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Tuesday, August 12, 2003

"Why do you have to be so undemanding? I want more."
-Sisters of Mercy

forgot to post a picture yesterday so i'm going to do a little two-for-one photo action to illustrate the following true story. i mentioned this on one of my lists but i decided, since one of the main participants is currently in Australia and can't defend himself, i'll be doing some more detailed flashing back:

i was on Ebay looking up HP Lovecraft books and saw that they were selling his grave rubbing for a bit 'o cash. i got curious and looked up more grave rubbings and saw they had Bruce Lee's going for 80 bucks. i remembered that i'd taken my friend Dan to James Dean's grave back in high school (i also dragged him on the quest to build a barn with some Amish people) and going there and back in a day was a roadtrip that seemed possible so suddenly i had dollar-signs in my eyes and cash register noises in my ears. i tried to gather as many people as possible to spread the misery in case shit went wrong. my friends Rachel and Matt were up for the drive (Rachels all organ-i-zized and bought the paper and supplies) and, at the last minute, my friend Nick jumped aboard. Nick was the wildcard. Nick's the dude in Vietnam who's only got a week before he gets sent home and he just got his SAT scores in the mail. He's the grunt with a necklace made of ears who's fatigues got mixed with the parachute laundry by accident and now they're bright orange. walking taget, accident waiting to happen. in other words, in a foxhole, or on a roadtrip he'd make you nervous. this dude gets impatient way too fast and on this day he had plans with his Australian girlfriend for later that night and you could see on his face that he needed shit to go smooth so he could get back in time. i took my handheld Atari Lynx videogame to keep him busy for those hours on the way there (he does have gaming skills, i can't deny that), but when he ran out of games and i couldn't find the graveyard (i was going by an old Poloroid i'd taken with Dan) he started to lose his mind. when we finally find the right graveyard (and i still don't know why Fairmount Indiana needed two), and it starts pouring down rain, Nick is nearing his breaking point. see, we planned on doing charcoal and crayon rubbings of the grave and if it's soaked, the trip is a bust. we find the grave (covered with flowers and pennies? for some reason) and i try wiping it off with the towel i keep in my trunk for EXACTLY this kind of emergency (a towel is not for a winter breakdown, it's for wiping off graves yo!) so now Nick is stomping around the graves, smacking himself in the head with his Snoopy wristwatch (apparenlty synchronized to Aussie time) and yelling at me for fucking up his plans "again." S.P.D.K. he calls me. Sweet Party Dave Keaton. all because once i took him to a party that i said would be sweet and it turned out to be three people standing in a driveway. the name stuck and he's shootin' from the hip acting like i always fuck up his shit. He starts running around the graves, calling me names, screaming at the sky and we chase after him and discover something even better than James Dean's headstone. me and matt and rachel were trying to make the best of the situation and we started out with a "let's find our own names on a grave and get a picture of it" thing, but then it quickly turned into the classic "find the funny names on the tombstones" game. and there were plenty. nothing too ridiculous like "Douchie McNuts" but enough for some pictures.

then i came to a clearing and the choir sang and the angels wept and i found the fucking Holy Grail of funny tombstone names. this is where you click on the blue word for the punchline.

so anyway, after the last snapshot, i remember i got a Nick situation Defcon-4 and we pack up to leave and i see he has that twitchy look on his face. He tells me he's "this close to attacking" so i try to provoke him and, on our way back through the mud to my car, i put on this show like i'd locked my keys inside of it, friggin' Academy Award time. i swear Nick was slow-motion in mid-air going for my throat when i ran for cover and laughed and produced the key-chain from my pocket. the trip back was even more miserable because he needed to get to his girl so bad he was bringing down the platoon (and you know what? i introduced the two of them so if he had it his way and i was "dead" i wouldn't have been able to coax him into finally talking to her at the jukebox. and you know what song he picked? something off the middle of an album. unforgivable. he had to be afraid of the hits. couldn't just pick a song that i could sing-along with like some Bob Seger. had to be all hip for the girl. anyway.) and i don't really know where this story is going so i'll end it here. i guess i just needed to post two pictures because i missed a day and obsessive compulsive disorders can sometimes work for you and get you to type something.

epilogue: the soggy James Dean grave rubbings DID get on ebay, where i set the price at ten bucks, already making a list of the shit i was going to buy with my millions. couple weeks later i got a dollar thiry taken from my checking account for ebay fees which put my account under because i routinely take my accounts right down to the fucking nub, so i got a thirty dollar insufficient funds fee. i tried explaining this story to my personal banker but even though she's called a personal banker, she didn't seem that interested in the details of my life. i still got a stack of sad wrinkled grave rubbings in a poster tube waiting for a good home like ugly cats at the shelter. i try to give them away now but people seem to "forget" to take them with them on their way out the door. oh well, i'll go back there again. two visits to his grave just ain't enough. of course, it's got to be 3.

epilogue 2: been some talk on other blogs about how a dude with a book at a concert is hot (right before he gets beat with it in the parking lot) and i saw something today that made me start listing what i thought was hot on the other side of the sandbox and i don't think a book is enough anymore:

you know what's hot? well, if we're talking porn i find this highly erotic. seriously. it was a surprise to me too. however, if we're talking out in the real world hot, i love to see a girl with a number on her shirt. that shit is hot. i can't explain it but it is. a girl with a small shirt with a number on it. And a baseball cap, maybe a gray hooded sweatshirt. okay, so i want to see a book in her hand too. but not at a concert. while she's driving. no, she's walking. no wait, a notebook in her hand and a pen in the other. and headphones cause i need to wonder what she's listening to and where she's walking to. and...a scratch on her hand so i can wonder what happened. and...an 8-ball in her fist so i can wonder, "what the fuck is she doing with that 8-ball in her fist? did she steal it from a pool table? was the game in progress? what the hell?" and...a stop sign under one arm so i can be like, "that's dangerous, don't she know a kid got 10 years for stealing a stop sign and causing a wreck??? this chick's crazy!" and...she's walking with a gas can, only she's not out of gas because she's got the can tipped and she's leaving a trail of fuel behind her on the road...and i'm just getting ready to ask her where that trail of gas starts when she asks me for a light and...

is that too much to ask for?

::: david - 2:57 AM [+] :::
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