Archive for memory

Budweiser – King of Idiots

There was an article on NBC news not too long ago saying that one-third of those who end up in the ER have been consuming alcohol, and that the number one drink of choice is Budweiser.

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My friend who used to drink a lot of Budweiser used to be friends with an ER doctor, and that friend said there were a surprising number of people who came into the ER with things lodged up their butts. (It might have only been two, but at the time, it surprised me.) That doctor was married to a flight attendant who never wore underpants no matter how short the skirt and was like that John Prine song: “You oughta see his wife, she’s a cute little dish. She smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish.” I haven’t talked to this couple in over fifteen years and wonder every now and again if they’re still married. There was another guy in that group who was a tree surgeon and was kind of built like a tree, a big one, and he was married to a lawyer with a funny name who had big, sexy hair, and by god, they could whoop it up. When someone got caught having sex in a field during one of the group’s wedding, they were the couple everyone thought of first.

I was on the fringe of this group–not really one of them–but I desperately wanted to be part of their clan. I think about that every now and again, too.

What’s this got to do with anything, I don’t know, but it’s what’s swirling around in my head as I start a new story.

Blog post at UNP

I have a new blog post over at the University of Nebraska Press’s website. It’s about an ill friend almost shitting her pants and a collapsible dog dish. So yay! The stuff of real literature! I don’t know if they will consider ever letting me write another.

“I was dancing in the dark with strangers / No love around me”

Do you remember how awful junior high dances were? The girls on one side of the room, boys on the other, some terrible anthem like “Eye of the Tiger” blasting through some shitty sound system, a cafeteria table set up next to the speaker covered in stale rice crispy treats someone’s mom had made?

Back in junior high, I had an incredible crush on this boy, Jay, who seemed hellbent on not acknowledging me. Then one night, at a junior high dance, he covered the expanse of the gym floor (in front of everybody!) and came over to ask me to dance. I linked my fingers around his neck and he put his palms on my sides, somehow keeping at least six inches between our torsos, and we rocked back and forth, foot to foot. The song was “Every Woman in the World” by Air Supply and I took this to be a sign–a sign Jay had waited for the perfect song, that he really did want me to be his every woman in the world. Was Shelly watching? Was Tonya? How about Lisa? Did Jay think my sides felt pudgy? I kept my mouth closed in case my breath was bad, or overly sweet form the bakery table where I’d spent a good amount of time, assuming I was invisible.

In my sophisticated mind it seemed that all of my thirteen years had been building to this, the moment when Jay and I would finally become a couple, Air Supply already leading off the mixed tape I knew he’d make me for our one-week anniversary. Had he been listening to the lyrics in his room at night? Did he own Air Supply’s Greatest Hits and have easy access to this song, or would he have to wait until it played on the radio and try to tape it himself, his finger perched on the “record” button for hours at a time. Did he like my dress? Had my hair stayed poofy or was it starting to deflate from all the sweating? Was Shelly catching this?

It was almost over, not a word spoken, when Jay finally looked at me and said, “Wow. This is a really long song.”

I’m sure this moment devastated me at the time, but for whatever reason it’s one of my favorites to tell my students, or really, anyone who will listen. I think it’s hilarious we were reading this moment so differently, and how disconnected both of us (or at least me, for sure) were from the actuality of the moment.

Think back in your life. What humiliating moment could you include in a story that both exposes your character for being not as sharp as she or he thinks, but that also gains them some sympathy? How can you use your writing to get back at people from junior high?

And Jay, for the record, that song is only three minutes and twenty-eight seconds. But you’re right, it felt like a lifetime.