Corn Teeth Delight

Pop-culture references have been the bread and butter for comedy outlets like Family Guy for a while now. It can be funny, whether you know the reference or not, because of the randomness. A similar comedic style uses a reference, but instead of randomness, it relies on relevance. You may not know the reference, but you “get it” because the phrase, image, or message makes sense in context. My mom has delivered jokes in that style my whole life. She would say: “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!” She’d say it in a manly voice. Quoting it now, it doesn’t seem like it would be funny, but the timing/mood was always silly, so we knew it was a joke.

She probably used that phrase 10 or 20 times throughout my childhood. “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!” I had no idea where she got it, in fact, until tonight I had never consciously understood it was a reference. That phrase is what this whole thing is all about. It is from a movie that was made in 1976, three years before I was born.

The timing is key. The 70’s decade is kind of a black hole as far as my movie trivia knowledge is concerned. I’m old enough to have seen some 80’s movies at the movies in the 80’s; and a whole lot more on video. The 70’s is a whole other bird. Only the biggest movies made it to video tape. Yeah, a lot of 70’s pop-culture has been dredged up the last ten years, but there are thousands of movies that someone my age probably won’t ever see. Except … now we have streaming movies.

I’m watching shit I wouldn’t rent at a video store in a million twinkles of Faye Dunaway’s corn teeth, and I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore! Actually, I’m not mad at all, it was a great show. (It definitely wasn’t shit.) Did that name (Dunaway) jog any movie-trivia-buff tablets? How about Duvall, Holden, and Finch? Probably not if you’re my age, so here’s the answer: “Network”. Check it out; it is definitely writery, which is probably why it made an impression on my mom.

I’m not going to go off on a “the importance of parental influence” tangent, but that one loony phrase had so much power over me. I completed the verse with the actor and I probably haven’t heard it in 20 years. It brought such a flood of reminiscence and discovery.

Sound-bar

I went to walmart today; bought a sound-bar the day before and it zert-zert out after a few hours. I had to return it.

Strolled through the white-trash-vapor-lock and got stopped by a vigilant greeter. He said I needed a sticker. I carried the long black lemon through my old stomping-grounds and to the opening called “Customer Service.” An image crossed my mind: a killer holding a shotgun in a box of roses.

That place is in the center of the “front end.” I came from general merchandise; some scarries came from the grocery side. We met at the end of the “Customer Service” line … at the same time, so naturally I got behind them; not much of a killer.

Turned out that the scarries knew another scary who was farther up in line; they leap-frogged a dad with a kid. The kid was way past infant and was sitting up, but had a head the size of a tennis ball. The dad looked around the whole time. He seemed to be searching for a fellow “normal person” to share in the experience: wrongs exerted by the scarries. He did this before anyone had done anything really wrong … and it turned out nobody ever did.

A lone guy was two line-spots ahead of the leap-froggers’ friend. He wore a white shirt. Behind him, and in front of the leap-froggers’ friend, was a twitchy fellow that liked to face backward. Having people behind him seemed to make him nervous. He was scary to me too. The dude in front of him, the one in the white shirt, was trying to cash a check.

The clerk wrote a phone number on the check and told him that they couldn’t cash it, and that he should call the number to find out why. The guy was upset, and he seemed to take the news as an insult. A different clerk offered some advice. The guy said something I couldn’t hear. The advisory clerk told the guy that he didn’t have to be rude. The guy talked more, but I still couldn’t hear. His body language said: “fuck you, I’m outta here,” but the clerk’s assertiveness was enough to keep him at the counter long enough for her to explain that she didn’t need him dropping F-bombs, and that she was just trying to help. She even reiterated and expanded her previously interrupted advice. The dude left.

That clerk, the one who had jumped in with advice for the white-shirt, wasn’t there to help customers. She was using the computers, or the desk, or some unknown system for some unknown task. The customer service line was processed by two clerks to her left. She had only spoken up because she had seen that type of thing before, and she had hoped to educate the white-shirt. When he left, she went back to processing whatever it was that she was processing, and customer service continued via the other two clerks.

I watched the whole thing from the back of the line. The twitchy-backward-facer had been very committed to the outcome of white-shirt’s transaction. But before I could spy his customer service experience, the non-customer taking clerk noticed me and called me before her. I had recognized her from my days as a maintenance associate, but she either didn’t recognize me, or didn’t acknowledge any recognition. She looked at my sound-bar and said I needed to take it back to electronics to have them make sure everything was there. Nobody ever asked me if I was returning it, they just assumed correctly. She also told me to come up to the front of the line when I got back.

I navigated the aisles and racks like only an associate can. The electronics counter was customer-less until I plopped my dead speaker upon it. A man helped me right away. I told him that I was told that they needed to make sure it was all there. He opened the box and touched a few parts like he knew what should be there. He asked me what was wrong; didn’t I like it? I told him it fizzled out. I had it mounted and everything. He said:

“It looks good to return. I’ll call up front and let them know.”

I fast-walked back to customer service; critiquing the wax job all the way. The maintenance lead always insisted on leaving a bare patch between old wax and new. I knew that this chalky, un-waxed tile would take shoe-sole transfers like copy paper, but that is a gripe for another day.

When I got back to the front end, I walked confidently past a line which had nobody I recognized. I was hoping there would be someone waiting who recognized me from ten minutes earlier. That way, they could calm any bellyachers should they see me “cut” and start bellyaching. But, I was not afforded any such comfort. So, I avoided eye-contact, and prepared my retort should I be confronted.

I had stepped back up to the clerk who had pulled me from the line the first time around. She took excruciatingly long to acknowledge me. I stood there with my box, looking at her longingly. Finally, she told me that the clerk to her left would help. She said it loud, so that the clerk would understand that I had been there, and that I was to be helped next. It felt good.

I sensed eyes on my back, daring me to turn so their masters could jab. I refused the challenge, and returned my item unimpeded. There was no such remark, even as I left. I kept to myself all the same, no need to tempt fate.

Now, here there should be some wisdom, some meaning to bestow upon the reader, but I have none. I went back to electronics and got a new sound-bar. I bought a name brand this time; went home and installed it; has worked ever since. So, sorry … the end.

One of My Old Ones - Days by the River - 2001

take my memory back in time
summer days down by the river

light scatters through the canopy
the sun can't get us in the trees

bare feet traverse the rocks and sand
black mud squeezes between my toes

get old wood from devil's drop off
it becomes walls ceilings and floors

friendships and forts come together
some burn like those hot summer days

too soon the sun hides in the west
one last shot at a plywood jump

pockets filled with gum and candy
bathtub full of sand and pebbles

One of My Old Ones - Wood's Ranch - 2003

A celestial chef salad of aspen and pine
Meadows lined with zigzag pole weave
Ancient images bubble up like Jed’s oil
Mom’s art days and family parties
A black comet tearing through the snow
Powder like the sand in the blue truck bed
Calf high grass in the high timber infield
Cowpies and deerberries here and there
Mind your step, this is Wood's Ranch

One of My Old Ones - Utah Hill - 2003

Summer sprinkles provide sparks

 
A seedy cedar tree endures electric karma
Struck down like so many of Zeus’s enemies

Pillars of smoke plunder the air
The sun’s face goes red with anger

A small town turns in under a big city sky 

Orange demons dance 

They reach out wildly in the night 

Blasphemous bushes burn
Forsaking their roots and the dry dirt

A convoy of crusaders is coming

One of My Old Ones - Flying Cow - 2003 or 04

Cola cups adorn a dark abode
Dirty clothes and spare change too
Trashed take out bags spoon like nesting dolls
Power cords and data cables intermingling in an electric snake pit

Eyes rotting on the ion gun glow
Ears tuned solely to the game
Unaware of the facial contortions
The ugly shouts of competitive anger
Youthful hands dance on dirty keys
Tunnel vision with carpal tunnel

Little light emitting diodes emitting little light
Time is lost and hours pass like clouds in the night sky

A flying cow computer geek,
grounded by passivity
Grazing in half dead fields of no risk
While flightless cattle bloat on sweet alfalfa

Hypnotized by the hum of a case fan
It seems in sync with the screen flicker

Besieged with want of more, aware of an ever growing gap

One of My Old Ones - The Field - 8/11/2003

There is a yellow field on the edge of a vast basin. The field, under the bluest sky, is defined by a square of barbed-wire fence. The simple fence made of cedar posts and two strands of red/orange wire, is grayed by time and weather. At the base of every post, and anywhere the hard ground is broken, the eager grasses take hold.

The field follows the slope of the basin and is empty but one tree. It stands guard in the middle, and is naked from the waist down. All foliage within cattle reach is gone. The juniper’s tattered bark waves unenthusiastically in the wind, stripped free by the endless rubbings of restless bovine.

One of My Old Ones - She's With Fuckface - 2004 at the latest, probably New Years 03

Friend of a friend catches my eye
Is she here without a guy?
I pause in wonder when we meet
Will you sit close to me on the car seat?

Chase every sentence with some brew

You fit right in with my crew

This is where things get hazy

It’s not New Years if it doesn’t get crazy

Reinstall captain’s chairs

Curse every happy pair

Lay my head upon my arms

Resign to the Magic Power’s charms

Was it my fault or was it yours?

Surly I had too much Coors

Maybe next time I’ll win the race

Maybe next time you won’t be with fuck face

Politically Correct

A good husband tells his wife he appreciates her because it is true, and he wants her to know it. A not so good husband tells his wife he appreciates her because he seeks some kind of reciprocation (typically sex).

These examples show my view of political correctness. Being PC solely for politics’ sake is wrong, but being PC because of a pure belief couldn’t be more right. Here’s another (maybe controversial) example: a government agency prints a form in English and Spanish. This one is a bit more complicated. There are several reasons for and against. Below, I list a couple of political reasons (in favor):

•  Seeking Hispanic Vote
• Pandering to the cheap-labor-needs of business

But, unlike the husband and wife example, there is at least one political reason against being PC:

• Pandering to the “Immigrants should learn English” crowd

Now a benevolent (and/or non-political) reason:

• Everyone deserves access, regardless of the language they speak

Again, unlike the husband and wife example, there are logical (and/or non-political) reasons not to be PC, one is:

• Cost (translation, ink, paper, etc.)

Ok, there is the issue the way I see it. If I apply my premise, the only reasons to consider are: Equal Access and Cost. (Summary of my premise: PC in self-interest equals bad, but PC for the greater good equals good.) Those two reasons remain because they are not necessarily political. Of course, there are probably tens or hundreds of other reasons for or against using multiple languages, but my point is that acceptable reasons are pure or logical, not political. My view is that benevolence has greater weight than logic, but neither can be abandoned in lieu of the other. Considering the above issue specifically, the “Cost” of using Spanish and English is negligible compared to the cost of government sponsored alienation and separation of cultures.

But that hot-button-issue is for another day. Let me bring this all back to what I wanted to say, which is: Don’t dismiss all political correctness just because most of it is self-serving. I believe in doing the right thing because it is right, not because it is in vogue or it serves me. That may sound self-righteous, so let me note: That belief is a goal I’m often short of.