Mon 19 Sep, 2005 11:26 am
Small World Coincidences
I run into ex-Family members or people who had their lives somehow affected by TF all the time. Am I the only one?
Small World Coincidences: The Girlfriend
I was on crutches. I kicked a bike rack in a temporary fit of rage after realizing one of my few prized possession, a custom built mountain bike, was no longer locked to it. I had broken several bones in my foot. When I caught my breath and gained control of my anger, I talked a police officer into giving me a ride home, and then not arresting me for having an ounce of weed on my person.
There was excessively loud knock at the door. It was Friday night. That's probably my brother Zac wanting to go get hammered somewhere. I was not in a good mood. Drinking seemed necessary but the 2 block walk to my local drink hole was beginning to look like a marathon. Walking on crutches is never any fun. It's even less fun when your companion is deaf as an American politician in a time of need. Everytime I wanted to express misanthropy, I would have to stop walking, put my crutches down and sign. This was not helping my mood any.
With just a little more than half a block left, I could already taste the incredibly cheap beer in my mouth. Maybe getting straight up wasted was a good idea after all. Then I heard music. My bar never plays good music! This was coming from somewhere else. We peaked our heads over a overgrown fence to see a raging party. I recognized at least 2 messenger bikes. I'd probably know enough people to not get kicked out of this one. We swept in. I immediately began my quest for booze. There was 6 kegs of my favorite micro-brew! Finally a break! I bent down picked up a pine-cone and threw it at Zac. I missed. I yelled "Hey! Deaf guy!"
Right then, some little girl steps up, gets in my face and says "FÃ¼ck you asshole! How dare you speak to him like that!" I quickly responded "Hey, he's my brother. I'm obligated by the unspoken laws of brotherhood to mock and hassle him to the best my ability. Besides, being that he is my *older* brother. He's been picking on me my whole life." Zac came over with some pretty little punk girl all up on him. He needed me to translate some pick-up lines for him. While I was doing my best to relay my brothers flirtations, I over heard the girl who just confronted me earlier mention that she was born in France. I turned around and asked "What were you doing in France? Were you a military brat?" "No, but people always ask me that. Really my mom was in some international hippie compound..." I was shocked. I asked if the "hippie compound" was "The Children of God." It was.
Lizzy's mom joined the Family in the US in the mid-seventies, after moving with the cult to France she had a child with an allegedly abusive TF-leader in France but left the group days after her child was born. She, unlike my parents had the decent sense to know that what she saw a horrible environment to raise a child and immediately left. A few years later Lizzy's American grandmother brought her back to the US and raised her as her own. Lizzy's mom is now a wandering homeless and aimlessly in France occasionly doing odd jobs, and sporting several psychological disorders.
I dated Lizzy for 2 years. It was amazing to see how the after-effects of TF caused tremendous emotional and other damages to this girl and her family. Thank you Jesus!
Well written old buddy! You should start a blog, if you already haven't (and, no, I am not talking about dtheatre. Although, that is a pretty sweet site as well).
Waiting for more.
I enjoyed that too. I also like blogs, good idea. I think you are a good writer, Jack.
Small World Coincidences: Heaven's Floor Plan
I work a fairly stressful job. I'm a business development consultant which essentially means I take managing control of tech companies until they make a profit. On the better days, I write, direct and produce radio, TV and print ads, or create corporate identities. Other days I sit on my ass from noon to six pm telling people who are older, smarter and more educated than me what to do and how to do it. It's really a great job if you get your kicks being a manipulative, power hungry egomaniac. I don't. So if anyone would speak to me within an hour after I stop work, they can expect a barrage of cynical and pessimistic claims about human nature and the world we live in.
In recent years I've learned a work around to this annoying issue. Before crossing the bridge out of town, I drink at least one pint of Stella Artois at my favorite happy hour spot. I usually do this alone in complete silence, reading the local alternative-rag. This helps ensure that everyone in this town knows that I'm an anti-social wack-job. It also does the trick of clearing my head.
The bartenders like me. They tell people who know me that I'm very polite and tip well. I'm non-intrusive. I'm not unattractive. I wear hipster t-shirts with clever little sayings and logos on them and have a million witty responses to the comments they generate. I usually sit near the bar so I can hear the bar-keeper's disparaging remarks about the dullards and drunks that I will probably someday become.
Fridays are always the busiest at the downtown bars. All the sub-urbanites are either catching a drink before they leave town or just getting into town in full frat boy apparel preparing to seduce their female counterparts. The place was getting crowded and I was quickly starting to feel out-numbered by the type of person I easily find myself loathing. I had to slam the beer and get the heck out of there. I started breathing heavy through my nose so I could take bigger gulps.
A guy who seemed to have gotten the memo about the Friday night dress code stepped up by me. I cringed hoping he wouldn't talk to me. He looked my direction. I looked the other. Now my hearing ear was facing him. I heard the bartender say "That's a great shirt! What does it mean?" Opie is a wonderful bartender. She's fast, pleasant on the eyes, and always pours me a beer before I have to order. She also generally wouldn't compliment someone like that unless he really had it coming. Another reason why I enjoy her presence.
"It says Bangkokian! It means I was born and raised in Bangkok!" "No sh!t!" I thought to myself as I returned my gaze to the paper in front of me. "Joe here used to live in Taiwan or some crazy Asian place like that..." I started shuffling uncomfortably in my seat. "Ugh! Don't make him talk to me.."
"Really?!" he probed. "Yep. But not Tawain.. Thailand. Matter of fact, Bangkok even.." The ice was broken. Conversation was inevitable. After talking to him for about 3 minutes I realized how foolish and hypocritical I was for judging him by his outward appearance and we had a decent conversation about our various adventures in Thailand. His parents being ex-patriots and mine being in the uh.. army.
We got to an interesting point in our conversation when I mentioned the term "Third Culture Kids" and asked him his definition of that and how he felt it has affected his life. We talked about dating American women, working regular jobs and the fact that we are both fluent in the stoner Northwestern accent even though neither of us have spent much time up here. He went on to explain that there are many who don't believe some of the stories he tells. I told him I could relate and asked him for an example.
He told me how once when he was camping with the Thai equivalent of the boy scouts some other white kids were camping nearby and came over to talk. At first he was excited to meet other foreigner kids and was hopeful to make new friends. While the kids were talking to him some "beautiful hippie woman" hovered nearby monitoring their every move and word. He stopped for a second lowerd his voice and leaned in. "This is the part you won't believe! They gave me a floor plan of heaven that had people fÃ¼cking in the background and pressured me into saying a weird prayer."
After coming clean about which army my parents were in (the Lord's Army? I dunno..). I told him he should have kept a copy of the floor plan because now that he's said the prayer he's gonna have full on access to all the background fÃ¼cking and the map would come in particularly useful in navigating through the celestial orgy.
I got his email address in hopes that we would have a copy on xFamily.org. We don't. But if I find one, I will certainly email him.
8) Thanks for relating your stories in a creative, readable format....looking forward to more.
Thanks for all the compliments! I might be a good story teller but I would argue that I'm countless grammar and writing classes away from being a good writer. I also need to read something other than the internet and text books so I can have a firmer understanding of creative writing but I simply can't pay attention that long.
I couldn't keep a blog. I'd be too embarassed if the wrong people found it. I do write around in random places but usually anonymously. Sooo.. if you ever find a awkwardly out of place rambling story on Slashdot, it could be me. Additionally, I tend to take a punchline or a single conversation and make an entire story out of it. I get carried away when writing in the mood and enviroment. So.. yeah my stories are only 95% non-fiction for the record (that's a disclaimer for my ex-girlfriend
I do have at least one more post for this thread though.
Oh.. and I rarely write for dtheatre. I couldn't imagine reading news written by me. Besides writing about blockbusters is pretty damn boring that's why I have to pay people to do it.
Keep 'm coming
Jack, both of your stories were hilarious. Please keep writing.
Jack - absolutely f___ing hilarious. Ranger Rick, right? I have a pics from that - perhaps you are in them. I also have a few posters. Let me check and see what I have. I'll send them off to Peter on Friday and he can scan them.
Guess what I found?
I have in my possesion a little booklet called The Picture Stories of the Future! (with the obligatory exclamation point, of course). Anyway, it's a booklet with nothing but small versions of a bunch of posters and I think I found the one you are talking about.
It's called: Our Heavenly Home! (note the obligatory exclamation point, naturally).
The scene is of a supposed builing housing the supposed Children of God with many of them doing their thang in bedrooms, etc.
I'll try scanning it and sending it to Monger. I'll send the rest to Peter ASAP.
Also - Jack - I think you are gifted writer. Don't worry about grammar, just write and keep it somewhere, anywhere, but somewhere where you know where it is. The more you write, the better you will get at it. Someone else can always help you do the editing and fixing the grammar. The important thing is to write first and worry about grammar later. Get the thoughts out when you think of them. This I learned from a writing class.
Acheick I have no idea who Ranger Rick is. Nor was I one of the farung children in the story. The guy was a bit older than me but probably the age of some of your older kids so you might have a connection there.
If you can get a copy of Our Heavenly Home! I'd be thrilled and I'm sure Tim would be entertained if nothing else. I'd love to adjust the ending of that story before I add it to my official compilation of short stories which will someday become a feature film (fingers crossed).
Please read this delightful story called "Kissing Hank's Ass". It's very similar to one I was writing but I'm glad the good Rev. James Huber was able to do a far better job then I ever could.
If you have any interest, here is my, rarely updated blog type thing. Some of what's there now is shit I've posted here but slightly censored as I don't have interest in dwelling on my negative past too much on a site my friends can see. Most of them probably think I grew up Jehovah's Witness/Communist or something like that. This will also make me less anonymous to people here but I don't give a flyin' funk. Cheggit.
Jack, would Barny (from Mo's Bar) be one of your heroes, perhaps?
Jack, would Barny (from Mo's Bar) be one of your heroes, perhaps?
Nope. Not Barney from Moe's Tavern (is your "e" key broke?
). Because, not only could I never be as fat as him, they don't have Duff beer in this state.
Nope--I just misspell things sometimes.
No Duff Beer!! You should appeal to your congressman!