (Bill Bixby .... not Ferrigno) strolls by on the beach .... he spots my Mom in her hot little red bikini and sidles right up to her and strikes up a conversation. I'm about 20 feet away ... watching this odd little exchange and then that little horn dog procedes to sit on the edge of her chaise lounge chair and begins to get a little too chummy for my taste. Feeling a bit territorial ... I stand up .... march over and pretty much cock-block old Billy boy. I grab my Mom's hand and tell her it's time to go to lunch while glaring daggers at Bill. My mom makes her apologies for my rudeness to Bill and introduces us. I am by no means star-struck by this Cassanova wannabe one little bit and brush him off harshly. Bill catches on to my annoying game and excuses himself. He and his weanie bikini meander down the beach to lurch on other unsuspecting mommies.
Later that evening ... we are in our hotel room. My Dad is down at the tiki bar hitting on Pan Am flight attendants left and right (.... and actually takes one to dinner the next night WITH the family ... but that is another story). The phone rings and my Mom picks it up and in her Southern lilt says "hello". She gets into a short conversation then hangs up the phone. I then notice that my mother is a much darker shade of red than she had been just moments ago. She is blushing! MY mother is blushing!! As it turns out .... that skeevy little Bill Bixby's room was in the suite right above ours. He had somehow found out what room we were staying in and concocted some ridiculous excuse of playing his music too loudly then called my Mom to find out if the high volume was bothering her .... but even at the tender age of twelve I could smell a creep a mile away ... that lethario was calling to hit on MY MOM!! Being the lovely and graceful lady that she was .... my mother gently told him that his music wasn't bothering her but to please not call again because she is a married woman. Hmfphfffffffph. Grrrrrrrrrrr .....
To say that I was unaffected by Bill Bixby's cancerous demise years later would be an understatement.
To my horrifying chagrin .... I was to be plagued by banana hammocked men the next day as well. My Dad had this grand idea to take my sister and I scuba diving. We had never scuba dived before (only snorkeled) ... but .... my Dad being my Dad .... found a schlock operation to give us a 20 minute coaching while he went off to check on the boat. So here we were .... my Mom, sister and me left alone with this total stranger ... wearing a black banana hammock. (What is it with this island ... do they hand out these ridiculous bathing suits when you apply for a driver's license???) As he is instructing us and putting on our gear .... I notice he keeps leering at my Mom (who is wearing nothing but a bikini at the time and a pretty sarong). Suddenly ... I look down ... and this dude has a full on raging, bonafide boner!!!!! ..... AND in my estimation it didn't look like that tiny little nylon swatch of fabric was going to hold back that torpedo for long! I stood there in absolute paralyzed shock ... eyebrows raised .... eyes glazed over .... What the hell was going on here????
My Mom's eyes got as big as over-easy eggs. She hussled over to us and gently took us by the hands and while averting her eyes from the "armament" she mumbled some excuse to the instructor and abandoned him and his extra leg on the beach. We quickly grabbed our fins, mask, etc.... and high-tailed it down the boardwalk to the awaiting boat. As soon as the shock began to subside ... my sister and I commenced nervously giggling .... which quickly turned into uproarious and uncontrollable shrieks of laughter ... followed by fat droplets of tears cascading down our faces ..... rolling on the end of the dock .... holding our bellies and gasping for breath. My Mom is hushing us like crazy .... biting her lip which is beginning to break out into an abashed smile .... and finally gets us composed enough to get on the boat. Needless to say ... my first encounter with a full-on erect penis was enduringly and profoundly etched into my mind for all eternity.
We all load onto the boat for our scuba diving trip ... which is uneventful ... but of course that depends on your yard stick. Keep in mind ... I am twelve years old and have ZERO authentic scuba training. After we put all of our gear on and slip nervously into the water ... my father gives my sister and I some terrific pearls of wisdom ... he says ..."girls ... it's dangerous down there ... don't fuck it up or you'll die" .... and with that he dove beneath the surface leaving my sister and I to pray quietly to ourselves to make it out of yet another one of his crazy schemes alive. We put on our masks ... placed the salty regulators in our mouths and hoped for the best. We dived down about 50 feet or so that day. Which I'm told by experts is incredibly deep even for experienced divers. We saw amazing brightly colored fish and multi-colored reef. My father found a weird looking long tentacled starfish and snuck up behind me and laid the starfish over my head and across my mask. Of course, this scared the absolute piss out of me ... literally ... and as I screamed silently into my regulator and calmed my hyperventilation .... all I could see was his evil crooked smile. I secretly hoped that at that moment ... Poseidon would see the injustice and send a giant great white shark to eerily swim up behind him and eat him whole. No such luck.
We make it off the island of Maui with our innocence a bit scorched and end up on the last of our islands called Kauai. One of my mother's favorite movies of her youth was South Pacific. A dreamy 1950's musical that takes place in .... you guessed it .... the South Pacific. Over some beers with the locals at an out of the way pub ... my Dad finds out that on the island is a mountain stream with a man made concrete shoot that drops down over a waterfall and into a lagoon. There was a famous scene shot there from the movie South Pacific and he is bound and determined to trek up the jungle mountain to find it. He gleans the best directions he can from some toothless Hawaiian fishermen and off we go on his quest.
We are in a station wagon (a la' the Griswolds) making our way up unpaved, treacherously narrow roads ..... losing our way .... back tracking and finally after a few weary hours find our way to the top of a deserted lush, treed mountain top. We get out of the car and make our way into the woods. We immediately see a muddy trail and proceed to follow it blindly. After about 10 minutes of walking ... we begin to hear the whoosh of running water.
We finally get to a clearing and behold a 30+ foot wide waterway with giant boulders that were placed eons ago dotting the cascading stream. There was a very sharp incline and the water was rushing down the mountain at a pretty decent click. My father excitedly tells us to stay put and then hikes off for about 10 minutes or so ... returns .... and informs us that at the end of the stream is a waterfall that splashes down into a lagoon about 300 yards or so in the distance.
He claps his hands together and yells .... "okay ... who's the brave one that's going first!" .... Never to be intimidated by my father .... I raise my hand defiantly and say ".... outta my way!" I step undauntedly into the cold, fast moving water and with some doing ... make my way to the center. There, I find a concrete luge with green, lustrous moss covering it. I sit down on it and before I could neither change my mind nor get properly situated .... the water had gathered behind me and shoved me into oblivion!
I began speeding like a bullet around mammoth looking rocks and became immediately convinced that this had better be worth it because I had a pretty good sense I was going to be imminently dead! Then ...without warning, the ground suddenly disappeared beneath me and I was airborne ..... free falling over a waterfall into a crystalline pool of water. I was instantly submerged deep in the water .... fighting my way to the top ... but the waterfall had a slight suction effect and I had to kick as hard as I could to make it to the top ... I burst thru the surface of the water and sucked in air. I'm alive! I had made it! Suck it, people .... I am a jungle goddess!!!
I made my way to the swampy edge, trudging thru mud & fauna and realize I am alone and in the middle of nowhere. I start calling out to my parents .... nothing. Holy crap ... how do I get back?? I realize that if I make my way up the side of the waterfall by hanging onto vines and trees I can get to the path that takes me to where the rest of the family are waiting. I get about halfway up the path and see my Dad with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. I am slightly furious at this point ... as the ramifications and danger has just dawned on me during my return hike. This was no amusement park slide where it is tested and retested by some egg-headed scientist to assure family safety! We are in the middle of a friggin' jungle mountain throwing ourselves down an ice cold, raging water, plunge of death stream!
Out of the corner of my eye I see whizzing past me my terrified sister who being the more timid of the two of us got cajoled by my Dad into taking a whirl. I run back down the path just in time to see her go over the edge of the waterfall. As she makes it to the edge of the lagoon ... I instruct her on how to climb back to the path. We look warily at each other ... then to my father .... and as I begin to give him a pretty good sassing ... my sister starts to scream. It is one of those blood-curdling, horror movie victim screams and I am utterly and completely stone frozen in place.
She places one hand to her mouth .... muffling another scream while slowly raising her other hand pointing to my legs. I look down in terror and see long slimy, black, shiny mutant creatures attached to me. I then look at my sister's legs, back & arms and realize the aforementioned creatures are attached to her as well. Well ... I was literally raised in a little honky tonk bar ... and learned some pretty awesome, choice cuss words and my brain decided this was as good a time as any to blurt them out for all to hear ... I was swearing and pulling those damn leeches off of me ... ripping off my bathing suit and suddenly realizing they were ALL over me .... YES ... ALL over me ... down there!!
I was in full fledge panic mode at that point and looked up to see my father sitting on the ground HOWLING with laughter! My mother came running down the path .... and to her astonishment .... she sees two completely naked ravingly, petrified girls tearing at themselves like a whore on angel dust.
My Mom rushes over to us and attempts to calm us down while inspecting us bodily. She finally assures us that there are no more leeches on us and I fall whimpering into her arms. She covers us gently with towels as we scowl mercilessly at my father who begins walking us back up the path to the car.
That was the longest, most pathetic ride home I have ever experienced. My father, of course, trying to expedite our trauma in his own idiotic way began telling us we were complete wusses (except HE used the "p" version) ... that we just had the ride of a lifetime and to quit our blubbering and get over it already! Yeah .... he's a real smooth talker, my dad.
I'll always remember that trip for it's out and out weirdness .... That trip, in particular, would have to go down in Ripley's Believe it Or Not Index of Vacations as being one of the most absurd yet memorable expeditions into the realm of the bizarro world of all time.
I think back and laugh now at those crazy times .... but more importantly .... I can see .... now .... from a safe distance how my mother was in direct diametric opposition to my father all the time on these voyages. He was the crazy carnival ride operator and she the sweet, soothing voice of sanity. She was constantly cleaning up his messes with us .... smoothing things over and making sure we came away from his maniacal adventures as completely undamaged as possible. Given that he was a tyrranical dictator that ruled with a clumsy yet beguiling iron fist... I think my Mom maneuvered through his mine field of lunacy rather fluidly with a perfect balance of grace, style and mental agility.
Those crazy, unpredictable adventures are long in the past. Hot Geek Boy and I have our own family now and we understand the importance of allowing our children to have amazing, adventurous experiences. I also feel the incredible weight of balancing their adventures with the counterweight of safety & responsibility. I think that's one of the many areas where my father failed me most. I never innately felt entirely safe and secure with him or his cuckoo ideas. By his actions and words, he created an atmosphere of deep mistrust with me of his parental decision making abilities. I'm positive that he lacked an inner parental compass that pointed him in the right direction. That is one lesson that he unintentionally taught me .... to instill in my children a permanent sense that I will always have their back.
I have to admit though .... If I look back honestly .... most of those trips wouldn't be half as much fun had they not been so weird. I learned a gazillion life lessons along the way .... saw amazing corners of the world .... experienced a harrowing water luge barely brushing death's cloak .... saw boners and met creepy celebrities ....
What more could a kid ask for on a summer vacation?
I can't remember a time in my life when I actually 'liked' my father. Which is quite odd .... because if you boil it down to it's absolute base .... we are corresponding parts of the same whole. He is a unadulterated lover of all things debauched. He is and was a lover of life and all that it represents. He inhales the world with a vortex of charisma and charm and gusto. That man has never shied away from a good time in all his born days.
However, where he and I consummately diverge is at the point of complete and utter sociopathy .... Essentially .... his behavior is that of one who lacks a complete sense of moral responsibility or social conscience. That man is a human tornado of destruction and wears a toothy grin as he wreaks havoc on the lives of the poor souls trapped in his clutches.
It has taken me a long, long time to appreciate much about this man .... but .... I will freely admit now.... the one absolutely amazing thing I have to give him full credit for is that he taught me how to travel.
No ... not just "travel" .... VOYAGE! (Doesn't that sound exotic???)
My father was NEVER one to book a trip on a commercial airliner, get on a bus, buy a pamphlet and see the sites. Our voyages were tales of legend! He learned how to fly .... worked smart (not hard) ... bought his own small plane and then would gather the 3 kids and my mom and set off for destinations unknown ... tiny islands in the caribbean, jungle mountains in Mexico, weird little po'dunk towns, etc...
One of the few times that I recall being on a commercial airliner as a child was the summer when I was 12 years old and our trip to Hawaii.
Here's that weird little tale:
My mother was beyond in love with Don Ho. For those of you who are too young or too pop culture retarded .... Don Ho was a Hawaiian balladeer. He was Hawaii's answer to Elvis. He had an afternoon television show in 1976 called The Don Ho Show. He was a sun-kissed, puka shell adorned, bronze god who hosted a variety show which featured live shots of him singing alluringly on beaches and leaning seductively against tiki huts. For housewives, at the time .... this, I'm sure, was an absolutely heavenly respite from the duldrums of wifedom. His most famous song of the time was a little ditty called "Tiny Bubbles". When that honey-tongued man sang that song on the television .... the far away look on my mother's face was priceless. It was as if Don Ho peered into that television camera and directed all his erotic charms to her and her alone.
 |
| Don Ho ... Hawaii's answer to Elvis |
Just in case you'd like to listen to "Tiny Bubbles"
... the song that made my mother swoon!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MXgc8wzfC4&feature=PlayList&p=EBD3D8848A461414&playnext=1&index=12... the song that made my mother swoon!
My mother worked her bewitchery on my father and before you knew it he begrudgingly booked us on a two week summer vacation in the enchanted land of Hawaii. All I remember about the flight is that the airplane was humongous. It was only about half filled so my sisters and I stretched out lazily in the center seats for the long, arduous flight. (I have only been as far as Europe & California since that trip because I was so entirely traumatized by the length of this flight)
Apparently my father had booked us on an island hopping trip because we never stayed in the same hotel longer than a few nights. (Either that or we were continuously on the lam for stiffing the hotels ... who knows!) My poor mother would get us all settled in and then a few days later have to repack our many suitcases and off we'd go again into the wild blue yonder.
At one hotel ... I believe on Maui .... I was playing leisurely on the beach when I noticed a lot of people pointing and staring at a person walking along the surf. I couldn't understand for the life of me what the big whoop was. From what I saw it was just a tiny little man wearing an even tinier red banana hammock. As he got closer .... I realized just what the hoopla was all about.
On television, in the 70's , there was a popular show that most adults my age will remember called The Incredible Hulk. It was a knock-off of shows like The Six Million Dollar Man and The A-Team. The star of that show was Bill Bixby (well ... Lou Ferrigno was technically the star .... but they never gave that poor guy any lines .... SIDEBAR: he's deaf, right??) And .... for you crazy TV buffs ... Bill Bixby was also the star of a hit show called The Courtship of Eddie's Father.
 |
| That hair and make up certainly didn't do a lot for poor Lou Ferrigno |
Back to the story .....
So .... my Mom's pretty hot. Well ... maybe "pretty hot" doesn't do her justice. She was incredibly, beyond belief beautiful. She made a small splash in the beauty pageant industry and was Miss Green County, Miss Taylor County & was also a Kentucky Colonel's basketball cheerleader.
As Mr. Hulk (Bill Bixby .... not Ferrigno) strolls by on the beach .... he spots my Mom in her hot little red bikini and sidles right up to her and strikes up a conversation. I'm about 20 feet away ... watching this odd little exchange and then that little horn dog procedes to sit on the edge of her chaise lounge chair and begins to get a little too chummy for my taste. Feeling a bit territorial ... I stand up .... march over and pretty much cock-block old Billy boy. I grab my Mom's hand and tell her it's time to go to lunch while glaring daggers at Bill. My mom makes her apologies for my rudeness to Bill and introduces us. I am by no means star-struck by this Cassanova wannabe one little bit and brush him off harshly. Bill catches on to my annoying game and excuses himself. He and his weanie bikini meander down the beach to lurch on other unsuspecting mommies.
 |
| Banana hammock - not for public consumption ..... blechhhhhh! |
Later that evening ... we are in our hotel room. My Dad is down at the tiki bar hitting on Pan Am flight attendants left and right (.... and actually takes one to dinner the next night WITH the family ... but that is another story). The phone rings and my Mom picks it up and in her Southern lilt says "hello". She gets into a short conversation then hangs up the phone. I then notice that my mother is a much darker shade of red than she had been just moments ago. She is blushing! MY mother is blushing!! As it turns out .... that skeevy little Bill Bixby's room was in the suite right above ours. He had somehow found out what room we were staying in and concocted some ridiculous excuse of playing his music too loudly then called my Mom to find out if the high volume was bothering her .... but even at the tender age of twelve I could smell a creep a mile away ... that lethario was calling to hit on MY MOM!! Being the lovely and graceful lady that she was .... my mother gently told him that his music wasn't bothering her but to please not call again because she is a married woman. Hmfphfffffffph. Grrrrrrrrrrr .....
To say that I was unaffected by Bill Bixby's cancerous demise years later would be an understatement.
To my horrifying chagrin .... I was to be plagued by banana hammocked men the next day as well. My Dad had this grand idea to take my sister and I scuba diving. We had never scuba dived before (only snorkeled) ... but .... my Dad being my Dad .... found a schlock operation to give us a 20 minute coaching while he went off to check on the boat. So here we were .... my Mom, sister and me left alone with this total stranger ... wearing a black banana hammock. (What is it with this island ... do they hand out these ridiculous bathing suits when you apply for a driver's license???) As he is instructing us and putting on our gear .... I notice he keeps leering at my Mom (who is wearing nothing but a bikini at the time and a pretty sarong). Suddenly ... I look down ... and this dude has a full on raging, bonafide boner!!!!! ..... AND in my estimation it didn't look like that tiny little nylon swatch of fabric was going to hold back that torpedo for long! I stood there in absolute paralyzed shock ... eyebrows raised .... eyes glazed over .... What the hell was going on here????
My Mom's eyes got as big as over-easy eggs. She hussled over to us and gently took us by the hands and while averting her eyes from the "armament" she mumbled some excuse to the instructor and abandoned him and his extra leg on the beach. We quickly grabbed our fins, mask, etc.... and high-tailed it down the boardwalk to the awaiting boat. As soon as the shock began to subside ... my sister and I commenced nervously giggling .... which quickly turned into uproarious and uncontrollable shrieks of laughter ... followed by fat droplets of tears cascading down our faces ..... rolling on the end of the dock .... holding our bellies and gasping for breath. My Mom is hushing us like crazy .... biting her lip which is beginning to break out into an abashed smile .... and finally gets us composed enough to get on the boat. Needless to say ... my first encounter with a full-on erect penis was enduringly and profoundly etched into my mind for all eternity.
We all load onto the boat for our scuba diving trip ... which is uneventful ... but of course that depends on your yard stick. Keep in mind ... I am twelve years old and have ZERO authentic scuba training. After we put all of our gear on and slip nervously into the water ... my father gives my sister and I some terrific pearls of wisdom ... he says ..."girls ... it's dangerous down there ... don't fuck it up or you'll die" .... and with that he dove beneath the surface leaving my sister and I to pray quietly to ourselves to make it out of yet another one of his crazy schemes alive. We put on our masks ... placed the salty regulators in our mouths and hoped for the best. We dived down about 50 feet or so that day. Which I'm told by experts is incredibly deep even for experienced divers. We saw amazing brightly colored fish and multi-colored reef. My father found a weird looking long tentacled starfish and snuck up behind me and laid the starfish over my head and across my mask. Of course, this scared the absolute piss out of me ... literally ... and as I screamed silently into my regulator and calmed my hyperventilation .... all I could see was his evil crooked smile. I secretly hoped that at that moment ... Poseidon would see the injustice and send a giant great white shark to eerily swim up behind him and eat him whole. No such luck.
We make it off the island of Maui with our innocence a bit scorched and end up on the last of our islands called Kauai. One of my mother's favorite movies of her youth was South Pacific. A dreamy 1950's musical that takes place in .... you guessed it .... the South Pacific. Over some beers with the locals at an out of the way pub ... my Dad finds out that on the island is a mountain stream with a man made concrete shoot that drops down over a waterfall and into a lagoon. There was a famous scene shot there from the movie South Pacific and he is bound and determined to trek up the jungle mountain to find it. He gleans the best directions he can from some toothless Hawaiian fishermen and off we go on his quest.
We are in a station wagon (a la' the Griswolds) making our way up unpaved, treacherously narrow roads ..... losing our way .... back tracking and finally after a few weary hours find our way to the top of a deserted lush, treed mountain top. We get out of the car and make our way into the woods. We immediately see a muddy trail and proceed to follow it blindly. After about 10 minutes of walking ... we begin to hear the whoosh of running water.
We finally get to a clearing and behold a 30+ foot wide waterway with giant boulders that were placed eons ago dotting the cascading stream. There was a very sharp incline and the water was rushing down the mountain at a pretty decent click. My father excitedly tells us to stay put and then hikes off for about 10 minutes or so ... returns .... and informs us that at the end of the stream is a waterfall that splashes down into a lagoon about 300 yards or so in the distance.
He claps his hands together and yells .... "okay ... who's the brave one that's going first!" .... Never to be intimidated by my father .... I raise my hand defiantly and say ".... outta my way!" I step undauntedly into the cold, fast moving water and with some doing ... make my way to the center. There, I find a concrete luge with green, lustrous moss covering it. I sit down on it and before I could neither change my mind nor get properly situated .... the water had gathered behind me and shoved me into oblivion!
I began speeding like a bullet around mammoth looking rocks and became immediately convinced that this had better be worth it because I had a pretty good sense I was going to be imminently dead! Then ...without warning, the ground suddenly disappeared beneath me and I was airborne ..... free falling over a waterfall into a crystalline pool of water. I was instantly submerged deep in the water .... fighting my way to the top ... but the waterfall had a slight suction effect and I had to kick as hard as I could to make it to the top ... I burst thru the surface of the water and sucked in air. I'm alive! I had made it! Suck it, people .... I am a jungle goddess!!!
I made my way to the swampy edge, trudging thru mud & fauna and realize I am alone and in the middle of nowhere. I start calling out to my parents .... nothing. Holy crap ... how do I get back?? I realize that if I make my way up the side of the waterfall by hanging onto vines and trees I can get to the path that takes me to where the rest of the family are waiting. I get about halfway up the path and see my Dad with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. I am slightly furious at this point ... as the ramifications and danger has just dawned on me during my return hike. This was no amusement park slide where it is tested and retested by some egg-headed scientist to assure family safety! We are in the middle of a friggin' jungle mountain throwing ourselves down an ice cold, raging water, plunge of death stream!
Out of the corner of my eye I see whizzing past me my terrified sister who being the more timid of the two of us got cajoled by my Dad into taking a whirl. I run back down the path just in time to see her go over the edge of the waterfall. As she makes it to the edge of the lagoon ... I instruct her on how to climb back to the path. We look warily at each other ... then to my father .... and as I begin to give him a pretty good sassing ... my sister starts to scream. It is one of those blood-curdling, horror movie victim screams and I am utterly and completely stone frozen in place.
She places one hand to her mouth .... muffling another scream while slowly raising her other hand pointing to my legs. I look down in terror and see long slimy, black, shiny mutant creatures attached to me. I then look at my sister's legs, back & arms and realize the aforementioned creatures are attached to her as well. Well ... I was literally raised in a little honky tonk bar ... and learned some pretty awesome, choice cuss words and my brain decided this was as good a time as any to blurt them out for all to hear ... I was swearing and pulling those damn leeches off of me ... ripping off my bathing suit and suddenly realizing they were ALL over me .... YES ... ALL over me ... down there!!
I was in full fledge panic mode at that point and looked up to see my father sitting on the ground HOWLING with laughter! My mother came running down the path .... and to her astonishment .... she sees two completely naked ravingly, petrified girls tearing at themselves like a whore on angel dust.
My Mom rushes over to us and attempts to calm us down while inspecting us bodily. She finally assures us that there are no more leeches on us and I fall whimpering into her arms. She covers us gently with towels as we scowl mercilessly at my father who begins walking us back up the path to the car.
 |
| Yeah ... gross little blood suckers aren't they? Now imagine about 30 or so of them all over your body! |
That was the longest, most pathetic ride home I have ever experienced. My father, of course, trying to expedite our trauma in his own idiotic way began telling us we were complete wusses (except HE used the "p" version) ... that we just had the ride of a lifetime and to quit our blubbering and get over it already! Yeah .... he's a real smooth talker, my dad.
 |
| This is the actual waterfall and slide. This picture was taken about 10 years after we were there ... evidentally, these people had irresponsible, insane parents too |
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| Yeah ... it looks like fun ... until the creepy leeches get ya'! |
I'll always remember that trip for it's out and out weirdness .... That trip, in particular, would have to go down in Ripley's Believe it Or Not Index of Vacations as being one of the most absurd yet memorable expeditions into the realm of the bizarro world of all time.
I think back and laugh now at those crazy times .... but more importantly .... I can see .... now .... from a safe distance how my mother was in direct diametric opposition to my father all the time on these voyages. He was the crazy carnival ride operator and she the sweet, soothing voice of sanity. She was constantly cleaning up his messes with us .... smoothing things over and making sure we came away from his maniacal adventures as completely undamaged as possible. Given that he was a tyrranical dictator that ruled with a clumsy yet beguiling iron fist... I think my Mom maneuvered through his mine field of lunacy rather fluidly with a perfect balance of grace, style and mental agility.
Those crazy, unpredictable adventures are long in the past. Hot Geek Boy and I have our own family now and we understand the importance of allowing our children to have amazing, adventurous experiences. I also feel the incredible weight of balancing their adventures with the counterweight of safety & responsibility. I think that's one of the many areas where my father failed me most. I never innately felt entirely safe and secure with him or his cuckoo ideas. By his actions and words, he created an atmosphere of deep mistrust with me of his parental decision making abilities. I'm positive that he lacked an inner parental compass that pointed him in the right direction. That is one lesson that he unintentionally taught me .... to instill in my children a permanent sense that I will always have their back.
I have to admit though .... If I look back honestly .... most of those trips wouldn't be half as much fun had they not been so weird. I learned a gazillion life lessons along the way .... saw amazing corners of the world .... experienced a harrowing water luge barely brushing death's cloak .... saw boners and met creepy celebrities ....
What more could a kid ask for on a summer vacation?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
My Brief Attempt To Run Away With The Circus
We all have stories about our youth that we seem to either relish or abhor the retelling thereof. If I am going to run this blog with any honesty at all ... I guess it's time to get down to brass tacks.
As most of you may or may not know ... my beloved mother died in a horrible car accident on US42 one day before my 16th birthday .... a few days after that ... I (and my horse) was shipped off to a boarding school in Virginia. I went to an equestrian school where the curriculum included riding your horse daily. In spite of the circumstances .... not too shabby, huh?
Prior to heading off to boarding school ... I have no problem admitting to the fact that my image and reputation was probably a little less than stellar. Upon arriving at the boarding school ... I did absolutely nothing to change my errant ways and further tarnished an already much maligned reputation.
But ... this isn't a story about what a rotten, out of control teenager I was .... this is an uplifting ode to all those kids in confusing predicaments that wish they could just chuck it all and start life anew.
Here goes:
One day at boarding school I noticed everyone at the Social Board looking at a flyer and sign up sheet. I walked up to see what all the hubbub was about .... it appeared that the circus was in town and those who wanted to go only needed to place their John Hancock on the board. I couldn't wait to get off campus so I immediately signed up for the field trip!
I waited in anticipation all week. I worked diligently doing my schoolwork and staying out of trouble ... which was a monumental task for me .... so that I wouldn't be banned from off campus privileges.
The night finally came and about 2 dozen uniformed, proper looking school girls all piled in a van and began our trek to the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus. We got there a little early and in Barnum & Bailey tradition ... they allowed students and small children to walk down to the 3 ring circus area for a meet & greet with the performers.
There were clowns of all shapes and sizes and beautiful, overly made up exotic women in sparkly sequined costumes, lion tamers in red tuxedos, and the like. While walking around one of the rings .... I caught the eye of a young man in iridescent white spandex pants, no shirt and a headband (circa Let's Get Physical/Olivia Newton John style) and was instantly intrigued. I began slowly and inconspicuously making my way over to him and boldly introduced myself. He, in turn, told me his name ... and I will never as long as I have a breath left in my body forget it. He said ... in a sumptuous Chilean accent ... "I ... am Gino Farfan .... of the Flying Farfans".
Well .... as Aunt Pittypat exclaimed in Gone With the Wind .... "Somebody catch me ... I've got the vapors!" I did my best to stay on my feet for the next 20 minutes while we chatted ... well ... he mostly chatted and I did alot of nodding and nervous smiling.
He told me that if I wanted .... I could meet him at the entrance to the back stage area after the circus and he would show me around a bit. I told him that I was with a group but I would try and sneak away for a short tour. The circus, of course, was amazing .... as it always is. Gino and his family, as it turned out, were trapeze artists. Suffice it to say ... as the song goes ...He flew through the air with the greatest of ease .... That daring young man on the flying trapeze.
Afterward, as my group was exiting the arena ... I made an excuse to go back feigning the loss of my purse. I ran over to the entrance to the backstage area and to my surprise Gino was standing there waiting for me . I told him I only had a few minutes to say goodbye but that I would love to keep in touch with him. He said that his family and the entire circus was traveling by train and that it would be difficult to correspond. He gave me a P.O. Box address and told me to drop him a line sometime. Then .... he did something that absolutely shook me to the core ... he kissed me on the hand. No boy had ever ... nor since ... done something so graceful as to kiss me on the hand and I wanted to freeze that moment for eternity.
I left on the van to go back to school with my classmates eagerly and breathlessly telling and retelling the entire experience. I was in teenage bliss for weeks and wrote and re-wrote a light hearted letter to Gino and kissed it for luck in hopes that it would find him.
Months went by and as I checked my mailbox at school daily ... I was despondent to find that there was no letter back from Gino. Like most heartsick teenage girls .... I moped for a while ... but slowly found other activities to occupy my mind.
As school started to wind down and I began my trip back to Louisville for the summer ... I found a new spark of excitement in getting back to my hometown and catching up with all my friends. After being home just a few days ... I was watching television and lo and behold an advertisement came on for the Barnum & Bailey Circus! I was flabbergasted! It had been over 6 months since I had last been to that fateful circus in Virginia and I was NOT going to miss my chance to reconnect with the Chilean hand kisser!
A week or so later ... ticket in hand .... I eagerly showed up at Freedom Hall. I immediately beelined it for the backstage entrance and begged a security guard to get a note to Gino Farfan. I waited patiently for about 20 minutes and as I nervously shuffled and stared at my feet .... someone lightly tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly around to see that it was Gino! He gave me a gracious hello hug ... as if we were long lost friends ... and asked why I never wrote. I told him that I did write ... several times, in fact. We chalked it up to the mail getting lost in the shuffle of their travels. He took me backstage where he walked me around and introduced me to some of the performers and then it was time for the show to start. I took my seat and could not wait until the end because after that night's performance .... we had plans to go on an actual date!
I'll spare you, kind readers, of all the gory details of the evening .... I do have children you know .... but ... suffice it to say we had an innocent evening of teenage hangin' out. During my evening with Gino .... I learned that he would be in town for 10 days as the circus was using Louisville as a stopping point to retrain and retool. I went to Freedom Hall every single day and night for the next 9 glorious days and spent the most magical time of my teenage years. I got to know most of the performers by first name, I got to pet a lion, I got to fly on the trapeze, I rode an elephant, I wore clown make-up, played with trained dogs, ate more cotton candy than I'd care to admit .... amongst many many more amazing things.
Gino had his own suite in the train that the circus was traveling on and we spent many hours there getting to know each other. His life was so fascinating to me. He was a 4th generation Chilean circus performer and he had grown up from birth traveling with different shows. He was 18 years old ... handsome, brilliant, spoke 4 different languages and had never been to a proper school a day in his life. I was floating in what I knew was a very rare atmosphere for a little ol' gal from Kentucky and don't think for a second that it did not go unnoticed by me.
As they say ..... all good things must come to an end. When the day came for Gino to leave on the train ... I showed up to say my goodbyes and secretly brought a duffle bag with me full of whatever belongings I could quickly shove into it. I told him that I wanted to come with the circus and that I could train to do whatever they needed me to do. Of course, this was out of the question ... as I was only 16 1/2 years old ... but it was a beautiful, short lived fantasy. As I waved my goodbyes, with tears in my eyes, watching the train pull out of town .... I vowed someday .... somehow ... I would tour with the circus.
I, of course, was heart-broken .... for a few days .... until I realized that I was leaving for 2 months to go to Progresso, Mexico to visit my roommate Ileana Cassares. I began to eagerly anticipate my departure and as the days and months passed .... and other boys came into my life .... the memory of that amazing, mind-blowing adventure began to fade slowly into a distant haze.
Sadly ... I never heard from Gino Farfan again. When the internet revolution came about years ago, I actually googled The Flying Farfans to find out whatever happened to the family. There isn't much out there on the internet about them .... a few videos here and there ... some press clippings ..... which is deplorable because they were beautiful artists in their own right ... and actually got a shout out on Wikipedia as being influential in this field for Cirque de Soleil artists. Gino, in particular, is famous for a particular trapeze stunt that to this day has not been bested.
I could argue that I have fulfilled my vow to tour with the circus ... as most of my friends know .... my life is a bit of a traveling, juggling act. I have also had the exhilaration of flying high with my husband .... being tossed in the air and then letting go ... holding my breath and falling breathlessly in love with him, caught gently in his grip .... walking on the tight-rope of life as a mother ..... being a clown with my children .... Unconventionally, my life is a bit of a circus .... albeit a carefully, orchestrated one.
I have an amazing life now .... filled with spectacular adventures to write about .... and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. But there is still a tiny piece of me .... that wonders two things .... Do you think perhaps that my mother, as an angel, and knowing me so well ..... worked some heavenly magic that summer and had something to do with sending me this incredible, other worldly experience as a way to ease the pain of her death? And second ... wouldn't I have made a fantastic circus performer?
The moral is .... the world opens itself up to you in many different ways ..... if you are smart and brave enough to take advantage of those opportunites ..... you just may find yourself flying on a trapeze or sitting atop an elephant.
Until next time,
t-
As most of you may or may not know ... my beloved mother died in a horrible car accident on US42 one day before my 16th birthday .... a few days after that ... I (and my horse) was shipped off to a boarding school in Virginia. I went to an equestrian school where the curriculum included riding your horse daily. In spite of the circumstances .... not too shabby, huh?
Prior to heading off to boarding school ... I have no problem admitting to the fact that my image and reputation was probably a little less than stellar. Upon arriving at the boarding school ... I did absolutely nothing to change my errant ways and further tarnished an already much maligned reputation.
But ... this isn't a story about what a rotten, out of control teenager I was .... this is an uplifting ode to all those kids in confusing predicaments that wish they could just chuck it all and start life anew.
Here goes:
One day at boarding school I noticed everyone at the Social Board looking at a flyer and sign up sheet. I walked up to see what all the hubbub was about .... it appeared that the circus was in town and those who wanted to go only needed to place their John Hancock on the board. I couldn't wait to get off campus so I immediately signed up for the field trip!
I waited in anticipation all week. I worked diligently doing my schoolwork and staying out of trouble ... which was a monumental task for me .... so that I wouldn't be banned from off campus privileges.
The night finally came and about 2 dozen uniformed, proper looking school girls all piled in a van and began our trek to the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus. We got there a little early and in Barnum & Bailey tradition ... they allowed students and small children to walk down to the 3 ring circus area for a meet & greet with the performers.
There were clowns of all shapes and sizes and beautiful, overly made up exotic women in sparkly sequined costumes, lion tamers in red tuxedos, and the like. While walking around one of the rings .... I caught the eye of a young man in iridescent white spandex pants, no shirt and a headband (circa Let's Get Physical/Olivia Newton John style) and was instantly intrigued. I began slowly and inconspicuously making my way over to him and boldly introduced myself. He, in turn, told me his name ... and I will never as long as I have a breath left in my body forget it. He said ... in a sumptuous Chilean accent ... "I ... am Gino Farfan .... of the Flying Farfans".
Well .... as Aunt Pittypat exclaimed in Gone With the Wind .... "Somebody catch me ... I've got the vapors!" I did my best to stay on my feet for the next 20 minutes while we chatted ... well ... he mostly chatted and I did alot of nodding and nervous smiling.
He told me that if I wanted .... I could meet him at the entrance to the back stage area after the circus and he would show me around a bit. I told him that I was with a group but I would try and sneak away for a short tour. The circus, of course, was amazing .... as it always is. Gino and his family, as it turned out, were trapeze artists. Suffice it to say ... as the song goes ...He flew through the air with the greatest of ease .... That daring young man on the flying trapeze.
Afterward, as my group was exiting the arena ... I made an excuse to go back feigning the loss of my purse. I ran over to the entrance to the backstage area and to my surprise Gino was standing there waiting for me . I told him I only had a few minutes to say goodbye but that I would love to keep in touch with him. He said that his family and the entire circus was traveling by train and that it would be difficult to correspond. He gave me a P.O. Box address and told me to drop him a line sometime. Then .... he did something that absolutely shook me to the core ... he kissed me on the hand. No boy had ever ... nor since ... done something so graceful as to kiss me on the hand and I wanted to freeze that moment for eternity.
I left on the van to go back to school with my classmates eagerly and breathlessly telling and retelling the entire experience. I was in teenage bliss for weeks and wrote and re-wrote a light hearted letter to Gino and kissed it for luck in hopes that it would find him.
Months went by and as I checked my mailbox at school daily ... I was despondent to find that there was no letter back from Gino. Like most heartsick teenage girls .... I moped for a while ... but slowly found other activities to occupy my mind.
As school started to wind down and I began my trip back to Louisville for the summer ... I found a new spark of excitement in getting back to my hometown and catching up with all my friends. After being home just a few days ... I was watching television and lo and behold an advertisement came on for the Barnum & Bailey Circus! I was flabbergasted! It had been over 6 months since I had last been to that fateful circus in Virginia and I was NOT going to miss my chance to reconnect with the Chilean hand kisser!
A week or so later ... ticket in hand .... I eagerly showed up at Freedom Hall. I immediately beelined it for the backstage entrance and begged a security guard to get a note to Gino Farfan. I waited patiently for about 20 minutes and as I nervously shuffled and stared at my feet .... someone lightly tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly around to see that it was Gino! He gave me a gracious hello hug ... as if we were long lost friends ... and asked why I never wrote. I told him that I did write ... several times, in fact. We chalked it up to the mail getting lost in the shuffle of their travels. He took me backstage where he walked me around and introduced me to some of the performers and then it was time for the show to start. I took my seat and could not wait until the end because after that night's performance .... we had plans to go on an actual date!
I'll spare you, kind readers, of all the gory details of the evening .... I do have children you know .... but ... suffice it to say we had an innocent evening of teenage hangin' out. During my evening with Gino .... I learned that he would be in town for 10 days as the circus was using Louisville as a stopping point to retrain and retool. I went to Freedom Hall every single day and night for the next 9 glorious days and spent the most magical time of my teenage years. I got to know most of the performers by first name, I got to pet a lion, I got to fly on the trapeze, I rode an elephant, I wore clown make-up, played with trained dogs, ate more cotton candy than I'd care to admit .... amongst many many more amazing things.
Gino had his own suite in the train that the circus was traveling on and we spent many hours there getting to know each other. His life was so fascinating to me. He was a 4th generation Chilean circus performer and he had grown up from birth traveling with different shows. He was 18 years old ... handsome, brilliant, spoke 4 different languages and had never been to a proper school a day in his life. I was floating in what I knew was a very rare atmosphere for a little ol' gal from Kentucky and don't think for a second that it did not go unnoticed by me.
As they say ..... all good things must come to an end. When the day came for Gino to leave on the train ... I showed up to say my goodbyes and secretly brought a duffle bag with me full of whatever belongings I could quickly shove into it. I told him that I wanted to come with the circus and that I could train to do whatever they needed me to do. Of course, this was out of the question ... as I was only 16 1/2 years old ... but it was a beautiful, short lived fantasy. As I waved my goodbyes, with tears in my eyes, watching the train pull out of town .... I vowed someday .... somehow ... I would tour with the circus.
I, of course, was heart-broken .... for a few days .... until I realized that I was leaving for 2 months to go to Progresso, Mexico to visit my roommate Ileana Cassares. I began to eagerly anticipate my departure and as the days and months passed .... and other boys came into my life .... the memory of that amazing, mind-blowing adventure began to fade slowly into a distant haze.
Sadly ... I never heard from Gino Farfan again. When the internet revolution came about years ago, I actually googled The Flying Farfans to find out whatever happened to the family. There isn't much out there on the internet about them .... a few videos here and there ... some press clippings ..... which is deplorable because they were beautiful artists in their own right ... and actually got a shout out on Wikipedia as being influential in this field for Cirque de Soleil artists. Gino, in particular, is famous for a particular trapeze stunt that to this day has not been bested.
I could argue that I have fulfilled my vow to tour with the circus ... as most of my friends know .... my life is a bit of a traveling, juggling act. I have also had the exhilaration of flying high with my husband .... being tossed in the air and then letting go ... holding my breath and falling breathlessly in love with him, caught gently in his grip .... walking on the tight-rope of life as a mother ..... being a clown with my children .... Unconventionally, my life is a bit of a circus .... albeit a carefully, orchestrated one.
 |
| Gino Farfan is the second one from the right standing next to his mother with the blonde hair. Below is a link to a video of The Flying Farfans circa 1988. Gino is at the 1:05 mark. http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1583776659 |
I have an amazing life now .... filled with spectacular adventures to write about .... and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. But there is still a tiny piece of me .... that wonders two things .... Do you think perhaps that my mother, as an angel, and knowing me so well ..... worked some heavenly magic that summer and had something to do with sending me this incredible, other worldly experience as a way to ease the pain of her death? And second ... wouldn't I have made a fantastic circus performer?
The moral is .... the world opens itself up to you in many different ways ..... if you are smart and brave enough to take advantage of those opportunites ..... you just may find yourself flying on a trapeze or sitting atop an elephant.
Until next time,
t-
Monday, August 2, 2010
Cat philanthropy: The early years .... OR Cryogenic Catsicle
As some of you know .... I was not always the glowing image of animal philanthropy that I am today. I was not the bastion of unselfishness when it came to my money or my time. I have slowly grown into this role ... as I have been told that "we people" who have "made it" in life should somehow reach inside ourselves and find a charitable calling. I naturally gravitated towards animals .... because they are literally and figuratively underdogs. Here's an absolutely unvarnished, true story to illustrate my animal sainthood.
Scene: My home in Prospect, KY .... Summer ... 2000.
I am a relatively new (and entirely cerebrally frustrated beyond belief) mother of 2 very young children. I go out to my portico, where we park our cars, to play with the kids nearly every morning. For about a month, I catch glimpses of a ferrel cat that hides under my car. The moment the kids come out to play .... ZOOM ... she's gone. I decide, in my infinite boredom and frustration, to catch this cat and domesticate it.
I root around in the basement and find our old dog carrier. I place it outside, near my car, with the carrier door open. I ingeniously concoct a trap. Yeah .... I have to be honest.... it was definitely a Wile E. Coyote life moment for me. Although, I have always thought my life closely resembled a classic cartoon.
It took me a few days ... and suffice it to say there were some not so graceful Cirque de Soleil-esque moments of me hanging off the roof of my car lying"in wait" readying to slam the carrier door the minute that cat set foot in the carrier!
Finally .... Eureka! I got her! She was a timid shy little thing. She looked very young and had a bloated belly. I thought to myself .... either she has a giant case of worms or this cat's knocked up!
I make an appointment the next day with the vet at Goshen Animal Clinic. The kids and I took her into the vet with high hopes that she was preggers. My husband, of course, being the only sane one at the time, did not share in our euphoric excitement. He, in fact, was hoping that she had a giant case of worms and was being eaten viscerally from the inside out. He is really quite the animal lover, my Hot Geek Boy .... a true modern day Saint Francis, if you will.
At the Vet's office .... upon initial examination, it was discovered by the vet that, yes, indeed ... I was purportedly to become the heir-apparent of a knocked up street cat ..... and with no baby daddy in sight .... this little slut hooker cat needed a pimp momma.
The kids and I were jumping up and down in the examining room as if you'd told me we won the Kentucky State Lottery and we were going to blow the entirety of our winnings on life-size gummy bear statues of ourselves. The kids were frenzied and talk of soft baby kittens snuggling at night-night time were being thrown around willy nilly!
Suddenly, a nurse appeared with a chart and a sour puss face. She tells me abruptly .... "Mrs. Amrein ... I think the excitement was slightly premature because looking at her blood work ... this cat has Feline Immune Deficiency Syndrome".
I give her a "WTF" look as she goes on to explain ..."This FIDS is a terminal illness and is similar to AIDS in humans. It is transferable to her kittens and she will need to be put down." (Seriously ... go ahead and google it .... I'll wait .....)
Okay ... wait a minute ... what the what???? I am literally going dizzy at this point because as it turns out ... my little slut hooker cat has friggin' AIDS !!! That little hoo-ah!! (as my Bronx friends would say)
I usher the kids out of the room and sit them quietly in the lobby. I return to the examining room and while my children are crying their tiny little eyes out in the lobby ... I, myself, begin torrentially "ugly cry" bawling ... OVER A CAT THAT I HAVE HAD IN MY POSSESSION FOR LESS THAN 24 HOURS! Of course, they tell me, it's going to be put down humanely and that I am a saint for bringing her in .... blah, blah, blah ....
As I shuffle out to the lobby to collect my slobbery, glazed donut faced kids ... I pass the front desk and without skipping a beat ... they hand me a very, very, very long receipt. This receipt has every single solitary known relevant and irrelevant veterinary medical test on it ever performed in the modern world.
Those crazy bastards hit me to the tune of $850 bucks!!!!! My brain was swimming (in bile at this point) .... I was attempting to translate the medical-ese on the paper and the only thing that made sense was the very last line.
It read ..."Euthanization & Disposal .... $100.00". Well .... that just about tore it for me! (.... and here's where I diverge just slightly from my sainthood ....) I began back pedaling and distancing myself from the tragedy .... "I didn't even know this cat" I say to the stone faced receptionist ... "...it was just some stupid runaway!" ... I attempted to reason and justify my position ... that I was doing my civic duty bringing in this ferrel cat and couldn't they just give me a break????
HELL to the NO .... was pretty much her response. (hey .... I know that's urban vernacular..... but in my defense .... I am still pissed AND ... she was black AND she did do some chicken neck movements and finger wagging ... so my use of the slang isn't entirely out of context here.)
Well ... I was beside myself on how in the jeebus I was going to tell Hot Geek Boy this sad yet financially ridiculous news.
So .... I do what any self respecting wife does ..... I give him "what for" (the x-rated version) and then break the news to him that we just incurred an $850 vet bill for a pregnant AIDS cat that he definitely did not know that we owned.
He took it way better than I thought (the cat story ... not the "what for" .... although to my best recollection .... that was pretty good too). I showed him the bill and he got to the "Euthanization & Disposal" part and came utterly unglued!
He immediately called the vet office and insisted on knowing where in the hell the cat was!?
They tell him that the cat has been euthanized and is now in her eternal slumber in their Maytag Freezer.
Well that's all he needed to hear. The next morning Hot Geek Boy shows up bright and early indignantly pounding his fist on the lobby desk at the vet office demanding his frozen cat! He'll be damned if he's going to let them charge him one nickel extra for something like that! I'm sure after sensing his incredulous and exasperated attitude ... they reluctantly credit him $50 bucks for the "Disposal" end of the bargain and we are now the proud owners of one FROZEN SOLID CAT.
He tosses the aforementioned feline in the passenger seat of his car and begins his drive to work.
So off he goes ..... Hot Geek Boy and the dead AIDS infested frozen cat .... listening to NPR ..... side by side .... in rush hour traffic on their way to his office.
It dawns on him ... probably somewhere in the Starbucks Drive-Thru line ... what in the blue blazes is he going to do with a dead frozen cat????? So, he does what any self respecting southerner does ..... He tosses it unceremoniously into the dumpster behind his office! No sir .... no fancy pants backyard funeral with a coffin made of a glued on glitter macaroni decorated shoe box and kleenex for a headrest! Heck no ..... that just simply would not be our style.
Anyhoo .... I guess the moral to that little nugget is ... if you're going to go out on a limb for anybody or anything .... get 'em AIDS tested first .... either that .... or you're gonna end up holding onto the wrong end of a bag of Catsicle.
Until next time,
t-
Scene: My home in Prospect, KY .... Summer ... 2000.
I am a relatively new (and entirely cerebrally frustrated beyond belief) mother of 2 very young children. I go out to my portico, where we park our cars, to play with the kids nearly every morning. For about a month, I catch glimpses of a ferrel cat that hides under my car. The moment the kids come out to play .... ZOOM ... she's gone. I decide, in my infinite boredom and frustration, to catch this cat and domesticate it.
I root around in the basement and find our old dog carrier. I place it outside, near my car, with the carrier door open. I ingeniously concoct a trap. Yeah .... I have to be honest.... it was definitely a Wile E. Coyote life moment for me. Although, I have always thought my life closely resembled a classic cartoon.
It took me a few days ... and suffice it to say there were some not so graceful Cirque de Soleil-esque moments of me hanging off the roof of my car lying"in wait" readying to slam the carrier door the minute that cat set foot in the carrier!
Finally .... Eureka! I got her! She was a timid shy little thing. She looked very young and had a bloated belly. I thought to myself .... either she has a giant case of worms or this cat's knocked up!
I make an appointment the next day with the vet at Goshen Animal Clinic. The kids and I took her into the vet with high hopes that she was preggers. My husband, of course, being the only sane one at the time, did not share in our euphoric excitement. He, in fact, was hoping that she had a giant case of worms and was being eaten viscerally from the inside out. He is really quite the animal lover, my Hot Geek Boy .... a true modern day Saint Francis, if you will.
At the Vet's office .... upon initial examination, it was discovered by the vet that, yes, indeed ... I was purportedly to become the heir-apparent of a knocked up street cat ..... and with no baby daddy in sight .... this little slut hooker cat needed a pimp momma.
The kids and I were jumping up and down in the examining room as if you'd told me we won the Kentucky State Lottery and we were going to blow the entirety of our winnings on life-size gummy bear statues of ourselves. The kids were frenzied and talk of soft baby kittens snuggling at night-night time were being thrown around willy nilly!
Suddenly, a nurse appeared with a chart and a sour puss face. She tells me abruptly .... "Mrs. Amrein ... I think the excitement was slightly premature because looking at her blood work ... this cat has Feline Immune Deficiency Syndrome".
I give her a "WTF" look as she goes on to explain ..."This FIDS is a terminal illness and is similar to AIDS in humans. It is transferable to her kittens and she will need to be put down." (Seriously ... go ahead and google it .... I'll wait .....)
Okay ... wait a minute ... what the what???? I am literally going dizzy at this point because as it turns out ... my little slut hooker cat has friggin' AIDS !!! That little hoo-ah!! (as my Bronx friends would say)
I usher the kids out of the room and sit them quietly in the lobby. I return to the examining room and while my children are crying their tiny little eyes out in the lobby ... I, myself, begin torrentially "ugly cry" bawling ... OVER A CAT THAT I HAVE HAD IN MY POSSESSION FOR LESS THAN 24 HOURS! Of course, they tell me, it's going to be put down humanely and that I am a saint for bringing her in .... blah, blah, blah ....
As I shuffle out to the lobby to collect my slobbery, glazed donut faced kids ... I pass the front desk and without skipping a beat ... they hand me a very, very, very long receipt. This receipt has every single solitary known relevant and irrelevant veterinary medical test on it ever performed in the modern world.
Those crazy bastards hit me to the tune of $850 bucks!!!!! My brain was swimming (in bile at this point) .... I was attempting to translate the medical-ese on the paper and the only thing that made sense was the very last line.
It read ..."Euthanization & Disposal .... $100.00". Well .... that just about tore it for me! (.... and here's where I diverge just slightly from my sainthood ....) I began back pedaling and distancing myself from the tragedy .... "I didn't even know this cat" I say to the stone faced receptionist ... "...it was just some stupid runaway!" ... I attempted to reason and justify my position ... that I was doing my civic duty bringing in this ferrel cat and couldn't they just give me a break????
HELL to the NO .... was pretty much her response. (hey .... I know that's urban vernacular..... but in my defense .... I am still pissed AND ... she was black AND she did do some chicken neck movements and finger wagging ... so my use of the slang isn't entirely out of context here.)
Well ... I was beside myself on how in the jeebus I was going to tell Hot Geek Boy this sad yet financially ridiculous news.
So .... I do what any self respecting wife does ..... I give him "what for" (the x-rated version) and then break the news to him that we just incurred an $850 vet bill for a pregnant AIDS cat that he definitely did not know that we owned.
He took it way better than I thought (the cat story ... not the "what for" .... although to my best recollection .... that was pretty good too). I showed him the bill and he got to the "Euthanization & Disposal" part and came utterly unglued!
He immediately called the vet office and insisted on knowing where in the hell the cat was!?
They tell him that the cat has been euthanized and is now in her eternal slumber in their Maytag Freezer.
Well that's all he needed to hear. The next morning Hot Geek Boy shows up bright and early indignantly pounding his fist on the lobby desk at the vet office demanding his frozen cat! He'll be damned if he's going to let them charge him one nickel extra for something like that! I'm sure after sensing his incredulous and exasperated attitude ... they reluctantly credit him $50 bucks for the "Disposal" end of the bargain and we are now the proud owners of one FROZEN SOLID CAT.
He tosses the aforementioned feline in the passenger seat of his car and begins his drive to work.
So off he goes ..... Hot Geek Boy and the dead AIDS infested frozen cat .... listening to NPR ..... side by side .... in rush hour traffic on their way to his office.
It dawns on him ... probably somewhere in the Starbucks Drive-Thru line ... what in the blue blazes is he going to do with a dead frozen cat????? So, he does what any self respecting southerner does ..... He tosses it unceremoniously into the dumpster behind his office! No sir .... no fancy pants backyard funeral with a coffin made of a glued on glitter macaroni decorated shoe box and kleenex for a headrest! Heck no ..... that just simply would not be our style.
Anyhoo .... I guess the moral to that little nugget is ... if you're going to go out on a limb for anybody or anything .... get 'em AIDS tested first .... either that .... or you're gonna end up holding onto the wrong end of a bag of Catsicle.
Until next time,
t-
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Hey Ya'll - Here I am!
So .... this is blogging ....
Seems a little intimidating at first .... but I've never been one to shy away from a daunting situation. Matter of fact ... most of my friends would agree that I actually do best when under pressure. I can think more clearly .... the world slows down in my head when insane events are going on around me and become incredibly coherent. Kind of like in the Matrix when Keanu Reeves' character does a crazy, slow motion back-bend trying to escape a bullet! Yes ... that is my awesome brain .... Neo.
Well ... the name of my blog kind of says it all ..... I wanted to choose a blog name that really sells itself and in the same vein allows my readers to get a gist of what they are in for. (yes ... I know you are not supposed to end a sentence with a friggin' preposition ... but I write as I speak .... and if you are pretentious enough to point this out .... we probably shouldn't hang out)
As some of you know ..... I AM a TWIST in every sense of the word: A contortion, a spin, a warp, a turn of events, a surprise, a mindtrip ..... hmmmm. Get it?
My full name at birth was TYRA WYNNE TWIST. A moniker such as this conjures all kinds of images. A stripping pole dancer? A black girl with a penchant for highly decorated long fingernails? Anything but a little southern (that's kinda' debatable) white girl who at 18 drove a preppy convertible red VW rabbit!
Anyway .... you can only imagine growing up with a unique name like this .... you tend to either live it down .... OR try and live up to it. I, with much glory and fanfare, did the latter.... (as I'm sure you will read in future blogs)
So ... kind readers .... as I write this today .... I am now Tyra Twist Amrein. Not hyphenated .... as I find that a difficulty with children. The doctors and teachers are always wondering how to file me alphabetically .... and after losing me in dusty file cabinets one too many times .... I just go by Tyra Amrein with Twist as my middle name. You may be wondering why I decided not to just drop that cuckoo last name and keep the benign "Wynne"?
Well .... a name like that becomes so deeply ingrained in your spirit and psyche that separating yourself entirely from it would be like surgically removing Siamese Twins from each other .... yes .... it's painful and makes life easier .... BUT not entirely necessary if you can find a way to live harmoniously with each other.
After marrying my husband (we'll just call him Hot Geek Boy) .... it was an incredible repose to go from Twist to Amrein. I was, for the first time in my life, nearly anonymous. I got a chance to be the type of person where their name does not precede them. It was bliss beyond bliss. (Sidebar: My father married a Swedish gal .... we'll call her Hot Cougar Swede .... anyway .... When I was 18, we went to Stockholm, Sweden in order for them to get married. When my soon to be step-mother introduced me to her contemporaries ... their eyes would get really big and then they would snicker or outright laugh a bit .... I finally found out that my name, TYRA, in Swedish is akin to being named Ethel or Edna !! It is a very old fashioned 'grandma' type name .... so you see, even in other countries I cannot catch a break with my name!)
Of course, I'm not so self involved that I think that I am the only person on the planet that has ... well let's just say it .... a distinctively loony name. Celebrities are absolutely notorious for trying to pre-market their infants by saddling them with unforgettable names.
Although, I really don't mind that Gwyneth Paltrow named her kid Apple .... cause his last name is Martin, an unexceptional last name .... But if his last name was something weird like Pie or Pandowdy and THEN they dared to name him Apple .... that would just be grounds for immediate jail time in my book for Gwynnie and Chris ...(by the way .... are they still together???).
So .... the moral to the story is .... one weird name is more than sufficient to screw up your kid's life for a good majority of their lives. Two weird names? Then your parents probably grew up in the 60's and were downing a serious amount of blotter acid.
Wow .... this blogging thing wasn't so bad after all ....
Until next time ....
t-
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