Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Minnesota police just arrested a guy for traveling over 200 mph on his motorcycle.
Now, I don't particularly want to ever be in Minnesota either, but if you go the speed limit, you'll eventually get out of there. Patience, sir, patience.
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I'm feeling old.
Back in 1979 I came home for spring break from NAU and went to see my old high school girlfriend Anji, who had just had a baby.
And when I mean just, I mean JUST. She hadn't been home too many days from the hospital and was nursing fresh stitches from a vertical caesarian scar. Seems the kid was not only big, but she tried to get out through Anji's ears, so they had to go in vertically.
Anji's hubby at the time, and new dad, Andy Olson (yes, the Andy Olson who for more than 20 years has been the sane voice of radio in this city--check him out on KSLX or on his own internet station, radiofreephoenix.com), was working nights at the time so it was just me, Anji and the kid.
At about 11, baby Heather finally went down for the count and I decided to leave. Anji walked me to the car, I got in and we continued to chat.
At this point, her neighbor, an Hispanic fella in a pickup truck, pulls up into his driveway. Anji waves and as he gets out of the car, she says, "Tom, meet Tom!" His name was Tom too. However, as I quickly found out, he was a very drunk and confused Tom.
See, it seems that in his drunken stupor, even though he KNOWS that Anji just had a kid, even though he KNOWS that Anji is stitched up like a cheap football, somehow, he gets it in his mind that Anji and I have just finished a marathon round of sex, and it is HIS duty to stand up for HIS FRIEND ANDY.
So he throws a huge rock at my car. Before I can say "what the f..." this guy is in my face and through pure drunken rage, PULLS ME THROUGH THE WINDOW OF MY CAR, throws me to the ground and starts kicking the shit out of me. He's accusing me of fucking Anji, he's telling Anji she's a no good cheating bitch, and I'm on the groud with my head between his boot and my back left hubcap.
He's pummeling my head repeatedly, I'm screaming for him to stop, Anji's screaming for him to stop, and now drunk Tom's wife comes out of their house and SHE's screaming for him to stop, and of course, being the drunk we now know him to be, turns around for a second and screams "Shut up, bitch!" before returning to my head.
Strange things go through your mind when you're getting kicked in the cranium. It didn't really hurt, since enorphins and adrenaline were pumping pretty good, so my primary thought through all of this was, "where the hell did my glasses go?" I saw them about the time Psychoboy got back to business. They were waaaaaaay under my car.
Finally he starts screaming at me to get the fuck out, which of course I can't do without my glasses, so after I calmly explain this to Mr. Shithead, he starts banging me up again. I'm so half-conscious by this point that I don't even do anything. Finally, he stumbles off, I crawl under the car for my glasses and get in my car and go. I'm not thinking, 'gee, Anji's still standing there and he's directing his anger at her now,' no, I'm shaking in shock and I want to get the hell out of there. Which I do.
To make this long story short, before the night is over, drunk Tom threatens Anji with death for cheating on Andy. She calls NOT the police (good call; I couldn't get one to take a report until about 4:30 the next morning), but a friend in the Dirty Dozen Motorcycle Club, who comes over to stay with her till Andy gets home. In the meantime, drunk Tom picks a fight with the biker.
Bad move.
The next morning, he wakes up to two screaming neighbors in his face, a screaming wife in his face, various bruises and scars from a fight he doesn't remember, a motorcycle gang with his name on a list, and a pending lawsuit from yours truly. He remembers NONE OF IT.
I wake up with five stitches in my head. And a good story.
Life went on; Anji and Andy split up. Heather grew up. While I remain friends with Anji and Andy to this day, and frequently visited Andy's house after that, I never saw the neighbor again.
What does this have to do with my feeling old?
Baby Heather is getting married this Friday. She's 25; not exactly a spring chicken age for marriage. And while I will be there, drunk Tom will not. He drank himself to death a few years back. And he probably looked and felt a lot older than I ever will.
Still, 25 years ago! Shit, I feel old.
-----
Please. PLEASE. PLEEEEEEAAAAAASE come see Tom Chapin at Fiddlers Dream this weekend! He's playing at 8 p.m. on Friday (all ages show) and doing a show for the kiddies at 11 a.m. on Saturday. $20 per on Friday, but $12 for adults and $8 for kids on Saturday. He should be making the rounds of morning shows hopefully; I know we're hoping to get him on Channel 3 on Friday morning and Channel 12 on Saturday morning.
For more information, go to www.fiddlersdream.org as well as www.tomchapin.com.
Now, I don't particularly want to ever be in Minnesota either, but if you go the speed limit, you'll eventually get out of there. Patience, sir, patience.
-------------
I'm feeling old.
Back in 1979 I came home for spring break from NAU and went to see my old high school girlfriend Anji, who had just had a baby.
And when I mean just, I mean JUST. She hadn't been home too many days from the hospital and was nursing fresh stitches from a vertical caesarian scar. Seems the kid was not only big, but she tried to get out through Anji's ears, so they had to go in vertically.
Anji's hubby at the time, and new dad, Andy Olson (yes, the Andy Olson who for more than 20 years has been the sane voice of radio in this city--check him out on KSLX or on his own internet station, radiofreephoenix.com), was working nights at the time so it was just me, Anji and the kid.
At about 11, baby Heather finally went down for the count and I decided to leave. Anji walked me to the car, I got in and we continued to chat.
At this point, her neighbor, an Hispanic fella in a pickup truck, pulls up into his driveway. Anji waves and as he gets out of the car, she says, "Tom, meet Tom!" His name was Tom too. However, as I quickly found out, he was a very drunk and confused Tom.
See, it seems that in his drunken stupor, even though he KNOWS that Anji just had a kid, even though he KNOWS that Anji is stitched up like a cheap football, somehow, he gets it in his mind that Anji and I have just finished a marathon round of sex, and it is HIS duty to stand up for HIS FRIEND ANDY.
So he throws a huge rock at my car. Before I can say "what the f..." this guy is in my face and through pure drunken rage, PULLS ME THROUGH THE WINDOW OF MY CAR, throws me to the ground and starts kicking the shit out of me. He's accusing me of fucking Anji, he's telling Anji she's a no good cheating bitch, and I'm on the groud with my head between his boot and my back left hubcap.
He's pummeling my head repeatedly, I'm screaming for him to stop, Anji's screaming for him to stop, and now drunk Tom's wife comes out of their house and SHE's screaming for him to stop, and of course, being the drunk we now know him to be, turns around for a second and screams "Shut up, bitch!" before returning to my head.
Strange things go through your mind when you're getting kicked in the cranium. It didn't really hurt, since enorphins and adrenaline were pumping pretty good, so my primary thought through all of this was, "where the hell did my glasses go?" I saw them about the time Psychoboy got back to business. They were waaaaaaay under my car.
Finally he starts screaming at me to get the fuck out, which of course I can't do without my glasses, so after I calmly explain this to Mr. Shithead, he starts banging me up again. I'm so half-conscious by this point that I don't even do anything. Finally, he stumbles off, I crawl under the car for my glasses and get in my car and go. I'm not thinking, 'gee, Anji's still standing there and he's directing his anger at her now,' no, I'm shaking in shock and I want to get the hell out of there. Which I do.
To make this long story short, before the night is over, drunk Tom threatens Anji with death for cheating on Andy. She calls NOT the police (good call; I couldn't get one to take a report until about 4:30 the next morning), but a friend in the Dirty Dozen Motorcycle Club, who comes over to stay with her till Andy gets home. In the meantime, drunk Tom picks a fight with the biker.
Bad move.
The next morning, he wakes up to two screaming neighbors in his face, a screaming wife in his face, various bruises and scars from a fight he doesn't remember, a motorcycle gang with his name on a list, and a pending lawsuit from yours truly. He remembers NONE OF IT.
I wake up with five stitches in my head. And a good story.
Life went on; Anji and Andy split up. Heather grew up. While I remain friends with Anji and Andy to this day, and frequently visited Andy's house after that, I never saw the neighbor again.
What does this have to do with my feeling old?
Baby Heather is getting married this Friday. She's 25; not exactly a spring chicken age for marriage. And while I will be there, drunk Tom will not. He drank himself to death a few years back. And he probably looked and felt a lot older than I ever will.
Still, 25 years ago! Shit, I feel old.
-----
Please. PLEASE. PLEEEEEEAAAAAASE come see Tom Chapin at Fiddlers Dream this weekend! He's playing at 8 p.m. on Friday (all ages show) and doing a show for the kiddies at 11 a.m. on Saturday. $20 per on Friday, but $12 for adults and $8 for kids on Saturday. He should be making the rounds of morning shows hopefully; I know we're hoping to get him on Channel 3 on Friday morning and Channel 12 on Saturday morning.
For more information, go to www.fiddlersdream.org as well as www.tomchapin.com.
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