In case you didn't know it (and how could you not know it? It's all over the news, in the papers, on the radio, etc), today is Kenny J's 47th birthday.
Originally born Kenneth Wayne Jordan in the white ghetto of Aurora, IL, he became Kenny J after his first successful solo soprano sax album (the kids call them "CDs"). To this day, Kenny J has sold more instrumental albums than anyone in history (and I heard he dated Whitney Houston for a time too).
Of course, for many years now, the Norweigns have been celebrating Ken's birthday as well. They call it "Syttende Mai" and it corresponds with their day of independence (much like our 4th of July). As best I can tell, Ken was viewed as a savior to the Norweign people and it was under his leadership that Norwegia unshackled themselves from the surly bonds of captivity at the hands of Chile and their totalitarian leader, General Pinochet. I think it was in the 1970's that this happened (I believe it corresponded with the popularity of disco)and the birth of the "Norweign Messiah" (Ken's nickname) has been celebrated ever since.
Other notable moments in the life of Kenny J include:
* Set the land speed record for a fully stock lawn tractor;
* Sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" at the funeral of Robert "Bobby" Kennedy;
* Once shot a man just to watch him die;
* Won an Academy Award, but refused to accept it as long as baby seals continue to be slaughtered;
* Placed second in the 1988 World Spelling Bee in Zimbabwe;
* Played the part of Eliza Doolittle in an off Broadway revival of My Fair Lady;
* Accepted a urine sample from Major Harris. Major Harris has not been heard from since; and
* Testified before Congress concerning the effect bovine flatulence plays in global warming.
Please join me in wishing Kenny J a happy and memorable 47th birthday.
Let's sing:
Happy Birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy Birthday, dear Kenny
Happy birthday to you
Now just the girls...
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
A New Week, A New Thread
It looks like my short story has left everyone speechless. No one has commented in over a week. What gives? Where have all the bloggers gone?
I don't want my story to be the cause of the silence, so I'm starting another thread. Feel free to discuss any topic you wish to discuss. And don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've been rejected. I can take it. Oh, dammit...I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. This is embarrassing. Oh, just ignore me. I'll be okay...
I don't want my story to be the cause of the silence, so I'm starting another thread. Feel free to discuss any topic you wish to discuss. And don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've been rejected. I can take it. Oh, dammit...I promised myself I wasn't going to cry. This is embarrassing. Oh, just ignore me. I'll be okay...
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
I've Got Mine
I’ve Got Mine
It was Saturday night and the joint was jumping. Of course, in Las Vegas, the joint was always jumping.
The four of us sat around the table dressed to the nines. We were cool, the nicotine-free rat pack. We were looking for love and this was the right place.
Michael Buble had the place swinging as he belted out the last few notes to “Fever.” As the waitress brought another round of cocktails to the table, “The Bubble Man,” looked over at us and gave the thumbs up sign.
“This one worked last night for you, Bill. Let’s see if it works again.” Wild Bill gave “The Bubble Man” a big smile and returned the thumbs up. The band started to play and Bubbles launched into a very seductive version of “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine.”
“Time to get busy, boys,” Bill said. With that, he spotted a sweet young blond at the bar, and gave her the old thumb and finger “pistol” point. The woman smiled coyly at Bill as she sipped her drink through the straw.
”Watch and learn,” Bill said as he sealed the deal with a sly wink. The woman put her drink on the bar, waved her room key in Bill’s direction, and headed out of the bar.
“I’ve got mine,” Bill announced and got up from the table to follow after the young blond.
“That was impressive,” Keith said.
“Damn impressive,” I said.
We both looked over at Ken to see that he had set up some sort of table with what looked like handle bars on it. “The doctor’s breaking out the heavy equipment tonight,” Keith said.
Mikey Bubbles was rocking once again to a swinging version of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
“Freddie Mercury must be rolling over in his grave,” Keith said.
“He did that a lot when he was alive, too,” I said. Keith laughed and raised his glass in a mock salute.
Just then the waitress brought over a couple of drinks. “These drinks are from the two lovely ladies up at the bar.” We turned to see two women, a brunette and a redhead, waving to us from the bar.
“I’ll take the redhead,” I said.
“I’ve got the brunette.”
The two women walked over to our table and we offered them each a chair. “Please, sit down,” Keith said. The woman each accepted a chair. “My name is Tom and this is Harold,” Keith said pointing to me.
I hated it when he called me Harold. Why couldn't he call me Max or Ricardo or Hans Solo? Anything but Harold.
“I’m Holly,” the brunette said.
“And I’m Sheila, the redhead said. Her bright blue eyes were in stark contrast to her long, curly red hair.
“What is your friend doing over there?” Sheila asked pointing at Ken. He had put on a white smock over his tux, and on his head he was wearing one of those mirrors with a hole in the middle.
“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s a doctor.”
Is he a gynecologist?” Sheila asked.
“No, he actually makes his living as a pediatrician. Doing gynecological check-ups is just a hobby he does on evenings and weekends.”
Bubbles slowed things down with “The Way You Look Tonight.”
“I love this song,” Holly said.
“Would you like to dance?” Keith asked standing up and offering his hand to Holly.
“Sure”
“What about you, Harold? Are you a dancer?”
It took me a moment to remember that I was Harold. “Absolutely.”
As we danced, Sheila snuggled up close to me and whispered in my ear. “Are you looking for a little love tonight?”
I looked down at her shining bright eyes. “Every night,” I said.
Sheila laughed. “For five hundred bucks, I’m yours, at least for tonight.”
“You mean you didn’t send over that drink just because I’m irresistible?
“Of course that’s why I sent it over,” Sheila said. “But a girl’s got to make a living.”
When the song was over, Bubbles announced that he was taking a break and would be right back. As we made our way back to the table, Sheila said, “Holly and I need to freshen up. Wait for us?”
Before I could say anything, Keith said, “We’ll be right here.” The two women walked away seductively. Although Holly was limping a bit, it seemed to me that there was a purpose in the way they walked.
“Why’s Holly limping? Did you step on her foot while you were dancing?” I asked.
“Actually, I did step on her foot, but that’s not why she’s limping,” Keith said. She’s limping because she has an artificial leg.” Keith had a big smile on his face.
“Does she have a glass eye too,” I asked.
“No, but you can’t have everything.”
“You know, they’re both pros.”
“Yeah, I know. Five hundred bucks.”
“Should we send them packing,” I asked.
“No way. Didn’t you just hear what I said?” Keith leaned in to make sure I didn’t miss a word he said. “She has a prosthetic leg.” Keith annunciated each syllable of prosthetic. “And she has agreed to call me Chico. She’s just one glass eye away from a jackpot.”
“I guess two out of three isn’t bad.”
“You’ve got that right,” Keith said and knocked back the last of his drink.
When the ladies returned, Holly said, “Tommy, are you ready to go?”
Keith stood up quickly. “Let’s go.” As he walked away from the table, Keith looked at me and mouthed the words, “I’ve got mine.”
“So what about you, sailor? Should we get out of here?” Sheila asked.
“I hate not to do my part to help grow the economy, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass,” I said.
“In that case, thank you for the dance,” Sheila said standing up.
“And thank you for the drink.”
“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said with a big smile. She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Maybe you will,” I said as sincerely as I could. As she headed out of the bar, I admired the way she walked. At least looking was free.
“I’ve got mine,” Ken called out from his makeshift clinic against the wall. I’m not sure what he was looking for, but he apparently found it. He helped a tall woman out of the stirrups and off the table. She grabbed her purse and they made their way out of the bar.
I sat by myself at the table and felt lonely. It was just me, my drink, and Michael Buble’ singing “Moondance.” At least Van Morison songs always cheered me up.
“What happened to you and the redhead?” the waitress asked.
“I don’t know,” I said looking up at her. “Just not what I was looking for, I guess.”
“What are you looking for?”
“You know, the usual,” I said. “Romance, marriage, two-and-a-half kids, a mortgage, a mini-van. How about you?”
“I just want to have some hot, sweaty sex and then I want to get a good night’s sleep.”
“You know all that stuff I said before about marriage and kids, and that van thing? It can all wait. I’m all about hot, sweaty sex tonight.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “I’m done here in ten minutes. Meet me out in the lobby.”
“I’ll see you there,” I said.
“Oh, and this time, don’t make so much noise when you leave.”
“You don’t mind if I leave when we’re done?” I asked.
“I would prefer it.”
“You really are a dream come true.”
“Sweet talker,” she said as she walked away. I enjoyed the view until she walked around the corner. It looked like it would be me and the waitress again.
“I’ve got mine,” I said to no one in particular.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I walked into the bar almost two hours later, Bill, Ken, and Keith were already sitting at the table. The rat pack was back. Frank, Dean, and Sammy were in the house. I guess that made me Peter Lawford.
Everyone was dressed just as they had been before, except Keith was missing his tie. “What happened to your tie?” I asked.
“A nasty accident with some chocolate sauce, I’m afraid.”
“You lose more ties that way,” I said. “Did everyone have a good night?”
“So far, so good,” Bill said. “But the night isn’t over yet.”
“You’re not planning on a second round, are you?” I asked.
“We’d be fools not to.”
“Okay, count me in,” I said.
Just then, there was a commotion near the entrance to the bar. The bouncers were holding back a crowd. Through the crowd walked a striking young man. As he entered the bar, a woman right in front of him asked, “Who are you?”
“Baudoin,” came the reply. “Paul Baudoin.” The woman feinted.
“Bodie,” I yelled out and he came walking over to the table. Joey Bishop had finally made it.
“Where have you been,” Ken asked.
“I had to work late at the paper.” It was an old joke and we all laughed.
The manager of the hotel came up to our table. “Hello fellas. How are you doing tonight?”
“So far, so good,” Bill said again.
“Glad to hear it. I was wondering, Mr. Baudoin, if you wouldn’t mind singing a song for us. It would mean a lot to me.”
“What about Buble’?
“Mr. Buble’ works for me. If I tell him to get off the stage so you can sing a song, then he’ll get off the stage.”
“I’d by happy to, but just one,” Paul said.
“Yes, sir,” The manager said excitedly. He turned to talk to the man that was standing next to him. “Tell Bubbles to take a break. Mr. Baudoin is going to sing us a song.
In all of the commotion over Bodie, I hadn’t noticed that Keith had disappeared. I looked around the crowded bar but couldn’t find him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the hotel manager said into the microphone. “Please welcome the incomparable, Mr. Paul Baudoin. The crowd cheered and Bodie walked onto the stage.
I looked up at the bar, but Keith wasn’t there either. He may have gone to the bathroom, I thought to myself, but he usually liked to announce it to the group before he left.
“Thank you,” Paul said. “Thank you very much. I’d like to do one of my favorite songs for you. I hope it’s one of your favorites too…
Just then I caught site of Keith. He was across the room talking to an older woman in a wheelchair.
“… This is called, “My Way.”
The lights came down, the band got ready to play, and then a voice from across the room yelled out, “I’ve got mine.”
It was Saturday night and the joint was jumping. Of course, in Las Vegas, the joint was always jumping.
The four of us sat around the table dressed to the nines. We were cool, the nicotine-free rat pack. We were looking for love and this was the right place.
Michael Buble had the place swinging as he belted out the last few notes to “Fever.” As the waitress brought another round of cocktails to the table, “The Bubble Man,” looked over at us and gave the thumbs up sign.
“This one worked last night for you, Bill. Let’s see if it works again.” Wild Bill gave “The Bubble Man” a big smile and returned the thumbs up. The band started to play and Bubbles launched into a very seductive version of “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine.”
“Time to get busy, boys,” Bill said. With that, he spotted a sweet young blond at the bar, and gave her the old thumb and finger “pistol” point. The woman smiled coyly at Bill as she sipped her drink through the straw.
”Watch and learn,” Bill said as he sealed the deal with a sly wink. The woman put her drink on the bar, waved her room key in Bill’s direction, and headed out of the bar.
“I’ve got mine,” Bill announced and got up from the table to follow after the young blond.
“That was impressive,” Keith said.
“Damn impressive,” I said.
We both looked over at Ken to see that he had set up some sort of table with what looked like handle bars on it. “The doctor’s breaking out the heavy equipment tonight,” Keith said.
Mikey Bubbles was rocking once again to a swinging version of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
“Freddie Mercury must be rolling over in his grave,” Keith said.
“He did that a lot when he was alive, too,” I said. Keith laughed and raised his glass in a mock salute.
Just then the waitress brought over a couple of drinks. “These drinks are from the two lovely ladies up at the bar.” We turned to see two women, a brunette and a redhead, waving to us from the bar.
“I’ll take the redhead,” I said.
“I’ve got the brunette.”
The two women walked over to our table and we offered them each a chair. “Please, sit down,” Keith said. The woman each accepted a chair. “My name is Tom and this is Harold,” Keith said pointing to me.
I hated it when he called me Harold. Why couldn't he call me Max or Ricardo or Hans Solo? Anything but Harold.
“I’m Holly,” the brunette said.
“And I’m Sheila, the redhead said. Her bright blue eyes were in stark contrast to her long, curly red hair.
“What is your friend doing over there?” Sheila asked pointing at Ken. He had put on a white smock over his tux, and on his head he was wearing one of those mirrors with a hole in the middle.
“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s a doctor.”
Is he a gynecologist?” Sheila asked.
“No, he actually makes his living as a pediatrician. Doing gynecological check-ups is just a hobby he does on evenings and weekends.”
Bubbles slowed things down with “The Way You Look Tonight.”
“I love this song,” Holly said.
“Would you like to dance?” Keith asked standing up and offering his hand to Holly.
“Sure”
“What about you, Harold? Are you a dancer?”
It took me a moment to remember that I was Harold. “Absolutely.”
As we danced, Sheila snuggled up close to me and whispered in my ear. “Are you looking for a little love tonight?”
I looked down at her shining bright eyes. “Every night,” I said.
Sheila laughed. “For five hundred bucks, I’m yours, at least for tonight.”
“You mean you didn’t send over that drink just because I’m irresistible?
“Of course that’s why I sent it over,” Sheila said. “But a girl’s got to make a living.”
When the song was over, Bubbles announced that he was taking a break and would be right back. As we made our way back to the table, Sheila said, “Holly and I need to freshen up. Wait for us?”
Before I could say anything, Keith said, “We’ll be right here.” The two women walked away seductively. Although Holly was limping a bit, it seemed to me that there was a purpose in the way they walked.
“Why’s Holly limping? Did you step on her foot while you were dancing?” I asked.
“Actually, I did step on her foot, but that’s not why she’s limping,” Keith said. She’s limping because she has an artificial leg.” Keith had a big smile on his face.
“Does she have a glass eye too,” I asked.
“No, but you can’t have everything.”
“You know, they’re both pros.”
“Yeah, I know. Five hundred bucks.”
“Should we send them packing,” I asked.
“No way. Didn’t you just hear what I said?” Keith leaned in to make sure I didn’t miss a word he said. “She has a prosthetic leg.” Keith annunciated each syllable of prosthetic. “And she has agreed to call me Chico. She’s just one glass eye away from a jackpot.”
“I guess two out of three isn’t bad.”
“You’ve got that right,” Keith said and knocked back the last of his drink.
When the ladies returned, Holly said, “Tommy, are you ready to go?”
Keith stood up quickly. “Let’s go.” As he walked away from the table, Keith looked at me and mouthed the words, “I’ve got mine.”
“So what about you, sailor? Should we get out of here?” Sheila asked.
“I hate not to do my part to help grow the economy, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass,” I said.
“In that case, thank you for the dance,” Sheila said standing up.
“And thank you for the drink.”
“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said with a big smile. She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“Maybe you will,” I said as sincerely as I could. As she headed out of the bar, I admired the way she walked. At least looking was free.
“I’ve got mine,” Ken called out from his makeshift clinic against the wall. I’m not sure what he was looking for, but he apparently found it. He helped a tall woman out of the stirrups and off the table. She grabbed her purse and they made their way out of the bar.
I sat by myself at the table and felt lonely. It was just me, my drink, and Michael Buble’ singing “Moondance.” At least Van Morison songs always cheered me up.
“What happened to you and the redhead?” the waitress asked.
“I don’t know,” I said looking up at her. “Just not what I was looking for, I guess.”
“What are you looking for?”
“You know, the usual,” I said. “Romance, marriage, two-and-a-half kids, a mortgage, a mini-van. How about you?”
“I just want to have some hot, sweaty sex and then I want to get a good night’s sleep.”
“You know all that stuff I said before about marriage and kids, and that van thing? It can all wait. I’m all about hot, sweaty sex tonight.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “I’m done here in ten minutes. Meet me out in the lobby.”
“I’ll see you there,” I said.
“Oh, and this time, don’t make so much noise when you leave.”
“You don’t mind if I leave when we’re done?” I asked.
“I would prefer it.”
“You really are a dream come true.”
“Sweet talker,” she said as she walked away. I enjoyed the view until she walked around the corner. It looked like it would be me and the waitress again.
“I’ve got mine,” I said to no one in particular.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When I walked into the bar almost two hours later, Bill, Ken, and Keith were already sitting at the table. The rat pack was back. Frank, Dean, and Sammy were in the house. I guess that made me Peter Lawford.
Everyone was dressed just as they had been before, except Keith was missing his tie. “What happened to your tie?” I asked.
“A nasty accident with some chocolate sauce, I’m afraid.”
“You lose more ties that way,” I said. “Did everyone have a good night?”
“So far, so good,” Bill said. “But the night isn’t over yet.”
“You’re not planning on a second round, are you?” I asked.
“We’d be fools not to.”
“Okay, count me in,” I said.
Just then, there was a commotion near the entrance to the bar. The bouncers were holding back a crowd. Through the crowd walked a striking young man. As he entered the bar, a woman right in front of him asked, “Who are you?”
“Baudoin,” came the reply. “Paul Baudoin.” The woman feinted.
“Bodie,” I yelled out and he came walking over to the table. Joey Bishop had finally made it.
“Where have you been,” Ken asked.
“I had to work late at the paper.” It was an old joke and we all laughed.
The manager of the hotel came up to our table. “Hello fellas. How are you doing tonight?”
“So far, so good,” Bill said again.
“Glad to hear it. I was wondering, Mr. Baudoin, if you wouldn’t mind singing a song for us. It would mean a lot to me.”
“What about Buble’?
“Mr. Buble’ works for me. If I tell him to get off the stage so you can sing a song, then he’ll get off the stage.”
“I’d by happy to, but just one,” Paul said.
“Yes, sir,” The manager said excitedly. He turned to talk to the man that was standing next to him. “Tell Bubbles to take a break. Mr. Baudoin is going to sing us a song.
In all of the commotion over Bodie, I hadn’t noticed that Keith had disappeared. I looked around the crowded bar but couldn’t find him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the hotel manager said into the microphone. “Please welcome the incomparable, Mr. Paul Baudoin. The crowd cheered and Bodie walked onto the stage.
I looked up at the bar, but Keith wasn’t there either. He may have gone to the bathroom, I thought to myself, but he usually liked to announce it to the group before he left.
“Thank you,” Paul said. “Thank you very much. I’d like to do one of my favorite songs for you. I hope it’s one of your favorites too…
Just then I caught site of Keith. He was across the room talking to an older woman in a wheelchair.
“… This is called, “My Way.”
The lights came down, the band got ready to play, and then a voice from across the room yelled out, “I’ve got mine.”
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Turn Around, Bright Eyes
It was taco night last night at the Mindar Hacienda and the result was a night of wild dreams (and a bit of flatulence). One dream in particular stuck with me and I’d like to share it with you now (it sounds like I’m getting ready to sing).
NOTE: You may recall that I believe strongly that our dreams are influenced by what we eat. As a registered dreamologist, I prescribe bacon just before bed for those patients wishing to have a strange dream. Obviously, other fried foods, such as taco meat, can also get the job done.
Back to the dream...
We were all going fishing. As we piled into the boat (some sort of dory-type craft), the guide started telling us all about his fishing adventures in France. The guide was a rather pompous man and he was kind of talking down to us as he told his stories.
As it turned out, Ken knew all about the places the guide was talking about and would comment about everything the guide said. Ken's knowledge of all things French seemed to unnerve the guide a bit. While he was doing this, Ken was sitting in a relaxed, cross-legged manner in the front of the boat. He was wearing a vest and sport coat (the kind with patches on the elbows), and he was smoking a droopy, Sherlock Holmes-type pipe. Very distinguished.
As we shoved off (that’s nautical talk), the five of us were all on this small boat, but then the little boat turned into a much bigger boat and Queebs and Bodie disappeared. Ken, WFB, and I remained on the larger ship.
The sea was angry, my friends. Waves crashed over the side of the ship and it rocked violently. The fishing guide (who was now the captain of the ship) seemed unconcerned about the angry seas, but he was very concerned about making sure that everyone on the ship threw their garbage into the designated trash cans. He marched around the ship demanding that everyone throw their garbage into the trash cans that were provided. The cans were silver metal garbage cans and they had a black garbage bag liner in them. The metal lid was held down by a bungee cord. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.
Ken was going around the ship picking up garbage and WFB followed along behind him knocking over garbage cans. Ken would fill the garbage cans, Bill would knock them over, and the fishing guide/captain would anxiously run around the ship picking up the cans and yelling at Bill. All the while, I was trying to find something to hold on to so I wouldn’t be swept overboard.
Suddenly, we were back at the dock and everyone from the ship was gathering around a picnic table. I sat down at the table, looked to my right, and there was the infamous Greg “Bird” Royal. I made a big deal out Bird being there, but Ken and Bill seemed unimpressed.
Instead of sitting at the picnic table, Bird and I were suddenly sitting on a parking standard when Bird announced that he wanted some ice cream. When he said that, I noticed that we were sitting in the parking lot of an ice cream store. As we were going in to the store, Ken was coming out. His face was covered with ice cream and chocolate, and he was chastising me for going in to get some ice cream. I grabbed some chocolate off of his face, but it was all melted and gooey.
Next thing I know, we’re back at the picnic table and Bird starts singing Total Eclipse of the Heart. He sang the song very well and really made it his own (I’ve been watching too much American Idol). Everyone joined in and I sang the “turn around, bright eyes” part in my lovely falsetto voice.
Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
It was a touching way to end the dream. Like so many things in my life (including this story) the dream really didn’t go anywhere. Yet, I woke up feeling good that I had gotten to spend a little time with my friends. Of course, Queebs and Bodie snuck off to do God knows what, but it was still a good time.
So I guess the obvious question at this point is, where is Bird?
NOTE: You may recall that I believe strongly that our dreams are influenced by what we eat. As a registered dreamologist, I prescribe bacon just before bed for those patients wishing to have a strange dream. Obviously, other fried foods, such as taco meat, can also get the job done.
Back to the dream...
We were all going fishing. As we piled into the boat (some sort of dory-type craft), the guide started telling us all about his fishing adventures in France. The guide was a rather pompous man and he was kind of talking down to us as he told his stories.
As it turned out, Ken knew all about the places the guide was talking about and would comment about everything the guide said. Ken's knowledge of all things French seemed to unnerve the guide a bit. While he was doing this, Ken was sitting in a relaxed, cross-legged manner in the front of the boat. He was wearing a vest and sport coat (the kind with patches on the elbows), and he was smoking a droopy, Sherlock Holmes-type pipe. Very distinguished.
As we shoved off (that’s nautical talk), the five of us were all on this small boat, but then the little boat turned into a much bigger boat and Queebs and Bodie disappeared. Ken, WFB, and I remained on the larger ship.
The sea was angry, my friends. Waves crashed over the side of the ship and it rocked violently. The fishing guide (who was now the captain of the ship) seemed unconcerned about the angry seas, but he was very concerned about making sure that everyone on the ship threw their garbage into the designated trash cans. He marched around the ship demanding that everyone throw their garbage into the trash cans that were provided. The cans were silver metal garbage cans and they had a black garbage bag liner in them. The metal lid was held down by a bungee cord. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do.
Ken was going around the ship picking up garbage and WFB followed along behind him knocking over garbage cans. Ken would fill the garbage cans, Bill would knock them over, and the fishing guide/captain would anxiously run around the ship picking up the cans and yelling at Bill. All the while, I was trying to find something to hold on to so I wouldn’t be swept overboard.
Suddenly, we were back at the dock and everyone from the ship was gathering around a picnic table. I sat down at the table, looked to my right, and there was the infamous Greg “Bird” Royal. I made a big deal out Bird being there, but Ken and Bill seemed unimpressed.
Instead of sitting at the picnic table, Bird and I were suddenly sitting on a parking standard when Bird announced that he wanted some ice cream. When he said that, I noticed that we were sitting in the parking lot of an ice cream store. As we were going in to the store, Ken was coming out. His face was covered with ice cream and chocolate, and he was chastising me for going in to get some ice cream. I grabbed some chocolate off of his face, but it was all melted and gooey.
Next thing I know, we’re back at the picnic table and Bird starts singing Total Eclipse of the Heart. He sang the song very well and really made it his own (I’ve been watching too much American Idol). Everyone joined in and I sang the “turn around, bright eyes” part in my lovely falsetto voice.
Once upon a time I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
It was a touching way to end the dream. Like so many things in my life (including this story) the dream really didn’t go anywhere. Yet, I woke up feeling good that I had gotten to spend a little time with my friends. Of course, Queebs and Bodie snuck off to do God knows what, but it was still a good time.
So I guess the obvious question at this point is, where is Bird?
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