Places With Meaning
One by-product of living in the same general area for the past 25 years is that you accumulate a lot of memories associated with different places, such as parks, buildings, houses, restaurants, theaters, mountains... you name it.
This is an exercise in randomness... enjoy!
On my way downtown, I will pass by an old high school that was converted into a community college, and remember hanging out in one of the classrooms with my then girlfriend Sherry, listening to her dad teach his sophomore English class, and relate a story about his cousin cleaning out a rifle and looking down the barrel. You can see where that one's heading. I can still remember his monotone voice describing the cousin's brains splattered all over the ceiling. I wondered how many of his students ended up mildly traumatized by taking that class.
Not too far down the road is a jewelry plant, where another former girlfriend, Cami, used to work. She would have to be up at 4:00am to spend two hours on her hair, and then be to work by 7:00. That was an interesting relationship. She had a ten month old daughter when we first started dating, but I don't think she was really ever ready to be a parent. One thing that drove me nuts was her hair. I mean, it was nice, but anyone who obsesses over their hair like she does should be medicated. We'd go swimming, but she'd never get it wet. She was really good at making out, though...
Turning onto one of the main avenues in town, I see a building that used to be a Winchell's Donut store so many years ago. That was one of the ultimate proofs of independence when I was a freshman at the University of Utah 20 years ago. One night, around 2:00am, I called up my best friend in the next dorm building over:
Me: "Hey, are you awake?"
Mark: "I am now."
Me: "Wanna get some donuts?"
So we drove down to Winchell's, which operated a 24-hr store just below the university. There was no need to ask permission, we just bloody well did what we wanted when we wanted to. Similar displays ofintelligence independence included driving to Wendover (Nevada's closest gambling town to Salt Lake) at midnight during dead week, while studying for my physics final, as well as the occasional spur-of-the-moment trips to Vegas. Another episode of rebellion was when my best friend and I went to a local pool hall, bought a package of Marlboro Reds out of the cigarette vending machine, and proceeded to smoke the whole. damn. pack. within an hour. That was my first... and last... experience with smoking. I was so wired from the nicotine that I literally did not sleep for 72 hours.
Heading east, I pass by a Village Inn restaurant that holds a lot of history for me. Situated just below the University of Utah, I would go there often after dances at the U, frat parties, football games, and one notable time when I had two of my drunk buddies with me. It was one of those times when I wanted to go to the movies alone, and I was actually planning on seeing Disney's Beauty and the Beast. My friend calls up and asks what I'm doing.
Me: Going to the movies
Mark: Movies, huh? What'r you going to see?
Me: Ummm... Lethal Weapon IV.
Mark: Lethal Weapon IV? That sounds fun... (giggling in the background)... you wanna pick me and Steve up?
Me: Where are you?
Mark: Steve's apartment
Me: Why don't you just meet me there?
Mark: Ummm... cause we can't drive
Me: Why not?
Mark: Cause we're shitfaced.
Me: *sigh*
So I drove to Steve's apartment, where they were still getting liquored up. We arrived at the movie theater just in time for the show to start. The lights go dim and my friend Mark slips out of the theater. After he hadn't returned for 20 minutes, Steve and I went looking for him. We found him in the bathroom, propped up over a toilet, wretching his guts out. Looking at the black and white checkered tile walls, as well as the liberal use of lime green and bubblegum pink in the room, I vowed never, ever to be sick in a Cinemark Theaters bathroom.
We left the theater, got into Mark's car and started heading down the road. Steve started talking in jibberish. Totally incomprehensible. Mark groaned while holding his head "What the hell is he saying?" I looked at Steve in the rear-view mirror... it's a wonder this guy wasn't comatose.
Me: He's speaking in tongues. Apparently when Steve became a male witch, he instantly learned several ancient languages."
Mark: Oh.... yeah. What's he saying?
Steve: Bagamokka duga-shom!
Me: He says "We ought to go somewhere and get some food in your stomach"
(Steve laughs, nodding his head up and down)
Steve: Pekk-hai likiganta-woo!
Me: He says "Village Inn sounds like a good place" (again, Steve nods and laughs)
Steve: Mek parka tome!
Me: And he's going to pick up the tab.
Again, Steve laughs and nods. My only worry is him being coherent enough to sign the Visa slip at the end of the dinner, but who really checks those things anyway? I could be really generous with Steve's money and leave a hefty tip for the waitress if she's cute...
So that's the story of how I scored a free meal because of my ability to speak in tongues. Later, Steve said "You know, you guys totally took advantage of me," to which I replied "Hey, I was only doing what you told me to."
Driving up the hill, we drive past the Rice-Eccles Stadium, home to not only U of U football, but the 2002 Olympics as well. When I was a freshman, the stadium was a lot smaller; it started going through renovations in the mid-to-late 90's, as part of the bid to bring the olympic games to Salt Lake City. U of U football games were generally an excuse for the fraternity brothers to get together, drink heavily and yell and scream a lot. After half-time, many of us were too soused to even know what we were yelling and screaming at.
For homecoming, I was supposed to make a banner for the fraternity to hold up during the game. I went to the local thrift store, bought a bedsheet, then took it up to the university library, where you could use audio-visual equipment in tiny little rooms. Armed with sharpie markers, an overhead projector and a transparency of a hot-lookin warrior princess standing next to a lion, we taped the sheet to the wall, and proceeded to trace the picture onto the sheet. After finishing with the flag-making project, we took the sheet off the wall, revealing several dozen spots where the permanent ink had leaked through the sheet. We quietly slipped out of the audio-visual room, abandoning the projector and leaving the library before anyone noticed our artistic handiwork on the stark white wall.
Driving below the university and turning the corner, I see an apartment building that evokes a lot of memories. My good friend Matt lived there for about a couple of years. One dating custom I had was that every December, I would take a date to the Nutcracker Ballet. I talked Matt into doubling with me, and he got pretty excited about it. He didn't have any sort of clothes that you'd wear to a formal event, so we went down to a nice store, bought him a very chic-looking suit, decided on dinner plans... and then he popped the invitation to a hot-looking babe that lived around the corner from him. I think Susan was an aerobics instructor, but I should have seen the red flags pop up when she kept winking at me. The long and short of it was: Susan stood Matt up. It was a painful thing to watch. Years later, I would date a girl named Victoria, that actually lived in the same apartment... and even slept in the same room that Matt once had. Weird.
Winding up the road and around a curve, I pass by a large cemetery with a park right next to it. Both are situated on a rather steep hill, the park being scene to a few ice-blocking parties with the fraternity, the cemetery being scene to an interesting funeral about 16 years ago.
There was a lady in our neighborhood who had died of brain cancer, and so I caught a ride up to the funeral with one of the neighbors, who was unable to give me a ride back, due to a business meeting right after the services. So, being caught on the other side of town from where I lived, not owning a car at the time, not having time to take a bus... I caught a ride with the hearse driver. Since he had some experience with embalming, I what they do with car accident victims that get pretty messed up.
Me: So, do you do reconstructive surgery on them?
Hearse Driver: Nah... think of it more in terms of "cake decorating."
Winding along this road in the foothills, I pass a trail where Mark, Matt and I all went mountain biking along a trail one evening that went past a 150-yr old limestone quarry & kiln. The only thing I really remember about that trip was Matt wiping out in some spectacular way. Matt just has that karma; lots of bad things happen to Matt in spectacular ways. He's now an airline pilot, and I don't fly very much any more.
To Be Continued...
This is an exercise in randomness... enjoy!
On my way downtown, I will pass by an old high school that was converted into a community college, and remember hanging out in one of the classrooms with my then girlfriend Sherry, listening to her dad teach his sophomore English class, and relate a story about his cousin cleaning out a rifle and looking down the barrel. You can see where that one's heading. I can still remember his monotone voice describing the cousin's brains splattered all over the ceiling. I wondered how many of his students ended up mildly traumatized by taking that class.
Not too far down the road is a jewelry plant, where another former girlfriend, Cami, used to work. She would have to be up at 4:00am to spend two hours on her hair, and then be to work by 7:00. That was an interesting relationship. She had a ten month old daughter when we first started dating, but I don't think she was really ever ready to be a parent. One thing that drove me nuts was her hair. I mean, it was nice, but anyone who obsesses over their hair like she does should be medicated. We'd go swimming, but she'd never get it wet. She was really good at making out, though...
Turning onto one of the main avenues in town, I see a building that used to be a Winchell's Donut store so many years ago. That was one of the ultimate proofs of independence when I was a freshman at the University of Utah 20 years ago. One night, around 2:00am, I called up my best friend in the next dorm building over:
Me: "Hey, are you awake?"
Mark: "I am now."
Me: "Wanna get some donuts?"
So we drove down to Winchell's, which operated a 24-hr store just below the university. There was no need to ask permission, we just bloody well did what we wanted when we wanted to. Similar displays of
Heading east, I pass by a Village Inn restaurant that holds a lot of history for me. Situated just below the University of Utah, I would go there often after dances at the U, frat parties, football games, and one notable time when I had two of my drunk buddies with me. It was one of those times when I wanted to go to the movies alone, and I was actually planning on seeing Disney's Beauty and the Beast. My friend calls up and asks what I'm doing.
Me: Going to the movies
Mark: Movies, huh? What'r you going to see?
Me: Ummm... Lethal Weapon IV.
Mark: Lethal Weapon IV? That sounds fun... (giggling in the background)... you wanna pick me and Steve up?
Me: Where are you?
Mark: Steve's apartment
Me: Why don't you just meet me there?
Mark: Ummm... cause we can't drive
Me: Why not?
Mark: Cause we're shitfaced.
Me: *sigh*
So I drove to Steve's apartment, where they were still getting liquored up. We arrived at the movie theater just in time for the show to start. The lights go dim and my friend Mark slips out of the theater. After he hadn't returned for 20 minutes, Steve and I went looking for him. We found him in the bathroom, propped up over a toilet, wretching his guts out. Looking at the black and white checkered tile walls, as well as the liberal use of lime green and bubblegum pink in the room, I vowed never, ever to be sick in a Cinemark Theaters bathroom.
We left the theater, got into Mark's car and started heading down the road. Steve started talking in jibberish. Totally incomprehensible. Mark groaned while holding his head "What the hell is he saying?" I looked at Steve in the rear-view mirror... it's a wonder this guy wasn't comatose.
Me: He's speaking in tongues. Apparently when Steve became a male witch, he instantly learned several ancient languages."
Mark: Oh.... yeah. What's he saying?
Steve: Bagamokka duga-shom!
Me: He says "We ought to go somewhere and get some food in your stomach"
(Steve laughs, nodding his head up and down)
Steve: Pekk-hai likiganta-woo!
Me: He says "Village Inn sounds like a good place" (again, Steve nods and laughs)
Steve: Mek parka tome!
Me: And he's going to pick up the tab.
Again, Steve laughs and nods. My only worry is him being coherent enough to sign the Visa slip at the end of the dinner, but who really checks those things anyway? I could be really generous with Steve's money and leave a hefty tip for the waitress if she's cute...
So that's the story of how I scored a free meal because of my ability to speak in tongues. Later, Steve said "You know, you guys totally took advantage of me," to which I replied "Hey, I was only doing what you told me to."
Driving up the hill, we drive past the Rice-Eccles Stadium, home to not only U of U football, but the 2002 Olympics as well. When I was a freshman, the stadium was a lot smaller; it started going through renovations in the mid-to-late 90's, as part of the bid to bring the olympic games to Salt Lake City. U of U football games were generally an excuse for the fraternity brothers to get together, drink heavily and yell and scream a lot. After half-time, many of us were too soused to even know what we were yelling and screaming at.
For homecoming, I was supposed to make a banner for the fraternity to hold up during the game. I went to the local thrift store, bought a bedsheet, then took it up to the university library, where you could use audio-visual equipment in tiny little rooms. Armed with sharpie markers, an overhead projector and a transparency of a hot-lookin warrior princess standing next to a lion, we taped the sheet to the wall, and proceeded to trace the picture onto the sheet. After finishing with the flag-making project, we took the sheet off the wall, revealing several dozen spots where the permanent ink had leaked through the sheet. We quietly slipped out of the audio-visual room, abandoning the projector and leaving the library before anyone noticed our artistic handiwork on the stark white wall.
Driving below the university and turning the corner, I see an apartment building that evokes a lot of memories. My good friend Matt lived there for about a couple of years. One dating custom I had was that every December, I would take a date to the Nutcracker Ballet. I talked Matt into doubling with me, and he got pretty excited about it. He didn't have any sort of clothes that you'd wear to a formal event, so we went down to a nice store, bought him a very chic-looking suit, decided on dinner plans... and then he popped the invitation to a hot-looking babe that lived around the corner from him. I think Susan was an aerobics instructor, but I should have seen the red flags pop up when she kept winking at me. The long and short of it was: Susan stood Matt up. It was a painful thing to watch. Years later, I would date a girl named Victoria, that actually lived in the same apartment... and even slept in the same room that Matt once had. Weird.
Winding up the road and around a curve, I pass by a large cemetery with a park right next to it. Both are situated on a rather steep hill, the park being scene to a few ice-blocking parties with the fraternity, the cemetery being scene to an interesting funeral about 16 years ago.
There was a lady in our neighborhood who had died of brain cancer, and so I caught a ride up to the funeral with one of the neighbors, who was unable to give me a ride back, due to a business meeting right after the services. So, being caught on the other side of town from where I lived, not owning a car at the time, not having time to take a bus... I caught a ride with the hearse driver. Since he had some experience with embalming, I what they do with car accident victims that get pretty messed up.
Me: So, do you do reconstructive surgery on them?
Hearse Driver: Nah... think of it more in terms of "cake decorating."
Winding along this road in the foothills, I pass a trail where Mark, Matt and I all went mountain biking along a trail one evening that went past a 150-yr old limestone quarry & kiln. The only thing I really remember about that trip was Matt wiping out in some spectacular way. Matt just has that karma; lots of bad things happen to Matt in spectacular ways. He's now an airline pilot, and I don't fly very much any more.
To Be Continued...
posted by Anonymous at 12:34 PM
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