Halloween: Lagrange repost

Someone suggested I repost my Lagrange story for Halloween. But first, let us remember the origins of this festive holiday.

About seven hundred years ago, a young lad named Alexander and his peeps William and Gamel, also known as G-dawg, would go around spray painting graffiti on people’s moat bridges. They had to disguise themselves because Alexander’s dad, also named Alexander, was a vassal. And if he found out about the kids’ mischief, well, needless to say, there would be big trouble.

It became a big problem around the fief, also known as the ‘hood. Manor Watch was never able to catch the kids. So at some point, people began to offer the boys candy. In exchange, the boys agreed not to deface their moat bridges. And the tradition of Halloween was born.

So, here’s to you Alexander, William, and Gamel. I have a big bowl of Reese’s cups at home. And if my number of trick-or-treaters doesn’t surpass last year’s total of nine, I’ll be eating most of it myself.

Here’s my Lagrange story. Originally posted July 8, 2005…

What you are about to read is real. Some names have been altered so as to avoid federal prosecution. Exact times and dates have become hazy over the years. But what is crystal clear are the events that transpired on a late night and early morning during the winter of 1994. This is a story of curiosity, adventure, and dangerous naivety. Proceed if you dare.

Over the years, LaGrange had gained somewhat of a fabled status among the youths in the area. Oft-repeated tales of ghosts, animal sacrifices, and devil worshippers sparked not only fear, but also morbid curiosity. The legend grew to mythical proportions.

It was January or February, a very cold night, whatever the month. A friend of mine, we’ll call him Little Joe, and I were bored one Friday night. Around 10:00 PM, our curiosity and stupidity got the best of us and we decided to venture to LaGrange.

LaGrange was the first chartered college in the state of Alabama. From what I have read it originally served as a military academy. Once the Civil War began, most students left to serve in the war and it was turned into an all-girls school. That only lasted a short time as Union soldiers burned it down a couple of years later.

Now there are basically only a couple of deserted buildings, a cemetery, and a park remaining. It is located on a “spur” of the Cumberland mountains.

Entering LaGrange, once you leave the main highway, you are traveling almost immediately uphill. There are just a handful of houses, then you pass a deserted building that (I assume) was part of the college. Shortly after that, the paved road ends, and you enter into a dense area of overgrown weeds and trees.

Probably about a half mile after that, the dirt road forks. To the left and up the mountain a little way is the cemetery. I have never known what was straight ahead. For some reason, that night, we decided we would find out.

After driving up to the cemetery and walking around for a little while, we got back in the car and started out. The deserted buildings and the cemetery had been scary, but no real big deal. Well, when we got back to the T in the road, rather than going right and going home, Little Joe decided to see what was to the left.

I can’t recall if it had rained or snowed, but whichever it was, the road was muddy. We paused for a moment and I tried to talk him out of it. I told him if we got stuck, there was no way I was going to get out and push the car. Well, he didn’t listen.

We turned left, got no more than 30 or 40 feet down the road and realized this road was in extremely bad condition. It was much muddier than the other roads and there were deep tire tracks, more like trenches, which we were following.

Little Joe agreed to turn around. But the road was so narrow that there was no way to. So he would have to back it out. He put it in reverse. And the car wouldn’t move. It had bottomed out, as the tires had sunk deep down into the muddy trenches. So there we were, stuck. Deep in these eerie woods, with all the horror stories I had ever heard about this place running through my head.

I kept my word at first, and made Little Joe push, but he couldn’t budge it. Finally, I got out of the car and tried to help. Still wouldn’t move. We had two options. We could lock the doors and stay in the car until daylight, or we could start walking. We decided on the latter.

I remembered a little store that we had passed on the side of the main highway. I wasn’t sure how far it was, and it wouldn’t be open at this hour, but maybe there would be a payphone we could use. Keep in mind, this was before cell phones were commonplace. So we got all the change we could find out of the car and started walking. That was the most scared I have ever been.

I have never heard so many weird noises and so many things moving. We didn’t have a flashlight or anything. It was just us on a dark, narrow dirt road, surrounded on both sides by weeds and trees that seemed to have eyes. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably only like ten minutes, we reached a house, and that felt a little safer.

A few minutes more and we reached the main highway. And thought we could see the light from the store down the road. It looked a lot closer than it was. I think one time a few weeks later we drove out there and checked to see how far we had walked. Seems like it ended up being like 3 or 4 miles.

Let me insert here that during this time I was going through my heavy country music phase, and was wearing western boots that were about a half-size too small for my feet. Anyway, I don’t remember exactly when we got to the store. Seems like it was a little after midnight. Thankfully, there was a payphone.

We decided to call a friend of ours. Let’s call him Ben. It was a long distance call. Pooling all our change together, we had just enough money to make the call and have like twenty cents leftover. I called. Ben’s mother answered. He was asleep. I asked her to wake him.

Ben came to the phone. I told him our situation, that we were stranded, and had used all of our money to call him. He said OK and that he would come to pick us up. But something in his tone of voice had me worried. 12:45. 1:00. 1:30. Nothing. No sign of Ben. That loser! He had left us there to die.

Let me remind you that it was now officially freezing. There was a wooden bench in front of the store that I laid on while we thought of what to do. From here, we were probably about 30 minutes from home, by car. It was now closing in on 2:00 AM. We pondered hitching a ride with an 18-wheeler, as we had seen on TV or in the movies. But decided to call a friend of Little Joe’s. Let’s call him Hoss.

I charged the call to my parents phone number. Hoss was thought to be more reliable than Ben, so we were hopeful. 2:00. 2:15. 2:45. No sign of Hoss. Finally, around 3:00, a van pulled up to the store. It was a guy delivering newspapers. I decided to tell him our situation. I told him we were waiting on someone to come get us, but that it didn’t look like they were coming.

He said he had a few more stops to make in the immediate area, then he would be heading to a town which was about halfway home for us. He would stop back by in a little while, and if we were still waiting, he would give us a ride as far as there.

So we froze for about another hour. Thankfully, the newspaper guy showed up and we rode in the back of a gutted out van for about fifteen minutes. At least we were closer to home. And there was heat. Until he dropped us off. It was probably about 4:15 by now. He let us out at a store that he said would open around 5:00.

When the store owner showed up, he let us in to use the phone. It was now a local call, so we called Hoss again. He was just getting back home. He said he had been driving up and down the road, but couldn’t find us. Turns out he wasn’t going far enough. He had been turning around just before he got to the store we had walked to. So anyway, we told him where we were now. And he showed up about fifteen minutes later and took us home.

The next day when Little Joe went back to get his car, the back window was broken and several items had been stolen.

“Ten years ago on a cold dark night, someone was killed ‘neath the town hall light…”

The Ticket Nazi

Axl and I ended up at a high school football game Friday night. His idea. We arrive at halftime, somewhat intentionally. As we are walking in, Axl strikes up a conversation with the school’s assistant principal. And by strikes up a conversation, I mean, she scolds him for driving across the grass as we were parking.

I thought most schools stopped taking up money at halftime. But as we get to the gate, I notice two girls at the ticket window, apparently purchasing tickets. I ask Axl, “Do you think we have to pay?”
He says, “No. It’s after halftime.” And proceeds to walk thru the gate.

Let me insert here that Axl is what I would call, unconventional. If there’s a conventional way of doing something, he does it a different way. He questions why we have certain rules. And sometimes thinks those rules shouldn’t apply to him.

As he walks in, I see this short red-haired lady who looks to be in her late forties or fifties maybe, standing by the gate. She is evidently taking up tickets. And as I would soon realize, firmly believes that her job is the most important job in the world. We’ll call her the Ticket Nazi.

I stop at the gate. Axl keeps walking. She looks towards him, then back at me.
“Who is that?” she asks.
“Uhh, he’s with me… I think,” I respond, already on the verge of laughter.
“Well, he can’t go in without a ticket. Sir!!” She calls out to Axl, but he is almost thru the concourse and into the stadium by this point, and continues walking. “Where are my police officers?” She begins looking around.

I’m thinking, dude, Axl is about to be escorted out of a high school football game. I try to distract her. “Is it not free after halftime?” I ask.
She shakes her head as if to say, “Nice try sonny boy, but no dice.”
“Well when do you stop taking up money?”
“At the start of the fourth quarter,” she says, smugly.

Well, that is absurd, I think to myself. I step around to the ticket window, but first decide that I should call Axl. His phone goes straight to voice mail. From where I’m standing, the ticket office is shielding me so that the Ticket Nazi can’t see me. I decide to wait a few minutes before purchasing a ticket, wondering if Axl will come back to see what happened to me.

After a minute or so, two or three police officers appear out of nowhere at the gate. They look my way. I try to appear inconspicuous. They go back inside and I decide to purchase a ticket. I walk quickly thru the gate, not stopping as I hand my ticket to the Ticket Nazi, careful not to make eye contact. She remembers me and calls out “Sir,” but I keep walking, pretending not to hear her.

Once inside, I find Axl standing in front of the stands by the fence. I tell him what is going on, and he decides we’d better go up in the stands and lose ourselves in the crowd. You know, since him paying the five dollars admission would just be ridiculous.

Turns out that was only the beginning of the weekend excitement…. or actually, that was most of it. But nevertheless. After an intense day of football viewing Saturday, the night ended with me watching this Cold Case Files on A&E about the Sunday Morning Slasher.

When it went off (midnight old time), I was really tired. But my bedroom door was open, and I was getting freaked out. I kept hearing noises and was afraid someone was going to come up the stairs and try and kill me. Perhaps it was the Ticket Nazi, come to collect her five dollars.

I knew I needed to get up and close the door. Because obviously, that would keep the killer out. But I was too tired. So I flipped the TV over to ESPN, thinking it would be less freaky, and went to sleep.

Still, when the door bell rang early Sunday morning, don’t think I answered it.

“I fight authority, authority always wins…”

Confessions of a Child Soap Viewer

Notes from Blogville…
Be sure to stop by and wish my good pal, Heather B a happy birthday.

Also, my real life friend, Lil Booty is attempting to blog again. She’s an Auburn fan, so go easy on her.

Oh, and Xinh has switched her GH recaps over to WordPress. Now including a map of Port Charles :)

Nothing could have ruined yesterday for me.

Not waking up late for work.

Not blogger being down for the umpteenth day in a row.

Not being on the phone for an hour with Dell customer support, about fifty minutes of which was spent on hold, as I tried to get my sister’s computer hooked up.

Not even this conversation with the customer support guy (Thick foreign accent, of course):

“Please look for the Earthlink icon. Do you see it?”
“No.”
“Look again, please.”
“I don’t see it. I double checked. It’s not there.”
“Please look carefully.”

Aaaaarrrggghhhhh!!!

Still, not even that could ruin this day. Because this was the day that Laura returned to General Hospital. After four years in a catatonic state.

I watched it at work. And when she uttered “Luke?” just as he was about to leave her room, just as it looked like the special experimental drug, LS-49, wasn’t going to work. Friends, I almost lost it. Fortunately, no one else was in the room at the time.

I can’t help it. I was raised on General Hospital. All the ABC soaps really. All My Children, One Life To Live, even Ryan’s Hope. But GH is the only one that stuck. The only one in which I sometimes become emotionally invested. Especially with Luke and Laura. They do, after all, represent my ideal relationship.

There’s a little more love in the world today. Do you feel it? A certain harmony. Laura’s back. And all is well.

“Think of Laura but laugh don’t cry. I know, she’d want it that way…”

Three Word Wednesday #7

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don’t spend too much time on it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
concrete
urging
slippery

Rita sat on the floor with her legs crossed. The coldness of the concrete and the barrenness of the walls seemed to go well with the emptiness she felt inside. She spends most of her days thinking. And now was a firm believer that too much thinking could drive a person insane. But she was unable to stop.

She thinks about a little girl who dressed up like an angel for Halloween when she was six years old. A girl who didn’t have her first kiss until she was fifteen. How was that same girl now a user and a shop lifter? It didn’t seem possible. She wonders where innocence goes to when it’s gone.

She thinks about a boy she knew, who was always urging her to quit. And remembers the last night she saw him. His normally warm and pleading eyes turned cold and distant She imagines she might be sitting down to dinner with him right now, if she had listened to him just once.

She thinks about how if she’d had a different last name, or if her parents had known the right people, she would have gotten just a slap on the wrist. But she didn’t. And they didn’t.

She thinks about how it started. A single hit at a party. Then taking twenty-five dollars from her mother’s purse. It had all seemed so harmless at first. But oh, what a slippery slope.

“She wonders how it ever got this crazy. She thinks about a boy she knew in school…”

Iceman

With apologies to Val Kilmer, Vanilla Ice, and anyone who has ever stocked an ice machine with bags of ice… myself included.

I considered beginning a new feature here on IYROOBTY, with a working title of High School Memories. But since I only remember about four things that happened in high school, I thought better of it. Nevertheless, today’s post takes us back to a time of pep rallies, hall passes, lunchroom pizza, and falling asleep in study hall, and every other class for that matter.

He was just another student in my class, who may or may not have repeated a grade to get there. He was an outcast with an intermittent body odor and/or hygiene problem. Until 1990. When Vanilla Ice released “Ice Ice Baby.” Then he was an outcast with an intermittent body odor and/or hygiene problem, and a self-given nickname. Iceman.

Before 1990, he would walk around making beatbox noises with his mouth, often singing “Paul Revere.” After 1990, his song of choice was “Ice Ice Baby.” I think he even had a shirt with “Iceman” written/embroidered/ironed on it.

We somehow wound up with part-time jobs at the same place for a short while in high school. The manager called him into a meeting one day and told him he would have to bathe before he came to work. Every day. Or he would be terminated.

But my favorite Iceman memory occurred sometime between 9th and 11th grade. I think. He brought a small briefcase to class several times, labeled “Project Nova.” We asked him what it was. He said he was working on a secret project for the government.

First of all, I can’t imagine what all has to be going on in your life to cause you to concoct such a story and carry it out amongst your peers in school. Nevertheless. The legend of Project Nova grew.

Finally, one day in class Iceman opened the briefcase. Inside it were several small vials containing some sort of liquid. We asked him what was in the vials. He said they contained samples of the HIV virus. Now keep in mind, this was the early days of HIV, pre-Magic Johnson even. And no one knew much about it.

So Iceman begins opening one of the vials. I was sitting in front of my friend Archie at the time, in the row next to Iceman. Archie never could resist such an opportunity. He reaches over and hits Iceman’s hand, spilling the supposed “virus.” (The more I write, the more I’m thinking the teacher must have been out of the room all this time.)

There is a collective gasp and silence, as everyone is a bit surprised by this turn of events. We await Iceman’s reaction, unsure of what he might do. Iceman throws up his arms, palms open, and yells, “All right! That’s it! I’m not responsible for anything that happens now!” As if to wash his hands of the entire thing.

We all laughed heartily. But at the same time, I think we all left class that day with the slightest bit of doubt. I know I did.

And Project Nova was never reopened. As far as I know. At least the government never admitted it.

“Lookin’ for a girl, I ran into a guy. His name was MCA. I said howdy. He said hi…”

"It’s like Go Fish… for adults"

I considered doing my second edition of Weekly Movie Reviews today. Instead, I will give you the abbreviated version, along with a random post about TV.

The only two movies I’ve seen since my last review are Capote and South Park: The Movie. Boy, if ever two movies were on opposite ends of the theatrical spectrum. Yet, both were enjoyable.

Capote was excellent, as expected. Definitely makes me want to read In Cold Blood. I don’t know what else I could say about Philip Seymour Hoffman that hasn’t already been said. Except, no that’s not the same guy who was on Miami Vice. And yes, I was a tad disappointed at first, too.

Before popping South Park in last night, I flipped over to NBC to try and catch The Office. Unfortunately, I was too late. I’ve actually managed to miss every episode of The Office so far this season. Can someone just tell me if Jim and Pam have gotten together yet?

Instead of The Office, I was treated to a scintillating episode of Deal Or No Deal. It’s only about the third time I have watched this show. And I’ve yet to understand it’s appeal.

First of all, there is absolutely no skill or talent required whatsoever. And that’s just to host the show. Seriously, where in the world did they find Howie Mandel?

Don’t get me wrong, I like Howie as much as anyone. I mean he has OCD and is a germophobe. He’s basically the Canadian me, without the blog. But who did he beat out for this gig? Scott Baio, David Hasselhoff, and that guy that played Potsie on Happy Days?

And then there is the game itself. Incredibly simplistic. As a fellow blogger commented to me, “It’s like Go Fish for adults.” Except there’s never been a chance of winning a million dollars in any game of Go Fish I’ve ever played. Nor were there twenty-five attractive girls holding suitcases.

Is that what it’s come to in America? Watching television programs just because they feature attractive women and the chance to win large sums of money? I hope we’ve progressed beyond that.

That being said, I wound up watching the show until the end. I couldn’t turn away. There’s something oddly appealing about watching people squander away thousands of dollars.

Well, I won’t have to worry about any such nonsense tonight. Because Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making The Team is on CMT!

These girls have been dancing and cheering since before they could walk. While other children were out on dates and playing video games, these girls were cheering, dancing, and… well, cheering.

All for the slim chance that one day they might be selected to wear those cute, skimpy little blue and white outfits. That, my friends, is real-life drama.

It’s good to know there’s still some quality television in this crazy, mixed up world.

“What would Brian Boitano do if he were here right now? He’d make a plan and follow thru. That’s what Brian Boitano’d do…”

Three Word Wednesday #6

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don’t spend too much time on it. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
lipstick
denim
tattoo

She smacked her lips in the mirror, turned her head to one side, then the other. At last, she was satisfied. At 32, part of her was thinking she was too old for this. But mostly she was nervous and excited.

Once she was in the car, she called her best girlfriend. They chatted like schoolgirls until she got to the park.

In a different mirror was the reflection of a man who hadn’t had a girlfriend for far too long. He was wearing, among other things, the denim jacket he’d had for fifteen years.

He didn’t care for tattoos. They only made him wonder about the events that led to someone getting one. And his opinion on lipstick was that it was best when you couldn’t tell she was wearing any.

When he arrived, she was already there, sitting on a park bench. He recognized her from the picture. As he approached, she stood to greet him. Smiling. The most vibrant smile he’d ever seen. Her eyes sparkling and full of life.

Lucky for her, he didn’t even notice the lipstick. Lucky for him, denim was back in.

And he’d never forget her tattoo.

“Those lips, those eyes, that tatoo on her thigh. White teeth, red hair. She hated underwear…”

Awakening

I awoke to almost complete silence. The first thing I noticed was that the TV was off. The light from the overcast day coming thru the blinds gave my bedroom the feel of an abandoned classroom at recess.

The only two sounds I could hear were the low, steady, almost calming hum of the aquarium. And the sound of cars passing by on the street below. And even they seemed much more distant than they actually were.

I looked at the clock, and for eight or eleven seconds could not for the life of me remember what day it was.

Five-fifty. Five-fifty. I repeated it to myself. Was it a weekday and did I have a bit longer before needing to get up for work? Was it a Saturday or a Sunday? I wasn’t even sure if it was AM or PM.

Finally it came to me. No, it was a Monday. And I had taken a nap. Must have been a good one. Sometimes I think sleep provides as much of a mental rest as it does a physical one.

Completely naked and nestled warmly beneath the covers, I turned over to look out the window. All I could see was the rooftop of a house across the street, glistening from the rain that silently fell. And extending far above the house, a tree, against the almost white grayness of the sky. Shaking its limbs violently, as if it were angrily trying to rid itself of leaves that had overstayed their welcome.

Then, the shrill electronic ringing of the phone pierced the silence. One… two… three… four… I counted the rings until the machine would pick up. A few seconds later my cell phone rang. I reached to silence it. But I didn’t answer.

I pulled the covers tighter around me. I wanted to enjoy this rare-found peace awhile longer.

“Woke up to the sound of pouring rain. The wind would whisper and I’d think of you…”

Cliched

Someday you’ll be loved
Someday you will find the one
Who cares just for your heart
Maybe then you can start

To put the past behind
Begin to heal the pain I caused
And bring peace to your mind
Cos that’s what you deserve

Someday you’ll be free
Free from all the hurt I brought
You down on bended knee
Calling out to me and there were

Tears streaking your face
That’s how I remember you
It haunts me every night
But it only serves me right

Someday you’ll be loved
And maybe then when I know that
I’ll find my peace of mind
And start to forgive myself

Crisp marketing

(Hey, be sure to stop by Courting Destiny this weekend, as we roast Pia. And don’t go getting any ideas.)

I was in CVS yesterday, picking up some Mountain Dews, some halloween candy to eat before Halloween, and some chips. You know, staples.

While perusing the shelves for regular Pringles, I was unable to find any. After a few seconds, I realized the only regular Pringles they had were something called Pringles Prints.

Upon further investigation, I discovered that each individual crisp has a joke or movie trivia question printed on it. For example: What kind of flowers grow between your nose and your chin?

Give up?

Tulips!

That’s just one of the many hilarious jokes you may find the next time you pop open a can of Pringles. That’s right, potato crisp fans. Ruffles may have ridges. But Pringles have… jokes and trivia.

Now see, this is something I don’t care for. To me, one of the big advantages to eating chips is being able to blindly stick your hand into a bag or can, pull out some chips, and hoist them in the direction of an orifice, all without looking. That way, you don’t miss any of the ballgame, movie, or 90210.

I wonder what went on in that sales meeting. Are there no new flavors they could market? Although when you already have pizzalicious, probably not.

And if this was the idea they approved, what were the rejected ones? The edible Pringles can? Turkey & dressing flavored Pringles? (“Pop open a Happy Thanksgiving.”) No, I got it. Snakes in a can!

Pringles has gone the way of Laffy Taffy and Bazooka Joe. Not that I’m happy about it. I want my original Pringles back. Solid red can. Freaky round potato chip face Pringle guy.

No thinking. No effort. Just pure mindless artery clogging. It’s the American way.

“My ergonomic keyboard never leaves me bored. Shopping online for deals on some writable media. I edit Wikipedia…”