Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Blackie and Pepper

DAY: Wednesday (but I keep thinking it’s Thursday)
WEATHER: Frickin’ cold still
ATTITUDE: Hmmmm….Pretty good, really
SITCOM IDEA: “Bushwhackers” A story about two lipstick lesbians who live in Alaska and guide people into the wilderness for a living. There would be the constant sex from the two hot gay girls, and an ever-changing range of visiting characters, all mingling with a quirky cast representing an eclectic gang of typical small, tourist-town Alaskans, trying to make their way through life, and love, and animal poop.
WISH FOR THE WEEK: I wish for all my mad manifesting skills to pay off, and for me to win the writing contests I’ve entered and also that I receive 23 million dollars in the year 2006 and that my life is wonderful, perfect, and totally fun.

I must first say hi to my friend Brett and wish him good travels and an easy move. He’s moving to Phoenix in a coupla days. Good luck, Brat.

And this leads me to something to talk about. (I knew I needed to write this, just didn’t know what to say…)

Today when I called Brett…Well, let’s talk about Brett and me, and friendship. This’ll make for a nice long blog.

When I moved to Idaho, I was six-years-old. I think I got there after school had started, because I don’t remember a summer there. Anyway, I don’t remember much. I remember being embarrassed in front of the class because I’d read the book “The Little Woman” for my book report, and in giving my report about the book, I pronounced ‘woman’ like ‘woo-man’. My teacher was an insane old lady with that disease that makes your head wobble back and forth so it looks like you’re always saying, “no”, and she exclaimed, “Woo-man?! Woo-man?!” shaking her head “no” furiously at me.

I remember Brett.

He was my first friend. Him and then my friend Troy, and then a dude with the unfortunate name of Jason Fokker (he lived a couple doors away from me).

But Brett was my first friend in Idaho.
We’re still friends.

We have that best friend vibe that spans all time and space and whatever we’re doing and wherever we are and whatever happens ever. It’s weird, because I thought that everyone should have at least one person like that in their life, and I find out that not many people really do. Not someone who’s known them since they were six, and can still pick up the phone and start talking like they just hung out, even though they actually haven’t talked other than through email in at least a year.

I feel sorry for those of you who don’t. It’s really fucking cool having known someone who’s not your relative for thirty years and remained total friends with them. It’s cool to know someone who has the same speech patterns as you, uses the same freaky slang you still use from your teenage life, and knows what you mean whatever you say.

Brett and I have been playing phone tag for the past couple of days, and today I went to call him.

I thought I’d play a funny on him and do a character for his machine. I was going to pretend to be this dude Chris that grew up with us, that was a total little douchebag that we always did not like. Chris was a spaz and a dork. He had this wimpy little cat named Blackie that he would pit against Brett’s cat for some weird reason. From the time we were like, nine years old, Chris would call Brett and say shit like, “Blackie could beat up Pepper.”
And Brett would go, “Whatever, Chris.”
“I’ll bet you that Blackie can beat up Pepper.”
“Shut up, Chris. I’m hangin’ up.”
“No. Really, I’ll bet he can. My cat can beat up yours. Blackie can kick Pepper’s ASS!!” and crazy shit like that.”
And Brett would shrug and say, “Okay, Chris.”
And Chris would bring his spazzy dork cat to Brett’s house. We’d put him in the backyard with Brett’s cat, Pepper, and let ‘em fight. Pepper always destroyed Blackie, and most times Blackie would jump the fence and run off.

Also, when we were kids, at the same time as the cat-fights were going on, we developed nicknames for each other, and ourselves. Brett’s nickname was Forge. There is a reason, but I won't say it here. Anyway, not too many years ago, Chris approached Brett—I think at a high school reunion and called him Forge—a name he’d dropped around the sixth grade.

So I was going to call and say, “Hey FORGE. My cat Blackie can kick your cat’s ass,” all lispy and dorky and spazzy, like Chris would.

But he answered.

So I said, “Hey FORGE,”
And he cut in and quickfired—“Hey Kas!” (because that was my nickname-it’s my initials) and then the crusher, “Hey HOLLYWOOD!”

I hadn’t thought of that little name of mine in years.

I grew up in a small town in Southern Idaho. A small, Mormon town. People there are very conservative, and very conformist, and very not flashy or cool.

Apparently I was too cool for them. (Okay, I was too flashy)
Because everyone spontaneously started calling me Hollywood when I was about 12 or 13. To this day I don’t know who started it, or why.

It wasn’t just the kids at school. It was them, but not only them. It was adults, too. And one time it was the lady behind the counter of the bowling alley where my friends and I went to play video games.

I walked in, and she said—all smarmy and sickly—“Hey, HOLLYWOOD…”
It was weird.
It wasn’t a nickname I really cared for or thought I deserved. And it was used a lot. Mostly by my friends, though, to be dicks.

Like Brett did today.

He totally fucked up my joke, and nailed my ass. Busted me out with the familiarity of someone who’s known me forever. It was great.

Then he laughed like he always does when he gets one up on me. The dink.

But, Brett used to worship Lush Rimjob, oh, I mean, Rush Limbaugh. He used to think he was so cool, and he’d turn up the radio, or TV and try and force me to listen to the fat man drone, and he’d tell me Rush ruled and other silly nonsense, and so now you all know how big of a dork Brett is for that. Ha ha ha!!

Good luck in Arizona, my friend.

And to all you six-year-olds out there reading my blog, STAY FRIENDS WITH YOUR BEST FRIENDS CUZ IT’S REALLY COOL WHEN YOU’RE OLDER!


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