Prepared To Be Dragooned

FEBRUARY 24, 2011:  AT THIS MONTH'S MOTHUP, I GOT TO STAND ON THE VERY SAME STAGE WHERE CHUCK BERRY HAD GIVEN A CONCERT A FEW NIGHTS PREVIOUS.  I DRANK IN CHUCK BERRY’S AURA AS I STOOD ON STAGE AT BLUEBERRY HILL, AND TOLD THIS STORY:

I once had a pair of wonderful black leather boots, and people would ask me where I got my boots.

“I got them for free.”

“Really, how did you get them for free?”

“It was easy: all I had to do was wear green and march around a lot.”

Some people did not get this reference; so, I had to add: “And when I marched around, I carried an M-1 rifle.”

If they still did not get the reference, I explained: “These are my US Army combat boots.”

The boots really were wonderful.  They were sturdy, and mostly waterproof.  And perfect for taking on vacation to Scotland.  At least, I thought they were perfect for taking on vacation to Scotland.

Scotland is a perpetually moist place.  If there isn’t moisture drizzling down on you, there is certainly moisture on the grass.  I was planning to attend a big Highland Games in Scotland called the Atholl Gathering.  I would be watching bagpipers, highland dancers, sheep herding, caber tossing – and I would definitely be walking on moist grass.

So, I packed my kilt and my combat boots in my suitcase.

The Atholl Gathering is held at Blair Castle, which dates back to 1296.  It is the seat of the chief of Clan Murray, a peer of the realm, known as the Duke of Atholl.  The Duke holds the distinction of being the only person in Great Britain allowed to have his own private army.

I went to Blair Castle, dressed in my kilt and combat boots.  I had not yet entered the Atholl Gathering; I was just standing there on the castle grounds when I saw the Duke come out of the main door, followed by his entourage.  I noticed that the Duke spotted me.

Actually, he spotted my combat boots.

He changed direction and started walking towards me, his entourage following.

I realized that I must have made a big faux pas.  I had insulted the people of Scotland by wearing combat boots with a kilt.  The Duke was coming to reprimand me.  I was prepared to be humiliated.

Then it struck me that this guy sits in the House of Lords, and he can have me kicked out of Scotland ---  probably right on the spot.  I was prepared to be deported.

I looked past the Duke and his entourage and gazed at his castle.  Wait a minute, who knows what kind of rooms this guy has in the basement of his castle, and what kind of equipment is in those rooms?  Plus, he has his own army.  I was prepared to be dragooned.

The Duke now stood in front of me, with his entourage behind him.  He pointed at my combat boots, looked me in the eye, and said:

“Jolly good idea.”

The Duke of Atholl turned and went into the Gathering, followed by his entourage.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

Vacationing While The Hair On My Legs Stands Straight Up

I didn’t feel sick.  But the doctor held up a piece of paper, pointed to some figures, and told me I was sick.

Cancer.

Prognosis = good: prostate cancer caught early.  

Treatment = radiation: every day for 8 weeks.

I tested the doctor, to see if he had a holistic view of treatment: I asked what foods I should eat to combat my cancer.  The doctor passed the test: he listed foods rich in lycopene – the pigment that turns watermelon red and turns grapefruit pink.

Before radiation, I got implanted with 3 gold transponders to help guide the radiation machine.  They make me feel very science-fiction.  I also got 8 tattoos.  They do not make me feel very trendy since they consist of a simple x-marks-the-spot to help guide laser beams.

It quickly became apparent that everyone involved with my radiation really cares about killing off my cancer.  They position me on the radiation table; I feel like I am being tucked in.  Then they give me a rubber ring to hold so my hands stay steady; the ring looks like a dog toy purchased at PetSmart. 

Final step: I set my earphones on my head, make sure my iPod volume is loud enough, and then relax for 12 minutes of radiation.  I decided to view this time as being on vacation.  Except, of course, the hair on my legs does not stand straight up while I am on vacation.

I know my treatment is not arduous compared to what many people with cancer have to go through.  My side effects consist of surprisingly frequent and very urgent trips to the restroom.  I go to bed an hour earlier than usual --- but this does not result in an extra hour of sleep due to the number of times I make my way to the bathroom at night.

The most difficult part is prepping for radiation.  I am required to drink 38 oz. of water to fill up my bladder.  This feels like 8 oz. more than what my bladder can actually hold.  I must sit in the waiting room without squirming.  When I lie on the table, things calm down --- except for the day I decided to play soothing massage music on my iPod.

On that day, I lay on the table listening to music that was supposed to relax me: it turned out to be gentle piano music being played over the sound of a rushing mountain stream.  For my bursting bladder, that was a long 12 minutes.

I am now halfway through the 8-week treatment.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com

The Six Degrees Of Edward Durrell Stone

I arrived at the History Museum, and I was embarrassed. 

Edward Durrell Stone’s son was about to give a talk on his architect father.  There were only 10 people in the auditorium.  Edward Durrell Stone had designed Busch Stadium for the St. Louis Cardinals, but we had just torn that baseball stadium down a few years ago.  Maybe that was why the turnout for this talk was so low.

I sprang into action, went up to the speaker, and started chatting with him so that he would not dwell on the pitiful turnout for his talk. 

I regaled him with tales of my visit to Paducah, Kentucky, where his father had designed the City Hall.  In fact, the City Hall in Paducah is a smaller version of the US Embassy in New Delhi, which Edward Durrell Stone had also designed.  I had saved myself plane fare to India by driving down to the Ohio River!

It was time for the talk to begin.  I turned around, and was relieved to see that more people had filed into the auditorium.  There was now a respectable crowd.  Looks like people who enjoy architecture always arrive at the last minute.

Edward Durrell Stone’s son began his talk, with an accompanying slide show.  He mentioned that his father had done the interior design on Radio City Music Hall and on the Roxy Theater in Manhattan.

The Roxy Theater!  My grandfather, a skilled cabinet maker, had helped build the stage at the Roxy, which opened in 1927.  

My mind instantly went off on a tangent, thinking about my grandfather.  I also recalled my visit to the Roxy when I was 15 years old.  The Roxy was a rival to Radio City, and featured a stage show of high-stepping showgirls.  I saw “Windjammer”, a film in Cinemiracle ---- a format that was trying to compete with Cinerama.

The Roxy, alas, was torn down 2 years after I saw “Windjammer”.  The theater lives on in a photograph of Gloria Swanson posing in its ruins.

My mind went back to the talk, where Edward Durrell Stone’s son was proudly announcing that his father’s building, the US Pavilion at the Brussels World’s Fair, had been featured on a postage stamp.  A picture of the postage stamp appeared on the screen.  Even though the audience consisted of architecture buffs, their collective mind started to wander.  The stamp on the screen cost 3 cents, and everyone began to reminisce about the days of affordable postage.

My mind returned to the talk again.  Now Edward Durrell Stone’s son was talking about Two Columbus Circle, an oddly Venetian-looking building in Manhattan.  My mind was off on another tangent.  The printing company my father worked for had printed the booklets for the grand opening of Two Columbus Circle.  I was thinking about my Dad, and his company, and his involvement with printing.

My mind got back in time for the end of the talk.  I realized I had spent most of the evening in the History Museum playing “The Six Degrees of Edward Durrell Stone”.

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com



Roly-Poly Fish Head

I planned my entry into adulthood carefully.  It was going to be triumphant.

I was a twenty-year-old college student living without a car.  My parents were driving up to Rhode Island to help me celebrate my twenty-first birthday.  My plans, of course, involved them driving me places.

The first place my parents would drive me was one of the best seafood restaurants in Providence.  Then it was a one-hour drive north to Boston, where we would see a play.  My college girlfriend would be coming along; I expected her to be suitably impressed.

The restaurant, which was established in 1905, was elegant.  I perused the menu carefully.  I wanted to order something that would prove I was an adult, something exotic.  I saw the usual clams and haddock and flounder --- all East Coast seafood that was familiar to me.

Then I spotted the perfect dish: I ordered Rocky Mountain rainbow trout.

I had never had trout before, and I was horrified when the waiter brought me an entire fish: fins, skin, and a head that contained and eye staring up at me.  I did not eat much.

We then went up to a small theater in Boston, to see a play by Brendan Behan.  He was an Irish playwright, quite popular at the time --- although his artistic reputation was overshadowed by his drinking reputation.

The play was called "The Hostage".  I expected it to be about a war.  The four of us settled into our seats.  The play began.  It was not set on a military base; it was set in a whorehouse.  There I was, sitting with my parents as all these Irish whores were talking on the stage.  I was embarrassed.

I also realized I was woozy.  The experience of being stared at by a broiled trout had soured my stomach.

I needed comfort.  I gently leaned my head to my left.

  

There I was sitting in a theater in Boston, resting my head on my mother’s shoulder.  Instead of becoming an adult, I had become a child again on my 21st birthday. 

- . - .- . - . - . 

NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com