Jaws
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Me on DadCentric: Jaws Was Never My Scene and I Don't Like Star Wars. "Dude." It was Simmons. "What's goin' on, man?" "I've got some Donald Duck, dude. Wanna go see Star Wars for a buck at Leohman's ?" ...
Jaws
There's this guy in his forties and his wife gets pregnant with twins and he builds an addition on their house but before he's done his wife has the babies and then he has to stay home and take care of the kids and finish the house and do a bunch of other stuff too. Also there's a really big dog with emotional problems.
"Yeah, yeah, I know what it is," I said. I had never done acid before, but I knew the lexicon. Just needed some context. "Umm...Star Wars? I thought they were showing 2001: A Space Oddysey."
I walked the yellow receiver back to the kitchen, untangling fifteen feet of boinging spiral cord from the basement stairs, and clacked it onto the wall, averting my eyes from Mom's scrutiny.
If the second-run theater had been showing 2001 that day, it could very well have been my first LSD experience. Simmons was one of my buddies from shop class. He was the guy who had felt compelled to involve me in his acid trip while I was spot-welding a sheetmetal tool box. "Hinds," he lisped, sticking out his tongue to display the dissolving tab, "check this out." Fuckin' burnout, I thought. Of course, he passed the class. I was the guy who got kicked out halfway through for turning custom-made hardwood bowls on the lathe and selling them for five bucks a pop. [Mr. Stansbury: I know what the hell that is, Hinds...I seen them seniors makin' 'em...that's a pot pipe (pronounced pawt pahp).]
By the time Simmons invited me to tune in and turn on, Star Wars was old news. I had seen it. Everybody had seen it. T-shirts had faded. Lunchboxes were dinged and rusted on the corners. Kids still wore their #2's down to the wood drawing Darth Vader in their notebooks, but it was more out of habit than passion.
And if you haven't done so already, you can witness me ranting about how obnoxious sick kids are over at Aiming Low. So horrible, in fact, that they call into question basic evolutionary theory.
The terrifying Babyzilla masthead is made by Peter Vincent, based on a suggestion from reader Frank. Want some crazy graphics for your site? Talk to Pete.
I'm a hella old stay-at-home dad to little tiny twin baby girls. Sometimes I'm also a carpenter and a teacher. I tried to grow up in Montana, California, Oklahoma, Kansas, Germany, Virginia, U.S.S.R (R.I.P), Virginia again; then Montana again, Virginia once more, and finally California. I think it's going to work this time.
Have a question, suggestion, or request? Need advice in any of the areas of my expertiseishness (construction, deconstruction, punctuation, cloth diapers, twins, rhetorical theory, punk rock, power tools, literature, dogs, gender issues, stain removal, etc.)?