The Death Car

When I was about five or six years old, I saw something horrible. We lived in Rocky River, Ohio at the time. It was probably late in 1957. Back when kids walked everywhere.

My brother, Frankie, 5 years my senior, and I were walking across the bridge into Cleveland to go see the Saturday matinee at one of the old movie houses. If I am remembering my time frame correctly, my mother was probably pregnant with my sister, Susan, and my dad was working, making hand poured peanut brittle in a little candy shop in downtown Cleveland.

I have seen pictures of myself from that time and, I swear to God, I looked like Beaver Cleaver and Frankie looked like Wally. So, in my mind's eye, I sort of picture that day as Frankie walking slightly ahead of me, wanting to get to the movie and me lagging behind, goofing around. I was probably bouncing a ball or kicking a stone or something. Or walking in a lurching gait, one foot on the sidewalk the other in the gutter. Sort of bouncing with every other step. I can almost hear the Toy Parade playing in the background.

As we came around a slight curve on the bridge, we could tell there was something going on up ahead. At first, our view was blocked by several cars parked on our side of the road. As we got closer, there were several men and women standing around an old dark green coupe from the late forties, doing that kind of out loud whispering reserved for funeral homes or adult talk after the kids were in bed.

I heard words like, "all dead", "drunk", "blood everywhere", and "middle of the night". My brother and I were able to walk up to the car pretty much unnoticed. The first thing I remember was that the front wheel was up on the sidewalk, the white wall tire was flat. As we made our way around the front fender I could see splotches of blood(?) on the inside of the split windshield. The side windows were rolled down and I could see more blood on the cloth upholstery. There were several empty bottles on the seats.

But the thing I will never forget was the smell. I know that I have never smelled that exact combination of odors since then, but when I concentrate on it, I can recall them clearly. It was a mix of some kind of cheap but strong booze, blood, perfume and burnt rubber or hot engine or something. Every now and then, I will get a strong whiff of just one of those scents and it is enough to send me back to that morning.

The other thing was the unreasoning fear that I felt. I knew that something very wrong and bad had happened. And that maybe it would somehow follow me home. When I started to cry, Frankie took me by the hand and pulled me away from the smell and the whispering people.

I don't remember if we went on to see the movie that day or not. And I don't remember talking to my parents about what I had seen. Maybe my brother did. I never found out what happened in that car, either. Was it somehow a drunken party gone horribly wrong? Was it a mob hit? A jealous spouse? An accident? And where were the police? And the bodies? Did anyone survive? I never found out any of that stuff.

I was just a kid and nobody talked to kids back then. But what I saw on the bridge that day had an affect on my life. It introduced me to a part of life I had never known about. A place where even adults can get into trouble. Where fun can become dangerous. And a knowledge that, just outside my bedroom window, things were going on... in the dark.

It's funny not being able to forget something I knew so little about. All I ever really knew for sure was that something very wrong and bad had happened and, as I had feared, it had somehow followed me home.

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Stand Up - Sit Down!

Every time I've tried to do stand up I have been told to sit down.

Maybe it's my timing. Maybe it's my delivery. Maybe it's my audience. Like, I remember telling my now ex-wife one time that "marriage is the only thing that you cannot idiot-proof. Somebody always underestimates the bigger idiot."

Then we got into this whole thing about how she has never underestimated me. Blah, blah, blah.

So, never wanting to win a good battle, I forged on. "You know, I like to eat an apple right after smoking a cigar. It tends to refresh my pallet. Which is probably why I also like to eat lobster right after sex." After a long slow beat she grudgingly said, "O.K., why?" "Well, I still have that fishy taste... but it's classier."

Having just re-read that last line, I'm pretty sure it's not my timing.

Later, after half an episode of Jeopardy, things calmed down a little and I asked her if she knew why they used to call the female sailors W.A.V.E.S. She was silent for a long time. Pretty much through the whole next commercial. Then, just when I thought she had forgotten my question, she said, "Why!" "I think it was because vaginal swabs was already taken."

That was pretty much it for that night. The next morning, as she was getting dressed for work. I was still in bed, lying on my side, making circles on the sheet with my finger. I looked up at her as she was pulling some sexy under-thing on, back lit by the morning sun streaming through the blinds. Innocently, I asked, "How do you tell if a woman over fifty is HOT?" "I dunno," she said distractedly. "How?" "She dresses in layers" I answered.

I honestly don't think it is my delivery, either.

That night, over dinner, she commented that I could be a "professional comic." "Really?" I asked hopefully. "Certainly. A genius makes the difficult look easy." I puffed out my chest preparing to say something witty when she continued. "But a professional... a professional makes the routine look difficult."

While I was brooding through Wheel of Fortune, I kept thinking of all the things I should have said. Finally I turned to her and blurted, "You know, all I've ever wanted to be was a regular guy. Ex-Lax is just a Band-Aid."

When she didn't bite on that one I kept the momentum going. "Speaking of professional... I don't know if you know it, but I considered a number of professions over the years. At one time I was convinced that I wanted to be a dentist. But then I realized I just couldn't bear to see that many women spit." She got it. I know she got it. But she never even looked up. So I went on, "Then I thought, maybe I'll be a gynecologist. But after a while, I figured that I'd just end up taking my work home with me."

All I could hear were the sound of crickets. And, I swear, a tumble weed rolled past my recliner. I couldn't understand it. It must be the audience.

Later that year, I got a hot tub for my wife. It was the best trade I ever made.

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The Opinion Zone

Some super powers suck.

I know, I know. We don't really have super powers but some people act as if they do. And because they are so involved in their own irrational belief systems, they automatically assume that everyone around them should act and believe the same as they do. This is their Opinion Zone.

Think of it as Sue Storm's force field.

Let me give you a benign example. One of the Blond Bombshells has a smile to die for. And a dimple you could lose your heart in. So when she walks into a room it lights up. Everyone smiles. Everyone is affected by her positive personality. Once she became aware of the affect she had on other people - it became a super power. But that's cool. She only uses it for good.

Another example is a woman I used to know who couldn't seem to keep her clothes on. So, she would be in the middle of a party, or on the dance floor, or in the break room with a co-worker and before he could say, "Is that an all over tan?" she would be naked. Her particular zone of influence compelled other to dis-robe also. Somehow, she has managed to stay out of jail and keep her job so I figure she might have other super powers, as well.

Several of my friends are very "spiritual". This somehow elevates their religious opinions to a higher plane. What it also means is a lot of Christian-bible-and organized religion bashing and that since they find solace in any form of religious thought (other than Christian and bible related doctrine) they can freely believe in anything or nothing with equal facility. Basically, they do not want to believe in any religion that might keep them from doing what they want to do. They want to live guilt free and want no eternal consequences for their actions while cloaking themselves in "spiritual" respectability. Unfortunately, their super power does not let them even consider that there may be another opinion in the room.

I have another friend who has decided to fight for the gay agenda. So, every time any gay reference comes up that he may take the wrong way he says, "Hey! Careful there, I have gay friends!" Which is way sillier than "Hey! Careful there, I am gay!" because now we are supposed to vicariously accept someone else's zone of influence through this Bozo. What are we supposed to say? "Uh... sorry. We wouldn't want to offend anyone who's not in the room."

What about the vast majority of people who are not convinced of the efficacy of the gay lifestyle? Why does their opinion not count? Do they just not have super powers or are their super powers nullified by the decibels of the louder super power.

Is it O.K. to tell someone that their opinions are too loud?

In fact, when did we lose the right to have any opinion at all? It seems like the more some smaller groups lobby for their personal freedoms the more freedoms the majority has to give up. Including the freedoms of thought and expression.

There is a hate-crime bill currently before Congress that says certain speech is illegal if it makes another feel uncomfortable or threatened. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not in favor of threatening (much less harming) anyone. But the language of this legislation is so vague that it could allow a witch hunt for people with opposing views. Because the so-called crime would be highly subjective all someone would have to do is claim that they felt threatened and the law would be broken.

I do not believe this legislation will pass in it's current form. Or, if it does, it will not stand the test of the Supreme Court. But the very idea that they are trying to make this kind of thought control the law of the land should tell you how prevalent the Opinion Zone mentality is.

No opinion is valid but their own. No opinion should be heard except theirs. And if they can't shout us down, they will intimidate us with trumped up legislation. They are either very sure of themselves or very unsure.

Either way, we are surrounded by people who will brook no opinions other than their own on the claim of either being offended or of feeling threatened by something. Their amazing super power allows them to extend the zone of their opinions way beyond their own thoughts into the lives and actions of those around them and they are, apparently, impervious to others' ideas.

Which makes me just want to put my foot up their spandex clad asses.

Where is the Cone of Silence when we need it?



BTW, to all of my friends on both sides of all issues: If you only hear what YOU want to hear... it is not free speech.

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