Month: October 2008

A few years after Mom and Dad Teply split, my Mom was living in an apartment situated on North Dakota’s backside.  Brothers and sister Teply lived with her and during the summer months we would be accompanied by our favorite cousin, a rapscallion named Dustin.  It was cramped, a little too cozy, and whole lot of fun.

Dustin had a quick wit and the good-natured feel for people.  That he ignored the consequences of his actions made him good company.   Unless of course, you were responsible for his well being.  It was always my secret opinion that Aunt Kohnen would snicker a bit as she slid Dustin’s rear into the backseat with Mom’s children then whistled a cheery tune as Mom drove away.

The phrase, “Selling sand to a sheik”doesn’t begin to describe the way Dustin would sell the brothers Teply on dumb ideas.  Here’s a sample off the top of my head and please keep in mind, Dustin invested most of his grand schemes on my younger brothers.

I remember…“Hey, you’ve got a girl hamster in this cage and a boy over here.  What do you suppose would happen if we let them meet?”

Then there was…“Yea, I’m doing tattoos now.  How about I practice on your arm?  It’ll look really cool.  No, I swear it will.”

And how could I forget…“The only useful thing about areosol cans is how they throw flames when you light a match then spray.  It fries the wings off hornets.  Hey, isn’t there a wasp nest in behind your house?”  

And believe me, I don’t know the half of it.

One of the funniest memories I have (and it’s hard to explain why) is the night Dustin, his brother Mark, and the brothers Teply were sleeping over at (I think it was) a hotel.  The adults had foolishly left these near adolescents alone. 

Dustin quickly produced a set of electric hair sheers. 

“Hey Mark,” Dustin already had it plugged in.  “Mark, how about I give you a hair cut.  You know it can’t be that hard with this guard.  And I can switch guards to give you different lengths.”

Strangely, I don’t remember the details of what happened next but I do remember Mark being presented to the adults with an inch and a half swath of scalp above Mark’s left eye to his right ear was reduced to peach fuzz.  Mark’s new, perfectly geometric bald spot and the screwed up scowl on his face is an image I’ll never forget.

“Now I can drive my Matchbox cars over your head without the wheels getting caught in all your hair.”

Dustin’s career in hair styling eventually came to an end but not on that evening.  Before he was done, several of his unfortunate guinea pigs experienced sudden hair loss as well.  No one was surprised. 

All this makes one wonder if everyone’s favorite cousin ever had an impulse he didn’t like.

Note:  Teply family…BookOfSaul.com is being worked on today and tomorrow.  There isn’t much on there at the moment but come back during the next couple of days to check up on the “Wonder Child.”

“So you and your friends are sitting around pop’na brew…” 

Those are the words I most closely associate with my first year of college and they didn’t come from another student.  No, those awe-inspiring words are the product of my federal government professor.  This was a man who was obviously in grad school the semester before and had yet to shake off the hangover.

Professor Lee-bert (his actual name although I have played with the spelling a bit.) was a tall man who filled out his clothes as if he were made of marshmallows.  His tight jeans, button up shirts, and cowboy boots forced everyone to wonder how a professor could invest at least six years into higher education and still miss every fashion rule to float down the pike.  His mullet was legendary in the sense that he made it look bad BEFORE everyone else began casting scorn on the hairstyle.

Needless to say, I wanted my picture taken with the man.  Everyday.

“So you and your friends are sitting around popn’a brew…”

Lee-bert understood that a simple maxim wouldn’t be enough to properly convey his grand vision.  To that end, he would deliver his patented line by pointing both index fingers at the students, cinching his arms up like chicken wings, and giving his shoulders a disjointed shake.  It drove the point home EVERYTIME. 

“Oh, I get it now, so what he was saying is that me AND MY FRIENDS, are sitting around and wait, that’s right we were POPPIN’ some brews.  Ok, great.  Now I’m ready for Quantum Mechanics.”

I would be remiss without stressing the dynamic nature of Lee-bert’s cowboy boots.  So grand was this footwear that we gave Lee-bert the unofficial first name of “Holy Toes.”  Only the sweaty toes of this visionary educator are worthy of boots that curled up at the front like elf shoes with wing tips.  A bad hem job on his high water pants barely shrouded the stitched designs.  Add the two-inch heels and turquoise dyed leather and it’s little wonder we idolized him.

As he was saying, “So, you and your friends are sitting around popn’a few brews… (While shopping for boots)”

I may not pop brews but I’ll always raise a frosty root beer in your honor, Holy Toes Lee-bert.

Allow me to introduce you to the 945 (pronounced nine forty-five).  It’s a blue 1998 Ford Escort ZX2 that has faithfully transported my carcass to and from work for over ten years. 

The name originated from a date Melissa and I took to downtown Memphis.  I paid to park in a garage and the attendant gave me a thick manila card which had “945” printed in bold ink on the top and near the bottom.  I jammed it into the far left side of the windshield and never removed it thinking that perhaps I could reuse it one day. 

The 945 never garnered the attention I thought it should.  Not too many females glance and smile at a car that stands about five feet tall and weighs less than their stuffed animal collection.  In fact, I often loose it in parking lots behind SUVs and other vehicles that could run over it without the driver noticing. 

Sure, it’s heard the wind-up jokes and the cruel “foooour cylinder, foooour cylinder” chant from the other cars but the 945 maintains a stiff upper bumper.  Scratch that, the front and rear bumpers are plastic so they flex pretty easily, but you get the idea.

The 945 has taught me some valuable lessons about inanimate objects.  At one time, I believed cars incapable of displaying personality traits or anything close to decision-making but I was grossly mistaken.  I’m not sure how it began or how they are produced but each time I open my car door I am greeted with a different foul aroma.  I could not be more serious! 

Take last week for example… I’ve created a short table that best describes how the 945 greeted me each day.

SUNDAY
My car had a hint of rotten plums, stale vanilla air freshener, and a strong lean toward sweaty gym sock.

MONDAY
My car prepared me for the workweek with the aroma of untended rain bucket, my brother’s masculine body spray, a whiff of musty paperback, and a teasing bit of flatulence.

TUESDAY
This is where the teeth of the workweek really bit.  To fortify me, the 945 filled my lungs with the fruity echo of rancid apple juice, grandpa’s musk, seventh grade bathroom stall, and essence of loaded diaper.

WEDNESDAY
Hump-day!  I opened my door and sensed zit cream, permanent marker, and an alluring accent of composted spearmint leaves.

THURSDAY
My vitality was wearing down.  Not to fear!  The 945 came through with the energizing scents of a European women’s soccer team. 

FRIDAY
The 945 gets lazy and tries to take the day off by filling the interior with the almost visible scent of a discount French cheese trolley.

SATURDAY
It was a great day to rest.  My car’s nasal bouquet was a mix of porta-potty at a Grateful Dead concert and grandma’s guest bed after cousin Eugene slept in it.  (Note:  This is DodoEggs.com’s Official scent.)

Melissa almost refuses to drive anywhere in the 945 because she doesn’t appreciate the masterful work the car does in perfectly harmonizing these delicate olfactory offerings.  She is constantly asking me why my car stinks so badly. 

“How should I know!?”  I respond in a huff.  “Why don’t you go outside and ask the artist?”