I have long harbored a not-so-secret desire to do stand-up, not as a career or anything, but just to try it. Two reasons: 1) I am a big ham, and 2) childhood provided a wealth of material. I’ll give you guys an example, in the form of a true story that suggests the tragic wreck of the Mustang was not such a coincidence after all.
It was 1972. I was 12 at the time, visiting my eldest brother Gene, who was stationed at Fort Benjamin Harrison just outside of Indianapolis. I had recently taken up golf, so Gene took me out to the post’s golf course to play a round.
Now anyone who has golfed as a child knows that driving the cart is an extremely cool thing to do. Big bro, knowing my level of coordination was such that a fork stood a good chance of landing in my eyeball whenever I ate dinner, wisely demurred. For a while. I was of course armed with the ultimate weapon that all kids have: annoying persistence. Somewhere along the 17th cycle of “please-please-please, puh-LEASE”, he gave in.
The timing of the inevitable surrender was not, shall we say, fortuitous. We were on an elevated tee box that appeared to have been carved from the side of a mountain. (Indianapolis being famous for its mountains of course). The green was a postage stamp, just across from a creek that ran through the valley far below. This was not a hole to challenge one’s golf skills. Hell, you could pretty much roll the ball down and it would have enough momentum to skip over the water and land on the green. This was likely the strategy I used.
Anyway, Gene tees off and then starts walking down the cart path. Walking. He’s not stupid enough to get in the cart with me and I don’t really blame him. It would have been pretty damn dumb to survive Nam, earn a Bronze Star, and then get killed by his kid brother. “I’ll see ya at the bottom,” he shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared. Understood, but left unsaid was the second part: “and I know how to tie a tourniquet”.
So I tee off, jump in the cart and – very carefully riding the brakes – start inching the cart down the path. No problem, except that I’m traveling at a rate that will get me down the hill in about two and a half weeks. Big bro, never known for his patience, shouts up at me “get your ass down here!”
OK. OK. I decide to let off the brake and let ‘er roll a bit. And that’s when things went to hell.
I’ll tell you folks, when you turn the ball over to gravity, s**t happens in a hurry. I went from zero to nine thousand miles per hour in like half a second. My cheeks were flapping back from the slipstream so far back that you could count my molars.
Still I wasn’t panicking. Not yet. I knew, from seeing my father in similar situations (like when some idiot cut him off on the Dan Ryan) that all you had to do is to jam on the brakes and start over. I had seen him do it a million times. (And I also knew that step two was to wave your fist and cuss a lot once the accident had been averted, which I figured Gene would let me get away with.
Now you’re aware of how the brakes on golf carts are arranged, right? It’s small hinged part atop the gas pedal. Being twelve, I did not fully understand this function. In my minds eye, you just did what Dad always did – jam the entire pedal to the floor with as much force as you could muster.
Which I did.
I was now traveling so fast that sonic booms were echoing through the golf course. The metal on the golf cart was starting to melt from the friction with the air. I mean, I was FLYING!
Now I’m in full panic mode. There is one possible salvation: the bridge over the creek. If I can make that, I figure I can roll to a stop. Given my momentum, I’ll probably end up in Lansing, Michigan before the cart from hell finally stops, but what the hell – I can always hitch back. HOW-ever, approaching the bridge, I see that it is approximately 2 centimeters wider than the cart. Why the hell do they design golf-cart bridges like that? There is little chance that I could make that window if I were driving at a normal rate of speed. Now? I’m doing Mach 3 and I am no longer a driver I am a passenger.
So I wrench the wheel to the right, which seemed a good idea at the time, except that the people who designed the golf course had thoughtfully placed a large boulder to the side of the cart path, no doubt with just this kind of a situation in mind. I hit it square.
Fortunately, golf cart technology in those days did not include roofs. If it had, I would probably be telling this story to St. Peter. As it was, when I hit the boulder, I was launched like 5,000 feet into space, while the cart went airborne behind me, flipping over and landing in the creek, where I splashed down next to it a second later.
Fresh panic, because I was completely under water and I never learned to swim. How incredibly stupid would it be survive that accident and then DROWN. Knowing my family, at least one my sibs would have died laughing at the wake. That thought gave me some comfort, when another thought struck me: I was in a creek, not the Mississippi. Perhaps I could try “standing up”? That might work.
And it did.
It was your brother’s fault, Grasshopper.
That your “stand up” routine worked then portends your next avocation, dear Ham.
Do it.
Evan’s always looking for openers for the Right to Laugh shows. Get a ticket to the west coast, give ‘em your stand-up routine in LAAAAAAA.
Seriously? Would he let a rank amatuer do some shtick? Cause I would so totally do that.
Ah… how typical of the me generation (texacalirose). Never accountable and responsible for there own actions, always point the finger somewhere else.
Yes, I was responsible for exercizing bad judgment by allowing little bro get behind the wheel of that golf cart.
But it was little bor who was responsible for losing control of the golf cart (I have not heard the Mustang story yet… he’s no longer 12 years old… physically anyway).
Our Dad, a very wise and fair man, showed by his actions that he agreed with my assessment when he agreed to share half the Cart repair bill with me.
Now I need to hear the Mustang story to see if we’re talking deja vu.
That is highlarious. Totally highlarious.
Yo – BIG BRO – DON’T PIC ON TEXACALI YOU MOOK – she is one of the good ‘uns. And, for some reason that I can not fathom, she called you handsome after viewing a pic of you delivering the toast at our wedding.
Behave or I’ll have both your Viagra and your Prozac prescriptions cut off.
The horrific, tragic story of the Mustang wreck is here:
http://www.threedonia.com/archives/1752
He’s let me on three times now, Rich. I’ll put in the good word for ya.
Thanks bud. If he would like to hear a tape or something, I can record some shtick and e-mail it to you. If it works out, that would be kewl, but if not – I totally understand, and I appreciate the attempt!
By the by, that thing I need to send you has not been sent yet, because I’ve not been in the office, but it will be on its way when I’m back on Tuesday.
Genet:
Ah ha! The prodigal son makes his presence known in threedonia this evening, spurred on by the tender mercies bestowed upon the innocent baby brother by a bitter, lonely woman who felt the need to make amends for earlier posts wherein she likened the eldest’s visage (that’s you, btw) to those worthy of June’s most popular thread while comparing the youngest (that’s trzupr, btw) to … to … well, to Marty (United Artists 1955):
” … sooner or later, there comes a point in a man’s life when he’s gotta face some facts. And one fact I gotta face is that, whatever it is that women like, I ain’t got it.
I just feel terrible about this whole turn of events. But please don’t tell trzupr I said this, but it’s very clear to everyone in threedonia that he’s the worst driver evah. In fact, some say, and this is just what I’ve been told (but on good authority), some say that it was trzupr who was at the controls of that big ole jetliner that slid off the runway in Denver a few weeks ago. I don’t know, but I’m just sayin.’ He just didn’t learn his lesson back in 1972 an now, well, it’s just too late. Ya can’t teach old dog new tricks.
So, let’s just let it be water under the bridge (which reminds me: I think someone said that trzupr drove his Mustang off a bridge. Maybe not.). Anyway, I sound the clarion call for brotherhood to prevail here and now because it’s not about the “me generation;” it’s just about me. To heck with the generation. And just a bit of advice: Next time, just deny, deny, deny!! Repeat after me: “I never gave baby brother permission to drive the golf cart.” Or try this one: “What golf cart?” Or this one, even better: “What brother?”
trzupr:
… she is one of the good ‘uns.
I get worried when you’re nice to me and feell bad that I made such frolic in threedonia at your expense.
OK. I’m over it now. (You’re the best, really)
I APOLOGIZE to texacalirose.
If little bro says you’re one of the good guys, I’ll go along with his assessment.
The Mustang story does sound like deja vu. A hunk of concrete this time, instead of a boulder last time.
As for blaming Blowhardovich for the Mustang problem, hey, it’s just another reason to vote NOT to impeach or convict him unless Mike Madigan and his Socialist colleagues allow the people to vote in an Election to fill the US Senate seat vacated by Karl Marx, Jr.
The longer the slug Rod, who was elected by a majority of lemmings in this State, stays in office, maybe the people will finally wake up and realize what the two faced Socialists in power are all about.
If one blesses even more Government OF the Political Party, BY the Political Party and FOR the Political Party, that’s another ringing endorsement for ‘CHANGE’.
Let the majority reap what they have sown.
Right On Libertarianism… for REAL and Beneficial CHANGE.
texacalirose
if you read my original posting you’ll see that i DID take responsibility for exercising bad judgment.
and you’ll also see that our Dad validated the fact that both little and big bro shared responsibility for the golf cart fiasco by paying for half the repair costs.
and in case you missed it in my second posting, little bro vouched for you and i DO/DID APOLOGIZE to you.
the majority of this country has swung to even more Big Brother, even more Socialism and I erroneously lumped you in with those lemmings.
Hey I could tell a few stories about my older siblings which would make those of us who take on the tail end charlie part of the family laugh our butts off. So der. Like the time our sister (second youngest) decided to sneak Dad’s car to the ranch and go horse back riding. He told her she couldn’t as when he woke up from his nap he needed to drive to work. HA…boy was he in for a surprise.
In a full out gallop on the beautiful Quarter Horse Mare, Duchess, sis J. loses Dad’s car keys somewhere in a dandelion filled field and is stuck on a bluff in Minnesota.
Steph – Knowing how much your dad was like my dad, if that happened to me I think I would have kept riding until I reached the Canadian border.
Tex – Don’t you worry your pretty lil head one second. In my family, blowing s**t at each other is a sign of affection. The only time you worry is if you get the silent treatment. As long as you’re getting the business from everybody, all is well!
By the by, Gene voted for Ross Perot.
Twice.
(Now the Gene meltdown. Stand back folks, this is going to SPECTACULAR!)
genet:
First, I never took any offense a’tall and am just stunned if you thought i did. I sympathize with your ire at the politcal state of your state. And I see that you have your finger on the pulse of the shenanigans there, and hope that you see that I have my tongue planted firmly in my cheek whenever I interact with threedonians. I only take offense at democrats. ‘Nuff said, except that dad’s are always right (as long as they listen to mom, too).
What? Me worry??? Gene’s my favorite, anyway. But I didn’t know Ross Perot was a Libertarian???
FORE!! DUCK!! RUN!! TIMBER!!!
Well see Dad had to send my brother in his cool Cougar (old school 70’s Cougar) to give her the extra key. And she didn’t just lose Dad’s car key…she lost his boat key, his office key and I think a couple of other important keys for his work. Oh boy she was in trouble. I don’t think we saw her besides going to and coming from school for two weeks. And my brother of course read her the riot act to. It was kind of funny.
Good ol wasted Ross votes.
I take responsibility for being either/both an ol fart undergoing male menopause and/or an ol fart whose youthful idealism returned on two occasions.
You are correct that Ross was not running on the Libertarian ticket, but he was the closest thing to a Libertarian to wear a Republican hat.
I firmly believed he was serious about cleaning out the Beltway (I believe Palin is serious about cleaning out the Beltway).
I believe Ross was serious about minimizing the power of the Federal Government and making sure the States retained all powers except those specifically given to the Fed Gov.
Might have been closer to Government Of, By and For the people/taxpayers than the actions of Madigan and his machine hacks in BLOCKING House Bill 6733 and not allowing it to come before the full House for an up or down vote.
Yep, the Party of the ‘little guy’ wants to make sure the ‘little guy’ won’t be able to exercise his right to vote in an election to fill the empty US Senate of Karl Marx Jr.
‘CHANGE’.. ‘CHANGE’…
Buy into that and I have a Bridge to sell you in Brooklyn.
Or maybe it really is CHANGE… to even more and BIGGER Big Brother.
genet:
My very, very best friend and her husband (also a very good friend) both voted for Perot, too, if not twice, certainly against GHW Bush & Clinton. They believed that he was motivated by a sincere belief that the government needed a shake up and a sincere confidence that he could do the shaking. The greatest tragedy, aside from ensuring that Clinton took the WH, was the deplorable tarnishing of James Stockdale’s reputation. Stockdale is a true American hero whose legacy of bravery and courage has been eclipsed by the emasculated McCain.
I held my nose and voted for McCain, but my support was and is for Governor Palin. These are times that try men’s souls. I hope you hang out here in threedonia. We’re all in this together. And I deserve a bit of sympathy myself. I live in California!!! Land of Pelosi and Boxer – so much for “girl power.”
You mean that Pelosi who uses the Private Jet provided for the US Speaker of the House (‘CEO’), at Taxpayer Expense.
Can’t be the same Pelosi. I didn’t see her being brow beaten by the Congressional Committees beating up the Big Three CEOs for using Corporate Jets in bad economic times.
Then again, that Pelosi must put on her pants differently than those other three CEO’s; or must be a member of some special good old boys club to whom the rules that apply to everyone else, don’t apply to them.
And yes, in pushing for the Bailout and also for the taxpayer to subsidize the UAW, both Bush and McCain sold out Big Time on core conservative/libertarian principles.
Genet:
I couldn’t agree with you more. The only thing worse than Bush and McCain is Obama. And the only thing as bad or worse than Obama is FDR.
texacalirose
AMEN !!!