ySTINK

Why Indiana and the rest of America's middle needs liberal parents

I may be reaching here, but read this link from the Washington Post on 9/11 and today's high school curriculum and form your opinion.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/09/10/AR2009091004425.html?sub=AR

I am their age and I am fully aware of the attacks and their continued ramifications.  Maybe because my parents are closely tied to the news and both coasts, or maybe just because they talk to me, really talk.

Whatever the reason, this is a sad story to me (though I'm glad Howard Stern's show got interrupted) how can parents (anywhere) not discuss, inform and educate the most impactful event of our era.  Divorced or not we had a lot of stink going on then, yet I don't need or want to sleep through any curriculum that so greatly effects each and every American or human for than matter.  Shame on you sheltered, timid mid-westerners.

Thoughts?

gimme some stink (anonymous is best)

So, while Benny and me prepare to make this site a little more about others than ourselves, we don't want you to think we're asleep at the wheel...

So all of you readers out there (tell your friends too!)

Please post something that happened to you that on the surface looks like 'man that stinks' but at the end it turned out all for the best...

I know with school just starting, summer ending etc... there's a lot of stink going on.

Keep it anon if you want, in fact that's probably best.

What the movie industry has to do with Native American's rights

With one thing off my shoulder the next thing I had to worry about was Friday's field trip.  It was the day after tomorrow, which meant that in a little more than a half a day it would be tomorrow.  Tomorrow would be horrible because soon it would be today and today is now.  This day would make or break me I thought.  I became singly focused on my studies.  Just maybe it was a blessing that uptight jerk Pittinger gave us this topic to study.  If I was armed with the history, I'd feel more prepared to confront Gypsy.  I went back to my new book about Elysian Park and wrote some more notes, starting with the paragraph on the inside flap that made me choose to buy it.

'The story of the tiny pueblo of Los Angeles, the city of Angels -- from Hispanic colonial foundation to international center for learning, art and commerce -- is as much a work of imagination as it is of history.  It was the Dreamers of God who began it.'

As I re-read this, it hit me how this book of mine was much more about the 'silver screen' than Elysian Park, but I was still interested so I studied the timelines and made some notes.

You should really check this out -- it is truly fascinating:

 

 

I thought it was funny how theatres used to be called palaces.  I don't know if it was because I was tired, but after I made one last note, I couldn't for the life of me understand it --

…this synchronicity poses a strong case for marriage made in historical heaven between mythological legends and film.  Proving that the development of the silent film sustained [Native] American myth and sold it to the world…

 

so I went to bed.

My worries became monsters when I tried to sleep Thursday night, I tossed and turned for hours which only made me more upset because more than anything I wanted to be completely aware on Friday.  About 2 a.m. it occurred to me that one of the masks might help me sleep.  I dug under my mattress and fished the blue one out of the pouch.

Ah, the calm deep blue of the night.  I instantly drifted off to a solid sleep. The next morning I was certain that the blue was my new favorite.  I kept it on, even showered with it.  Good thing too, because the bus-ride to the fair could have been vicious.

"Hey O'Shea," Rennie screamed from the back of the bus.  "We heard about The Faldrane's stupid loser lawsuit."

"Yeah," Ryan joined in.

"Why don't you and Benny hang out with us," Rennie continued shouting so that the whole class could hear.

"Go ahead O'Shea," Faldrane made himself part of the discussion from three rows in front of where Benny and me sat.  "You can use all the help you can get.  Or maybe your greasy taco buddy is the only one allowed into your famous circle."

 "Shut up Fat Freakin' Faldrane!"  Benny jumped up before I could stop him.

 "I think all of you should keep quiet," Mr. Pittinger stood up in the front of the bus.  "I'm passing out maps and things that I want you to take notes on at the fair.  I suggest all of you concentrate your energies towards the subject and save your bickering for your own time."

"Eli, this is cool," Benny slid down next to me.  "Rennie and Ryan want to hang out with us."

"We'll see," I whispered.  "Remember just last year these guys were on Faldrane's side.  Then I reminded him of Franklin's quote, 'he that lieth down with dogs shall rise up with fleas.'

"I see the blue mask is working.  You kept your cool the whole time."

"I hope it can kick it into high gear when we get off the bus.  I have a feeling this is going to get bad before it gets better."

"Maybe you should add the white one.  You did bring them all didn't you?"

"Yeah I brought the whole pouch.  I wanted to have everything with me in case I get to talk to Gypsy."  I thought for a few minutes and then dug out the pouch from my front pocket.  "I think it's time to use the green."

"But remember the soccer game?  You were wild."

"Listen, she said it could be for anger and jealousy or strength and courage.  I'm thinking if I wear it with the blue that it won't make me fly off in a fit of anger or jealousy.  Hopefully it will give me calm strength and courage."

"Hey Eli," Benny said my name almost as slow as his grandmother.  "You know, your name is three of the letters, maybe it is a code, short for something and not believe.  Because really, what is it we're supposed to believe?"

"It's probably not the best time to convince me I have nothing to believe, just stick by me in case I'm wrong about it all and, tell me right away if you see a green glow."  I took the stack of maps from Maria Suarez's fat little hands.  "Let me show you where she was."  I passed the stack behind me to brainy Max Sticklie.  He immediately raised his hand and shouted for Mr. Pittinger.

"Excuse me, Mr. Pittinger."  He kept his hand up like he was still in the classroom.  Mr. Pittinger was sitting all the way in the front of the bus so there was no way he could have even seen his pale stretched out arm.  I guess brainy Max wasn't all there in the day-to-day brain department.  Miss Guzzo, the teacher's assistant was sitting closer, in the middle of the bus.

"Is there a problem Max?" she asked, leaning over the edge on the back of my seat towards his.

"There is a potential of a problem," Max answered in his usual brainy style.  He pulled out a folder from his backpack.  "You see here in my report; I included a topographical drawing of seismic stress lines because of the importance they have in Los Angeles history."

"Yes, that was very thorough of you Max."

 "I'm not finished, look." He held the festival map up against his report.  "There is an active fault that runs through Elysian Park.  It could produce a 6.4 to 6.7 earthquake every 700 years."  At hearing this about six of us gathered around Max's seat.

"Calm down everyone," Miss Guzzo announced, straightening up.  "We all know that there are many fault lines in Southern California.  As a part of living here, everyone is equipped to deal with earthquakes.  Please go back to your seats.  Chances are, that the fault in Elysian Park will not choose today to give way."

Recalling my one and only nightmare, I felt my necklace of masks for comfort.  I hadn't told anyone that the first explorers along with Crespi had experienced three earthquakes during their short stay in Elysian Park.  Besides, that Crespi dude made a note to say that he saw the possibilities for a large settlement in this 'delightful place by the river' -- so, hundreds of years later when the place is bigger than anyone could have dreamed it would be, why should I worry?  Anybody on this bus could have learned this just as easily and Max and me did. Plus, the river is more concrete than water.

     

"I'm choosing to believe her." Benny whispered, eyeballing Miss Guzzo.

 

The town of our lady Queen of Angels

"Welcome to Junior High," Mr. Pittinger turned away from the chalkboard to face his new social studies class. 

I was comforted to see that I was not the only one that was less than bright eyed.  In fact, Connor Faldrane's mad gaze seemed directed at the world, not just me.  He stared straight ahead with his pudgy face all contorted into a frozen snarl, like a mean dog poisoned, then stuffed.  It was a clear example to be used by mothers everywhere that swear your face can freeze in the worst possible positions.  Anyway, I was glad to walk by the bitter bully without him trying to trip me. 

"If you will all please write this down," Mr. Pittinger pointed back to the chalkboard.  "This will be the focus of study for the entire first semester.  It reads, 'El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciuncula'.  Can any of you tell me what it translates to in English?"  Mr. Pittinger looked out over the room full of drowsy seventh graders like he had just told a knock-knock joke and we all failed to say 'who's there?'

           

Part of that statement was very familiar to me but in my worn-out state it took longer than usual for me to dig it out of my memory box.  Plus, I really didn't care.  But being in Los Angeles we had a good amount of Spanish speaking kids in the class. 

           

Chunky little Maria Suarez raised her hand and blurted out, "It says something about the town of the lady queen of angels."   She put her arm down and sat back in her chair as if there was nothing more to be said.

           

Mr. Pittinger hiked his already short khakis up a couple of inches and sat on the edge of his desk, he glanced over the seating chart.  "Maria is it?"

          

"Yes sir."

           

"You are close.  What this translates to in English is, 'The Town of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels of Porciuncula.'  Everyone repeat after me.

          

"The Town of Our Lady the Queen of the Angels of Porciuncula," tripped through our 7th grade mouths with the enthusiasm of the Pledge of Allegiance.

          

"Good, take notes as much as necessary," Mr. Pittinger, warned us.  "Over the next several weeks we will be studying all about how the city of Los Angeles came into existence. You can forget the last words, 'of Porciuncula', you may come across this in your studies but I am here to tell you that scholars have determined that the settlement was simply named El Pueblo de la Reina de Los Angeles.  From a many-worded name in Spanish, now to the shortened 'Los Angeles' in English, today it's just 'L.A.' in Southern Californian speak," he stopped for air.  It was just about then that I remembered where I'd heard part of that saying before, from Benny's Grandma Silver.  I began to care.  I desperately rummaged through my MB drawers, concentrating very intensely on how she said it when Mr. Pittinger nearly gave me a heart attack, "As a part of this study we will be starting off with a field trip to the Founder's and Native's Renaissance Festival this Friday.  Here are your permission slips, I need them signed and returned tomorrow.  It's not all fun and games, however.  Turn to chapters three and four and begin studying the details.  I want the answers to chapter three turned in tomorrow and the answers for chapter four turned in on Thursday.  We will discuss on Thursday in preparation for Friday's trip."

           

My head spun.  I wanted to chop it off and ditch the memory box for good.  I really thought this time, I was going to faint.  Going back to the fair, this could either be the best thing I could ask for or my worst nightmare come true.  Not only that, I never imagined we'd get so much work the first few days of school.  Work that would probably be for nothing, 'cause I was sure they didn't care much about L.A. in N.Y.  This guy was brutal.  How in the world were Benny and I going to get out for the next day's hearing?  Not to mention the fact that it was becoming more and more obvious to me that the entire town, including my family, was in on a cruel joke being played against me.  How else could all of these incredible things be happening that all seemed related?  Since school the previous year, everyday of my life had been one freakish coincidence after another.  In a normal setting I might have been happier with this assignment because of the head start I had with the research.

The bell rang, ending first period.  I waited for Benny outside the class.  I didn't want to give him the chance to blab about the hearing or the fair. 

           

"Hey Rennie, aren't you gonna wait for Connor?"  Two of Faldrane's gang buddies were the first ones out.

"Nah, he turned into a loser ratfink over the summer."  Rennie answered.

 

"Yeah, he's always lame anyhow," Ryan followed setting his new sights on Rennie.

          

Benny was basically the last one out as I watched everyone else pour into the hall.  I made sure to stay out of the way -- flat against the opposite wall.  That didn't stop Faldrane and his only remaining loyal subject, Jesse Lutz from knocking into me without so much as a glance.  If I had been feeling better I would have run after Rennie and Ryan to form a Faldrane brigade.  I just didn't have the energy. 

           

"Eli!  Can you believe it?  We're going to the fair.  This is going to be awesome," Benny finally came out of the class.

           

"No I can't believe it.  Why are you so happy?  This could be a disaster.  Plus we have all this work and we can't be here tomorrow."

"We call in sick just as planned.  What's the big deal?  We'll have notes from our moms.  Besides you have to BELIEVE it. 

"Believe what?"

"You're a mess, and you look green, so calling out sick should be easy.

Hey did you get a load of Faldrane?"

Before I continue... I want to mention a great loss to the world of movie lovers today, Director John Hughes,  Rest, you brilliant man.

"Yeah, I got my load full.  Hopefully he won't be in many more of my classes.

           

Good thing for me; the rest of day one in the seventh grade was pretty uneventful.  Faldrane was only in one more of my classes -- English.  By the time it rolled around that afternoon, I had combined my yellow mask with the rusty orange one and I was taking part in a happy, knowledge day.  By days end, I had put aside the idea of a conspiracy to make me nuts.  And, I recalled some of the bits of my download moment from Benny's Grandma Silver.  I was certain I had to meet with Gypsy.  And for no explainable reason, I believed it would be okay.

           

"We'll pick you up in the morning," I told Benny as he got on his bus.  "Probably in a different kind of car again knowing Dad."

 

What does the structure of L.A. stand for?

"Fly me to the moon," Dad woke me up Saturday morning to the sounds of Frank Sinatra blaring through his apartment.  I'd have probably slept through it if he weren't singing along as loud as he could.  "Let me swing among those stars…"

 

"Morning Dad," I stumbled into the bathroom where he was holding concert and trimming his nose hairs.

 

"In other words, take my hand,"  he kept singing and put down his clippers to dance with me.

 

"How much coffee have you had?" I asked.

 

"It's the hubbub from Hoboken, E.  Not much caffeine required."

 

"I thought it was the triple J song."

 

"Well, that too.  But come on, even a confused pre-teen cutie can appreciate old blue eyes."

 

"Who are we talking about now, Jeana or Frank Sinatra?"

 

"Funny.  Wake up sonny boy.  It's a beautiful day."

I pushed him out of the bathroom and shut the door.  "How about you go sing me a nice tall chocolate milk?"

 

"Fill my heart with song.  Let me sing forever more.  You are all I long for.  All I worship and adore…" his vocals trailed off towards the kitchen but Frank's continued to bounce off every wall.  It was a peppy little number that kept playing in my head the rest of the day -- though I never admitted it to Dad.

 

"So, is tonight okay for Benny to stay over?" I was anxious to compare our notes.

 

"Oh, right.  I'd rather not tonight.  How about tomorrow or during the week sometime?"

 

"What's going on tonight?"

 

"Nothing major, it's just that tonight is the only night Jeana can spend with us."

 

"You guys still seeing each other?"

 

Dad was genuinely surprised by my question, "Sure, why?"

 

"I just thought maybe you and Mom were getting along…"

 

"Oh Eli, we are, but not like that.  I thought you liked Jeana."

 

" I do but jeez Dad.  You're starting to make me nuts with her.  I mean I like her and all but what's the obsession?"

 

"Sorry kid.  All I can say is, one day you'll understand.  Of course, now I totally do get it, if I were him and had a gal like Jeana, I'd have sent me packing. "Now, I promised your mom I'd take you shopping for school stuff.  Where do you want to go, The Promenade or Melrose?"

 

I chose The Promenade.  I knew we could escape to the beach from there, plus Melrose is just too Hollywood bizarro for me.  I wore the yellow mask and school shopping with Dad was mustard fudge with a dash of laugh out loud.  We were done with the clothing needs at our first stop.  So the rest of the day was spent exploring all of the cool shops.  Dad made sure my accessories were the best.  I got some awesome, stealth shades, shoes and a decent haircut that fixed the buzz factor.  But most of our afternoon was spent in an amazing bookstore.  I had a stack of books about comedy, Ben Franklin, Charlie Chaplin, and Hollywood history.  Dad made me settle on just one so I got Elysian Park to the Silver Screen - The birth of Los Angeles.

Jeana came over that night as planned.  She cooked us shrimp fajitas for dinner.  It was really sweet; she even had the pan sizzling when she brought it to the table, it smelled like a restaurant.  She brought a couple of DVD's too.  They were movies that had been in theatres the past year so Dad and me had missed them.  One was scary; about aliens invading some farm town in the Midwest.  The other was hilarious; it was this hip-hop hoping dude who won the lottery and was trying to hide it from his eleven brothers and sisters.  I wanted to see it when it came out but it was PG-13 so Mom wouldn't let me, plus with all the drama we were going through with Dad nothing would have made me laugh then.

 

It would have been just another average night that I wished Benny could have come over and relieved me from.  But what happened later, made me thankful that he wasn't there and Jeana was.

           

 

What started as a warm breezy evening turned into a deep, black night of wind gusts so forceful, we joked that all the birds of Southern California would be crashing and landing way off course.  When I went to bed, the sheets and pillows had been blown onto the floor so I closed the windows -- leaving them open only a crack.  That crack, created a wind tunnel of air straight across my bed.  As I drifted off to sleep, I imagined what it would be like to be sleeping on a houseboat, bobbing up and down in all of this wind.  Drifting in and out of crashing waves, I drifted in and out of sleep.  For the most part I could tell that the images I was seeing were brought on by my imagining to be a part of the wild weather brewing on the beach outside, eventually I slipped into a dream… Southern California was finally making good on the theory that someday the state would break off and become an island.  Show biz U.S.A. was being ripped from its roots and tossed into the wild Pacific Ocean to fend for itself.  Each time the ground fell and crumbled, an enormous wave of water and lava burst out through the new crack. I just cowered on the edge of the torn up hillside where the Hollywood sign now read 'How' the noise was so loud I curled my arms around my ears.  I could feel the screams erupting from my lungs but nothing was coming from my lips, until one big word escaped.

 

"NO!" I shouted and shot up out bed so fast I thought I knew what it must feel like to have a heart attack. 

 

Dad and Jeana charged into my room.  "Eli, what is it?  Are you okay?"

Dad sat by me on the edge of the bed.

 

"I think so," I finally knew what if meant to have a nightmare.  "I had the worst dream of my life," I tried to catch my breath.  "There was an earthquake, Los Angeles was breaking off and everyone was going bezerk.  Except Connor Faldrane, he was laughing."

 

"It's normal for kids to have bad dreams about their rivals," Jeana joined in on the edge of the bed.

 

"You don't understand.  I never have bad dreams.  When I say this is the worst dream of my life, I mean it."

 

"It's true J, he's never suffered from nightmares," Dad explained.  "But stress does funny first things, everything is okay, so lets get back to sleep all," Dad hopped up and kissed me on the top of my head.

"I'll be right there."  Jeana scooted up next to me to where Dad had been sitting.  "What does an earthquake mean to you?"

 

"Huh?"  Was she for real?

 

"They say that when you dream of something you should take a good look at what that thing means to you in order to figure out the meaning of the dream.  Let's say you had a dream about being in a bed of snakes, some people are deathly afraid of snakes, but you happen to love them.  So, your dream would not be bad to you, but would be a nightmare to the people that hate snakes."

 

"Okay, I get it.  I can tell you this, I don't love earthquakes or Connor Faldrane."

 

"But," she pointed at me.  "The Faldranes have been in the news lately, so maybe he's just in your mind more.  You're a California boy, earthquakes shouldn't scare you."

 

"They don't usually, it was weird though because it was like the city was crumbling, all that was left of the Hollywood sign was H O W." I stopped my thought when it occurred to me she knew about the Faldrane news.  "What have you heard about the Faldrane story?"

 

"There was a PAGE ONE on the set yesterday.  It said that Mr. Faldrane was scrambling to keep his publishing business together.  He's burnt so many bridges that no one sympathizes with him.  It's rumored that Mrs. Faldrane embezzled all of the operating funds and is holding the money ransom until he gives her what she wants in the divorce."

 

"Man, that stinks."

 

"Yeah, it does.  But as your Dad would say it's none of our business," she leaned really close, so I was ready to hear a secret.  "Don't let your dream scare you.  Just think of it in a broader sense.  What does the structure of L.A. stand for?  And who knows, maybe Connor Faldrane will cross over to your side and you saw a premonition of him laughing at one of your jokes, you just got to figure out how."

I didn't want anything else to figure out.  "Thanks, Jeana.  I guess that's why they're called dreams."  I adjusted my pajama pants and scrunched under the blanket.

 

"Night, Eli," she shut the windows the rest of the way and turned out the light.

 

Fox smells his own hole

Wednesday morning came way too soon for me; If you can imagine the nerve-wracking feeling of waiting outside the principal's office, just knowing you're doomed, but uncertain of the punishment.

 

Quadruple that feeling and you will start to understand my condition.  Benny, Dad and me were facing the biggest principal of all, Los Angeles County District Judge Inez and my nerves were approaching a full-blown breakdown. 

"I think you should wear the blue one," Benny advised me while we waited for Dad's driver.  "I've seen you look pretty messed up but never this bad." 

 

He was right.  I hadn't planned to wear any part of the necklace to the hearing.  I didn't want any unexplainable outbursts that might convict me.  Of all colors though, I could count on the blue to keep me calm and in control.  So I took Benny's advice and just like before, my heart stopped surfing around in my gut. By the time the car came, I was ready to set the record straight.

The car was no car at all.  Instead Dad's driver picked us up in a huge black S.U.V.  I felt like I was entering a part of the Presidential motorcade.  Had I not been calmed down I'd have never felt so cool and important.  We all fit comfortably, Mom, Benny, Dad and me.  Sam was going to drive Dad's Mercedes ahead of us as a decoy for the photographers.  He made arrangements for us to go the delivery entrance at the back of the courthouse.  Once inside, it was no big deal; the halls were almost like a library, only noisy.  Business people hustled everywhere, like ants on a march, each one with a briefcase or file in their hands.

"Courtroom seven is this way," Dad directed (obviously he knew his way around)

We all followed like he was giving us a guided tour at the most boring museum in Southern California.  I'm sure the four of us were the only ones with nothing important to carry.  Our hands and arms hung by our sides and for that reason we stuck out in the crowd.  Half way to courtroom seven, the rushing crowd began to slow and watch us.  Dad had been made.  It wasn't long before the swarm of ants became a gawking mess.

"R. J., would you care to comment on why you're in court today?" some blonde asked, shoving a microphone in Dad's face.  Sam was coming at us fast and pushed her away.  He shielded Benny and me with his briefcase in one hand and a file in the other.   Dad put his arm around Mom and we all rushed into courtroom seven.

 

Once inside, it no longer looked like a library.  Long dark wooden benches lined the path from the door to the where the judge's seat was.  I'd seen similar rooms in movies a billion times but when you're actually in one of these rooms you feel the authority seep into your skin along with the smell of Lemon Pledge.  Most of the benches were empty except for a few on both sides up front.  Sam ushered us to our seats behind a big table on the left of the aisle.  Four men in suits already took the table to the right.  I didn't recognize any of them. I was half expecting to see Connor.  When I glanced behind us I saw the kid from the copy center with a couple of other guys in suits.

"Which one is Mr. Faldrane?" I whispered to Dad while everyone got settled.

"Second one in on this side," he whispered back.

I was trying to secretly check him out when I was commanded to attention by the cop in front of us.  "All rise…"

"Mr. Faldrane," after about an hour of listening to Sam and another guy tell each side's story Judge Inez spoke to Connor's dad.  "Why are you suing Mr. Robert O'Shea?  The only connection he has to this story is that he's the father of one of the creators."

"Judge," Faldrane's lawyer stood up.  "If I may answer that question?"

"No, if I wanted you to answer Mr. Cochran, I would have asked you."

Mr. Faldrane stood up.  He was much shorter than I expected.  In fact he looked pretty funny, like a carnival's ringmaster. I think he may have been nervous at the thought of having to speak for himself because his cheeks were pepperoni red and so was the tip of his ski slope nose.  I had to stop myself from giggling when I noticed three hairs sprouting from the tip of his chili-pepper honker. 

 

 

"Judge sir, I have reason to believe that the boy's father is behind this." Mr. Faldrane answered and began to sit back down when the judge spoke again.

Hollywood Unmasked - and what happens when a kid caters the party

Hamburgers, macaroni and cheese and potato sticks.  For desert I'd serve vanilla ice cream with squirty chocolate and caramel syrup.  Mom has always believed that people should eat their favorite foods for birthday dinner so she was cool about not sticking her nose into my menu, except for the desert. 

"It's your birthday you have to have cake.  How will you make a wish?" Mom asked.

I have to admit the cake thing totally slipped my mind.  "Well I guess I'll have to stick a candle in my ice cream.  Besides I don't know how to make a cake."

7pm. Friday night, August 17th, Benny showed up first and Mom was of course already there.  By 7:15 the table was set and I paced around waiting for Dad.

"He'll be here," Mom assured me.  "I asked him to stop at the store for me, he must have got hung up."
"I hope you're right," I mumbled.  Even though Dad had been doing well all summer, it didn't take much for me to worry that he'd slip up by sipping up.  At 7:25, I went to my room to fetch the yellow mask.  As I dug into the leather pouch I got impatient because sticking my hand inside the psycho ward was as risky as feeding a Venus flytrap and the yellow was at the bottom and my fingers may as well have been dangling, raw hamburger worms.  I dumped them on the bed.  I saw the blue and red's backs with their B and V looking letters but I knew I had to get 'em all back into the pouch as fast as I could, before they had a chance to activate.  I scooped them up, blue, red, green and rusty orange, all tied inside, I barely touched the white one when I heard, "I like that purple one, try that."  I'd heard that before, from Dad at the fair.  I wheeled around thinking he was behind me.  No one was there.  I went to the window to see if his car was outside.  Nope.  I walked back to the bed; staring at me with vacant eyes were the white, purple and yellow masks.  I picked up the purple and wondered what the letter meant -- E -- must be for my name.  I got the same tingly sensation that it gave me at the fair.  "It's just birthday dinner what do I need this for?" I asked myself out loud.

"Eli!  Your father is here."  Mom shouted from the dining room.

"Come on Eli, don't leave me by myself," Benny came into my room.

I grabbed the white mask to put it away and heard, "purple."

"Happy Birthday Mr. Elias James O'Shea," Dad came singing towards my door.

"Fine," I answered and shoved the yellow and white into the bag.

"Fine what?  You invited me."  Benny answered.

"Is this where the party is?" Dad was in my room too.

"No.  We were just waiting for you." I pushed Benny and him out and shut the door and slipped the leather tie, with the purple mask over my head.

Once back in the dining room, a giant balloon of Simon Masters' creation Fritzshisenhoffer greeted me.

"He was calling your name, all the way from the back of the store.  I was already in the checkout line so I had to go back and get him," Dad rambled, turning on his best storytelling face.  "Then, when I got all the way back there, he was mad at me because I forgot him.  Finally after about ten minutes of arguing, the only way I got him to come was to promise him that you'd serve him your hamburger and macaroni and cheese special.  I hope you have enough because there'll be hell to pay if he doesn't get any.  Anyway that's why I'm late.  Sorry."

That's the funniest thing about Dad -- even when he knows there is no way in the world any one could believe him -- he keeps on jibber-jabbering these stories.  And, you eventually end up believing him. 

"Let's do presents first," Dad begged like the spokesperson for every twelve year old's party.

"Robert, Eli's dinner is getting cold enough," Mom set the adult standard and at the same time gave Dad a dig for being late.

"Okay, just one before dinner, like Christmas eve," he insisted and handed me an envelope.

"What, did Fritzshisenhoffer steal my present?" I found myself still annoyed with Dad when the honesty of the purple power took over my speech.
   
"Don't forget, you challenged me to be on my toes," he shot back.

We all took our seats, with me at the head of the table, Benny to my right and Mom to my left.  Dad was next to Benny and Fritzshisenhoffer sat silently at the other end.

"I don't know why a card with money can't wait a half an hour," I tore at the dull gold envelope.

 "I'll open it," Benny offered.

"A father's greatest treasure is his son," I read the front of the card. "I hope you treasure this as much as I do you, Always my love, Daddy O."  A smaller envelope fell on my lap.  It wasn't sealed so it practically opened itself.  Inside was what looked like a single ticket -- no cash.  "How thoughtful, a gift certificate."   It's a wonder he didn't smack me.  I pulled it out and slowly read the electronic type. 

Thank you for your patronage as a season ticket holder

of the NBA Champions Los Angeles Laker's upcoming season.

I read it again, "Dad, is this what I think it is?"

He was literally bouncing in his chair.  "That's right E.  You and two guests of your choice have season tickets to every Lakers' home game this season."  The only time

I'd ever seen his eyes beam with so much pride was when he told me he was dating Jeana.

 "This is so totally awesome!  Thanks Dad!"  I jumped up and gave him a hug and even patted Fritzshisenhoffer on the head so he bopped up and down in his chair.

Just then, we all turned towards the ringing doorbell.

"You made the invite list, perhaps you should get it."  Dad chimed in.

I knew Dad's interest in who got it meant he knew whom it was, but I played along and went to answer it.  "Perhaps you should…" my head was directing my purply -honest sarcasm at Dad so I had the door partially open before I actually looked at the mysterious doorbell ringer.  I was certain I was hallucinating.  I felt the mask, swallowed, and tried not to fart fudge in the doorway…

"You must be Eli," Simon peeked around the door's edge as he batted at the moths that blindly dive-bombed him and the porch light.

My mouth fell so wide open, the moths could have been coming from some dusty neglected compartment in my brain.  At least that would have explained my inability to speak.

"Hello?  Is it your birthday?"  A moth drilled one of Simon's turquoise eyes.

I nodded, mouth still wide, still no sound.

"Okay, well can you at least let me escape these winged larvae long enough to call my driver?"

"No need to call anyone Mike, come in."  Dad made the conversation a two-way.

"Mike?"  I managed to spit out.

"Mike is my given name -- but you can call me Simon, a lot do."

Getting Paid vs. Sanity and Ridiculosity

"So you're saying that your Dad's new girlfriend has a picture of the gypsy lady on her coffee table?" Benny asked, after he showed up in my room at eight the next morning.  He was ready to get down to business wearing his Simon Masters' ball cap and Ben Franklin tee shirt for inspiration.  "Do you think she's a part of this whole thing?"

"I have no idea what's going on.  I don't think she knows she's a part of it.  I think it's bigger than that.  It's like this gypsy lady is after me, maybe she's trying to tell me about my problems."  I on the other hand, had barely slept the night before, and looked it.  "Why are you wearing Simon's hat?  Whatever.  It's time I get to the bottom of the masks and Gypsy's story -- not Jeana's.  Dad can figure her out, I'm running out of time.  Gypsy made it very clear I'd be miserable for the rest of my life if I didn't listen to the calling."  I fluttered my hands in the air as I spoke, as if I could stir up the mysterious calling.  "And in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty stinking miserable."

"Trust me I've noticed, but dude, I'm calling you, the gypsy isn't paying us.  We've got other stories to get to the bottom of."

Of course Benny was right.  We were on a paid deadline.  "Alright but I can't put it aside much longer, so let's get this done.  Did you eat breakfast?"

"Yes, I ate, I'm ready to get to work.  Pull yourself together and I'll get started."

After a huge bowl of Lucky Flakes topped with chocolate milk, I was a bit more functional.  I considered copying Benny's wardrobe but I was still pretty mad at Simon.  So I straightened my bed and reached under the mattress for an added dose of happiness.  I figured the yellow mask was the only one I really felt good in and I needed to feel good.

During that first day of writing it was hard to find our groove.  We kept looking at the digital photos we took of Mr. Monroe and V.W. to give us inspiration.  It was not as easy as sticking up for my Dad and me.  All of our jokes kept falling back to the things those two did that drove us nuts and we spent most of the morning laughing at their ridiculosity.  I wondered why we were doing this.  Benny kept going back to my new Art of Simon Masters' book to get ideas. 

"Hey, Benny," I thought out loud.  "What makes what we're trying to do any better than what the Spectator does?  I mean these people are truly a bit screwed up.  And why should we care what this equally screwed up town thinks about them?  Maybe that's why we're struggling."

He thought for a minute then handed me my book.  "Just think of Normal or Dead dude, everybody is screwed up somehow.  What the Spectator does is wrong, not just 'cause loser Faldrane is part of it but because it's a bunch of lies.  You of all people should know that.  We just gotta look at it like they're lying about us, so we stick up for them; remember…" he emphasized 'remember' like I should be ashamed of myself.  "Besides, we swore to show this town how to keep it real."

As much as I wanted to be mad a Simon, I couldn't, Normal or Dead was dead on and normal, in too many ways.  So, about an hour before Benny's mom came to get him, we sat down and started from scratch.  We made a storyboard, just like when we worked on my routine and did the Updated Spectator; we cut out the stories and pictures the Celebrity Spectator had printed about Mr. Monroe and V.W., then we started with the basic facts.  We hoped that once we had the facts down with our pictures it would be much easier to add funny jabs.  But our first day of work was over in what seemed like the amount of time it took to lose at a new video game.

Our plan of attack worked and the next two days were much more productive.  When Benny left Thursday evening we had a draft printed complete with photos.  We could give it to Dad when he came for my birthday dinner the next night.

Getting paid to write the truth

"Damn it Robert!  You said you had his ambitions under control!  How could you have him involved in something like this behind my back?" Being half awake, it took me back to the days when we all lived together and she would yell at Dad for being out all night. 

He must have had a lot to say to her because I fell back asleep and it was a while before I heard her voice again.

"Elias James O'Shea!  Get up!  I need to see you in the kitchen please."

"Are you in trouble Dude? " Benny rolled over.

"Sounds like it.  I thought she was yelling at my dad earlier.  So I don't know what I did." I rubbed my eyes and headed to the kitchen like I was going to face the dentist, hair on end and all.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she spit out as soon as I entered.

"Uh, morning Mom?"

"Cute.  I leave you alone with Benny, so you think I'm a cool mom.  So you tell me things.  That's always worked pretty good right Eli?" Oil was trickling from her olive green eyes.  I didn't have a clue as to what was going on.  Was I dreaming?  Was she mad or sad? And was it at me or Dad?  "I don't know who you are anymore Eli."

"Mom it's me same old kid."

"No.  One day your voice starts cracking.  Then you spend a weekend with your father and you come home wanting to be a comedian.  Now, you're supposed to give an interview to Hollywood Variety about a story you and Benny wrote and they published.  Who are you?  How could I possibly lose control of my son in such a short time?  This move cannot come soon enough"

It hit me like an unexpected soccer ball to the head.  With everything that was happening, I never told her about the Updated Spectator.  If that kid hadn't let the story out she'd have never known, just great, another lucky break for me.  "Mom I'm sorry.  I had no control over it.  I filed it away…then Sam called…and."  I not only had no idea who I was, but I quickly losing control of why, where and when, I was too.

"I know.  Your Dad filled me in after I reamed him a new, wait a minute, he didn't even yell back.  He just told me the whole story and said he thought it would all be taken care of.  I don't know him anymore either."

"He's doing really well Mom, even though you're pushing him to the edge.   I wish you could spend some time with him," I was truly wishing out loud, happy to get the attention off of me.

"Yeah well.  I'm pushing him?   Why do you think I'm moving?

"I thought we were moving for your career."  I didn't like the track I steered that runaway train onto.

"Well, he's made the decision easier.  Go get Benny, I'll make you two some pancakes while we talk about your interview, that's scheduled for tomorrow."

"Good Morning Ms. O'Shea," if anything, Benny knew his manners.

"Have a seat Benny.  We're going to fill up first and then have a long talk," Mom had calmed down quite a bit.

"What were you guys thinking when you did the Updated story?" Mom asked.

Benny took the first question. "We weren't really.  It all just came to us, like Eli's mustard fudge.  Plus it was fun making jokes about Eli and Gus Gowen."

With that I was quickly into the top of my memory box, there it was:

'How does someone know which path to take?' I had asked Dad.

'That's the age-old question E.  I think if you are truly following your bliss, it's like your being helped by hidden hands.'

"Mustard fudge," I mumbled.

"Eli?  What do you think," Mom brought my thoughts back to the table.

"It's what Benny says, we never expected something like this to happen."

  

"And you're up for facing Connor Faldrane if his dad pursues us?"

I found myself reaching for the necklace and again it wasn't there.  "Long as you make plenty of egg salad." I had to lighten things up.

I think it worked because Mom's answer was encouraging.  "You know how much I'm against the thought of you having anything to do with show business, and I thought you were in agreement with that," she cleared the dishes.  "If you insist on exploring this, even for just one interview, you have to let me be a part of it."

"I will Mom, I promise.  I guess I should let you know Gramps O'Shea is going to introduce me to Simon," I felt a rare relief.  But I was surprised that Mom considered Simon just another one of Dad's co-workers.

"Well, that's no big deal, you've met tons of actors."

 I decided not to push it.  "Hey Mom, when did you first know you wanted to be a musician?"  She wasn't in the public eye as much as Dad, and she was certainly not ready for her own ringtone, but she was working hard and she was good.

"I was lucky, I suppose," she started.  "I had a wonderful piano instructor the summer I was eleven.  I remember I was furious with my mom for making me go to piano practice while the other kids were running around outside.  Then after just one session with Miss Ray, I was hooked.  She was a little woman with strange blue eyes.  I was so mesmerized by her that the lessons came naturally.  There was a pin she wore.  A big moon, or sun and a wolf, it was right on her chest, so I always felt odd looking at it.  She gave me one like it at our last lesson."  Mom gazed at the ceiling as if that was where she stored her memories.  "Anyway, she told me that I was a gifted student and that I would go far.  Here I am in the entertainment capital of the World and I'm moving to get a break.  I've wondered what ever happened to her, she was so inspiring I could have used her for a lot longer than one summer."

"So you knew then that you'd grow up to be a piano player?" I'd never really thought about how my parents, or anyone for that matter, decided what to be but it was definitely another new mystery knocking around with the questions that I felt pressured to figure out.

"Well I don't remember deciding right then but I did know that I'd always have music in my life somehow.  I just got sidetracked -- five years as an assistant for the talent agency -- four more years as a housewife," she turned on the dishwasher.  "What d'ya say Benny we better get you home so your mom doesn't think you moved in here."

"She won't be home.  But I should check in on Grandma Silver." Benny answered without a clue to the information I was collecting.  I filed Mom's story in my top spot for instant access.

"I have an idea," Mom added.  "Why don't we all go to a matinee of Normal or Dead, after we swing by Benny's?"

 "Awesome." Benny and me answered in stereo, as usual.

The repeat performance of Normal or Dead refreshed our minds as to why we did the Updated Spectator story to begin with and it also served as good inspiration for the interview and my meeting with Simon.  Not taking any chances though, I decided to wear the yellow mask just as Dad pulled in to pick me up the next morning.  It turned out to be a good decision.  The interview was unbelievable fun from the second we set foot in the lobby of Hollywood Variety Magazine.  In fact everything would have been perfect until Benny brought up the idea of us getting paid to do more stories for more celebrities.

"Eli thinks it will be more trouble than it's worth.  But I'd like to do it," he snitched.  I wanted to fart on him.

"Interesting," Mr. Hughes who was just about to wrap our meeting up, got comfortable again and asked,

"How many offers have you gotten?"

"Five," Benny couldn't contain himself.   

"Can you boys give me a minute alone with Sam and Mr. O'Shea?  Kathy," he called to his assistant. "Can you take Elias and Benny to the snack bar?"

 And that was it, by lunchtime on August 7th, Benny Silver and me had a paying job to write a story for the leading magazine in the entertainment business, Hollywood Variety.  The deal was to take two of the five offers and come up with our own take of what the real Hollywood story was, in a comical way like we did for the Updated Spectator.  The two we chose would pay Benny and me.  But the magazine would then publish the article.  The only catch was, we had to come up with a new title that didn't rip off Celebrity Spectator and we had to use our own photos and could not reprint the original lies the Spectator had published.

Dad and me both called Mom on speakerphone to make sure she wouldn't blow a fuse.  She made us add a sentence to the contract that said we could back out any time for any reason.  Benny was beyond thrilled.  It was worth it just to see him so happy.  Dad stopped at the bank and gave him his share of the money out of his own account so he could surprise his mom that night.  We had two weeks to do the work because Mr. Hughes wanted to print his follow up interview first.  We needed it too, were going to be busy day and night getting this story just right.  It took a few days, just to get the interviews scheduled with Bruce Monroe and Vivian Weaver.  Dad hated the fact that he had to buy the copies of the Celebrity Spectator where the lies they were fighting had been printed, I insisted that we needed them for reference.  So, he dressed up in a funky fisherman cap and sunglasses and made me wear an equally funky fisherman vest and told the clerk that he was buying the tabloids because the only thing they were good for was wrapping fish. 

That night I called Gramps to find out what he had set up for me to meet Simon.

TABLOID JOURNALISTS READ THIS about The First Tabloid I Ever Read

I was 6 and spending a day with Gramps when I wandered to a deserted sound stage at RJO. I saw this really cool outerspace backdrop behind a dusty old store front and went to get a closer look...

After a few sneezing fits and sticky, gross spider web encounters,
something caught my eye.  A small spider drew me to it. 
After falling from my attack on its web,
the spider landed a couple feet above the ground and
disappeared inside a small dark hole. 
I stepped closer and noticed it was the latch to a trunk.

The trunk was loaded with old fashioned                
costumes.  I pulled at a pair of suspenders
and everything emptied out... The pants were
so baggy I was able to slip them over my clothes.
I kept on my lucky Lakers tee shirt and grabbed
the cool cane -- even though it was more than
half my height.

I cracked myself up at first sight.

Now that I think about it, I guess that was when I got my first glimpse of what it might be like to be an entertainer.  I was in awe, as any kid in my spot would be.  That bad fantasy flew out of my head just as quickly as it arrived...

When I read the headline of the paper the man ditched.
It was the first tabloid I ever read.

To this day, that image is tattooed in my skull.  I thought for a second it may have been
makeup for a horror movie, then my brain absorbed the headline.

Showering tears and sticky snot epoxy glued the cane to my hand.  I shoved the costume back in the trunk -- the magic was totally over.  I didn't  know what to do with the paper.  I wanted it to go away, so I shoved it inside.  That's when I realized there was a face on top of the black cane that matched the latch where the spider crawled inside.

Memory over.

By then, a steady thud was knocking on my head and as Gramps' sermon came to a finale, I had reason to suspect the cane, trunk, and maybe even the newspaper, were trying to tell me something I'd needed to know.

…"Every journalist must have a reliable moral compass.  The problem today is that most stories are told solely on their ability to make money.  Do you know that Ben himself published the first cartoon?  That's how magnificent Benjamin Franklin's hobbies were.  Yesirree…" Gramps blabbed on like an infomercial and I was begging for a remote.  When he came back from his gospel journey he finished his pickle like it was a fine cigar.