Ron is "off the hook"

His name was Ron. He was the assistant sales manager of a Utah Big and Tall men’s store. He was not big or tall. He wore oversized black pants with suspenders and a hunter green polo shirt. His face and neck seemed shrunken, tight , with a scraggly beard that clung to his bone structure so he looked like the pale animated corpse of some shallow-buried, perma-frosted 19th century polar explorer. He had thick black glasses and bad teeth and must have been in his early forties. The Big and Tall store was going out of business. I was picking over the remains of their liquidation sale.

He approached me, “Today our prices are off the hook”
“I can see that” I replied, smiling. The phrase seemed so common to him, and it was so incongruous with his nature that I laughed out loud. “Why are you going out of business?” I asked, trying to contain myself.
“Oh we got bought out by Casual Male. They’re going to close this store to consolidate”
“That’s too bad, where are all we big and tall people going to go to get our clothes?”
“Huh, huh. That’s off the Chain!” he evidently thought I had made a hilarious joke. I smiled again and asked if I could use the dressing room. He nodded and pointed it out, still laughing to himself, stuck in the internal reverie of the joke. He shuffled back to the counter, chuckling. I took my selection of 2XB polo shirts with me into the dressing room.

I made the command decision in the dressing room that I had never before heard someone utter a phrase so opposite their external appearance. I could not feel sorry for Ron, he seemed innocent and totally oblivious, but I felt a great deal of pity for the phrases “off the hook” and “off the chain”. Born in the rap nineties as succinct expressions of urban excitement and astonishment they had made, like twin salmons, the long journey up the stream of cultural consciousness only to die in the air outside a discount rack in a Utah big and tall store that was going out of business. The death of their last authenticity was the great tragedy out of which joy and comedy must inevitably spring. I mourned them while a smile.

When I came out of the dressing room Ron was on the phone:
“I tell you hon, it can get real frustrating. Our prices are already off the hook but people still ask me if I can take a bit more off. Don’t they realize its marked down 70 percent. I tell you hon, it makes we want to just fly off the chain. Huh, huh, how are the kids? Good. Good. Gotta go, talk to you later.” Apparently Ron had a wife and this is how he talked to her. He approached me again. “If you like those, you’re going to need some pants with them.”
“I imagine I am”, I replied, more intent now on observing Ron than shopping.
“Well, these flat fronts here are off the hook.” This time, for emphasis he made a circle with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand and brought the hand up then down past his face as he said the phrase. I looked at him in the face for a good two seconds, then picked out a pair in black and shuffled back to the dressing room.

In the dressing room I decided that the strangest thing about it was that “off the hook” and “off the chain” were the only two phrases Ron felt the need to martyr. The rest of his dialogue was culturally befitting a forty-something, perma-frosted, big and tall store assistant sales manager. No “homie” or “tight” or “Oh! Snap!” or other 90's phrases he could have killed if they haven’t been already (they have). No, Ron’s choice, the outlier on his cultural vocabulary curve, was confined wholly to “off the hook” and “off the chain”. I deduced, because of the lack of other phrases, that Ron was no secret BET watcher, but had instead picked his pet phrases seemingly from the ether. Did his press “Scan” on his car radio in 1999 and, in that tuner space between easy listening and classic rock, hear “off the hook” from a DJ? Did his twelve-year-old son return home one day from 6th grade spouting the tired urban phrase in the way that so many white twelve-year-olds are prone to do? Did he pick it up from a previously idolized assistant sales manager? Was it his attempt to win friends and influence people? Did he consider it cool and current? Did his wife find it edgy and sexual? Did it put her in the mood? I decided in the dressing room that I was fascinated by Ron, that he was an oblivious marvel, and I suddenly wanted to shake his hand. And, if I shook his hand, would he betray more outdated cultural influences by trying to give me a dap? I hoped not. Ron was perfect the way he was.

“I like the pants a lot, but they are a bit big” I said when I left the dressing room.
“No problem, the most off the hook thing about these pants is that they aren’t pre-shrunk, so they will tighten up just a bit” It was as if Ron structured all his sentences just to fit the phrases in.
“Great” I said, “looks like I’m good to go.” Ron rang me up and began to bag the polo shirt and black pants. I watched him closely the whole time. “Man, when you guys shut down where are all we big and tall people going to go to get our clothes?” I repeated the joke only because I knew it would make him smile.
“Huh. Huh. Off. The. Chain. Huh. Huh. Don’t worry, you’ll find another store.” He said as he handed me my receipt. I put the receipt in my pocket and reached out to shake his hand.
“Incidentally”, I said as I shook his hand, (no dap) “what’s going to happen to you? Are they transferring you to a different store? Maybe one in the area?

Marvin Gaye.

So I read Esquire.com a lot and have a nerd crush on one of their book blogger. Super strange that she was in Waterton while I was there last week. Alas me and my travelin' crew didn't run into her. Here is a related blog, from esquire, of the 5 best performances of our National Anthem.

I must say Marvin Gaye takes the cake. I love that the entire crowd is clapping and just groovin' out by the end of it. So very sad that the man is no longer with us. Here is the link. Please enjoy.

http://www.esquire.com/blogs/lists/5-best-spar-spangled-banner?src=rss

My Grandpa and his traveling crew.

So, I am up at a relatively remote cabin in Waterton, Alberta Canada. I've been coming up here my whole life, usually with my family, but for the last few years I've been flying solo. It's a great way to decompress and truly my favorite place on earth. I always invite people, but the relative remoteness makes casual visitors difficult. This year, however, I invited my WWII vet 86 year old grandfather, who is far too sick to still be kicking but far too stubborn to die. He has a live in nurse named Daniela who helps manage his diabetes and who increasingly has taken over his caretaking as his health has deteriorated. She is Philipino, sassy, and I love her.

They accepted my invitation and said they were driving up from Oakland. Grandpa said this land is "God's true country" and that he wanted to see it again before he died. Mostly I think he wanted to relive his spartan childhood on a ranch in Wyoming. I prepared myself mentally for my two visitors, a crowd considering how comfortable I have become with solitude.

Imagine my surprise when their called pulled up not with two people in it but six. Daniela brought her son and grandkids and also a random girfriend/neighbor. The cabin is pretty small and I was pretty surprised and even a bit put off that the whole traveling crew would show up without warning. It was definitely not my expectation. But, as a day has passed I have come to really really enjoy thier company (all of it). Daniela and her friend Rose are both nurses who chat in tagolog and hang their underwear from the shower rack to dry. They cook for all of us and pat me on the back when they pass by. And they love my dog Winston and take him on long walks without even asking me. Daniela's son is a mean chess player and his son is awed by my ability to lift heavy suitcases.

It's as if they brought instant "home" with them in a bustling and obtrusive package. I just love to watch it. It makes me happy. Most of all they treat my Grandfather with great respect and handle his (ahem) racial biases with patience and laughter. Now that I see their care for him I understand a bit better why he has lasted so long. Best of all, we are rained in, so it just heightens the craziness. I don't know if this is what he was expecting, but I certainly think my Grandfather is getting a good look at "God's country".

Canadians and the Olympics

So, I’m in Canada, and Canadians are strange. Not in the stereotypical ways. There is one channel covering the Olympics here and here are some of the things they do that strike me as very very odd
.
-No objective coverage of the Games: Nope, its all Canadians all the time. They will show you the heats of an event, watch the Canadians finish 8th and not advance to the event finals, and then fail to show the event finals because they are busy showing more Canadians lose in preliminary heats of other events. Also, when they show results of events they will only list Canadian results, always failing to mention who won the event.

-Extreme competitive anxiety: Canada didn’t win a medal for the first 8 days, and all the coverage took on this anxious and vindictive tone towards the Government and their supposed lack of funding for Olympic sports. I mean, they gave low level protesters national airtime to whine about the lack of funding as the reason why Canada’s athletes were performing poorly. Ironically, this exact same process played out four years ago in Athens. Its always “our poor underfunded athletes doing their best”

-Exaggerated focus on “personal bests” and “Canadian national records”: I guess when your country sucks at most Olympic sports you have to find positive reinforcement wherever you can get it.

-Joyous complacency with silver and bronze: Not once in the endless interviews with the few Canadian medal winners has one come close to mentioning that they were disappointed their medal wasn’t gold. All of them, especially the announcers, seem overjoyed to lose to the Chinese as long as they get a bronze. Very much a lucky to be there mentality.

-Lack of commercial variation: There is a loop of about 10 commercials (NO JOKE) that runs during all Olympic coverage (basically all day). They must have sold all the airtime to the 5 companies and then the companies made two commercials each. The commercials have not changed the entire Olympics. I have now memorized all these commercials and made solemn promises to NEVER buy anything from any of these companies. The companies are McDonalds, Chevy, HBC bank, Bombadier Airlines (truly the creepiest commercials ever), and very corny Visa ads. Worst of all are the Chevy ads. Worst worst of all. Because at the same time they are running John “Cougar” Mellonncamp go America ads in the states they are running ads in Canada with the Maple leaf and “lets go canada” logo. Did you know Chevy is the official vehicle of the Canadian Olympic team? They’re just wrapping themselves in the flag of any nation that buys cars from them. It’s a strange mixture of marketing and political propaganda. They should rig their company cars with microphones and megaphones. They should have retinues of factory employees march in military parades. Their new motto should be “Chevy: trying to attract the lowest common denominator of all nations”

And Finally,

Extreme (hilarious) passive aggressive coverage of the U.S. and U.S. athletes:
I was talking to a distant uncle the other day, who was raised in the states but has lived his whole married life in Canada. And he said “the majority of Canadians express their nationalism through competition with the US.” This is so very true.
First off, when CBC condenses its coverage of a non-live event, it will only show the Canadians fail, then it will show the three medal winners. So as you watch it you can pretty much tell that every routine you see will either be a medal or a Canadian achieving some obscure personal best….UNLESS, and this is the one exception, a US athlete fails to achieve a medal. They will always show U.S. failures, especially if the athlete is a favorite. Then the commentators will gloat silently or in thinly veiled statements like “oh, that’s too bad” and “shocker there. She was hoping to do better”

Secondly, all the Canadian announcers are total homers for the American’s main rivals, especially China and Jamaica. They will always point out where China won against the US but never the other way around. But, never is this more apparent than in the Michael Phelps Vs. Usain Bolt debate for “hero of the games”. Yup, up here they actually think it’s a debate. Most announcers will list Usain Bolt, then the Russian Pole Vaulter/Actress, THEN Michael Phelps in a discussion of most heroic at the games. C'MON! Bolt could shatter 19.30 in the 200 and it still wouldn’t even be a close call. 8 gold medals. 7 world records. Their homerism against Phelps is just way beyond ridiculous. Their announcers were practically screaming with joy when it looked like Phelps would lose the 100m butterfly. As for the Jamaicans, you have to remember that Canadians get all excited about Jamaicans because their only Olympic sprint champion ever (Donovan Bailey) was born and raised (and trained) in Jamaica before becoming a Canadian. They’re like the sister–city pen pals that you would write letters to in 5th grade.
But I’ve ranted enough. I’m going to stop and see if I can watch some track and field finals…oh wait, they’re not showing that. Instead its another interview with the Canadian bronze medalist in women’s equestrian dressage.

Roadtrip Poetry

I always tend to write out loud when I take solo road trips. I write and revise in my head until its too long to remember, then I pull over and write it down. I do that a lot, and somehow manage to leapfrog my way across the country. The first poem I ever had published was a roadtrip poem, as others have been. This one is a fiction, but was inspired by the trees of the canyons between Helena and Great Falls. So enjoy and forgive me if its a downer (it was a stormy day). And so help me Zeus if blogger messes up the spacing. -Aaron

I.
Hungry metaphors,
Asian bark beetles are killing the forests of
southern Alberta. The dead trees
are similes stripped of needles. On
any mountain you can see them blighted,
thin and grey, random against the evergreens,
stark victims of a ravenous chance.

II.
It was cancer that thinned her
thumb and forefinger
picked her from my side.
No salve for the sap of her body,
no graft for the blight in her limbs,
no cure for the beetles mating in her
breasts.

III.
Tragedies of chance.
An Asian beetle in Canada?
Why God do you misplace our maladies?

updates, contest. Van Blows UP.

I'm back. let's get up to date. I am on vacation. The right ankle turned out to be just a bad sprain. It is healing. Life is good. Oh, and an Access-a-ride Handicapped Van blew up in front of my apartment building today in Brooklyn. Here is the link: http://www.brownstoner.com/brownstoner/archives/2008/08/accessaride_van.php

Awesome. Apparently my house is fine, which is nice because I am on vacation and it would have sucked to come home to a blown up apartment.

In other news, I recently made the final cuts to become an official blogger for the Utah Jazz basketball team. So if you like me go vote for my entry at Jazzbots.com. I'm entry #8.

In other news I have a poem to post but will post in a separate post.

best,

Aaron (currently very badly sunburned)