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This Is Where I Live (3)

16 Aug

August 16, 2012

This is the third installment about life in my little part of Brooklyn. So far I’ve been gassed by the City of New York and treated like crap by a waitress. Can it get any better? Let’s see… Today, Bensonhurst.

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I’ve got some time off coming to me from the Company In which I Am employed and I thought it would be nice if Saarah and I took a little trip. I figured a short overnight trip to Boston would be nice. I like Boston and have nice memories of the city. If I ever left New York (an increasingly attractive prospect) I’d love to live in Boston. I could see myself in Chicago too but I don’t want to live in a town where even the corruption is corrupt. I do have my standards.

But to get back on track, Saarah didn’t want to go to Boston; she’d already been there and wanted to go somewhere she hadn’t been before. Her idea? Delaware.

Yeah, I didn’t get it either.

So I went online a checked out all the exciting and awesome things Delaware has to offer and found that there are no exciting and awesome things in Delaware. Outside of a few museums, and let’s face it, I live in New York, we’ve got museums up the wazoo, there is nothing to do in Delaware.

If you are reading this in Delaware I am sorry. Not for insulting Delaware, just sorry you are stuck there.

Ok, I’m kidding, someone must see something in Delaware.

So Delaware was out and Saarah came up with Maine and after some checking and general internet futzing about I found that there is a lot of stuff like kayaking (which could get us killed), staying in a cabin (which could get me killed by Saarah), haunted tours (in which we’d hope to encounter the spirits of the dead, just not my own), and a pirate festival, which is great since if you read this recent Classic Repost you’d know that I always wanted to be a pirate.

The next day I went to the travel agent who handled my brother’s trip to Japan just to get some information and after driving around for a while looking for a parking spot I discovered that they were closed. Then I remembered that there is a small travel agent literally one block away from my home so I went there.

I walked in and was, well, greeted isn’t the word, I was grunted at by a “travel agent” behind a desk. (You’ll see why it is quotes soon enough.) He was in his late fifties/early sixties, had a full head of snow white hair slicked back, had a thick white mustache, and wore a white button-down shirt which was not buttoned down far enough for a the average man. His shirt was unbuttoned about four buttons lower than you’d like to see but if the purpose was to show off the thick gold chains he was wearing then the shirt did its job admirably.

I’d already drawn a conclusion about this guy and maybe you have too but it was confirmed when he spoke to me.

ME: Hi. I’d like some information about a trip to Maine.
HIM: Maine? Whaddaya wanna go ta Maine for?

It may not be possible but I am typing that in a thick Brooklyn accent.

ME: Well my friend and I were-
HIM: Nah nah nah we don’ do Maine. Maine? Nobody here even goes to that city up thea, you know, Boston.

ME: Ok, then I-
HIM: Well ya know I guess like I could get some airline tickets or something to that city they got up in Maine, aw crap, ya know da one, Pasadena or something. Nobody ever goes ta Maine.

I was ready to walk out but he was still talking and as pointless and useless as this was, I was simply not believing what was going on and my legs had decided that they, and therefore the rest of me, wanted to stick around and hear more.

HIM: Ya want a cruise? I’ll get yous on a cruise, ya leave from Florida or some place and they’ll cruise yous up right past Maine, sail around Pasadena, there’s Maine.

This guy was actually angry that I wanted to go to Maine. Maybe he was holding a grudge against the state? I have no clue. He was hitting the keys on the keyboard in front of him. I’m not convinced he was typing, just hitting at random, and at any rate the monitor was blank and stayed blank.

ME: Thanks, ok, no thanks for the cruise, bye.

I was leaving but he was still going on.

HIM: Look, nobody goes to Maine, we don’ do Maine. We cruise, I’ll getcha a cruise up thea.

I am not saying this was a front for the Mafia but if I wanted a cruise to Italy I’m sure he could hook me right up if you know what I’m saying.

I walked out and actually looked back to make sure that I was in the right place, in case I had walked into the 99 cent store and asked for Maine brochures. But no, it was the travel agency and for the record, the sign proudly states that they have been in business since 1968, long before I was born,

And in 43 years no one has ever gone to Maine.

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Spotlight: Jimbo (The OTR Guy)

1 Aug

August 1, 2012

Spotlight Week rolls on with Jimbo. Jimbo is one of the true Good Guys on the internet. One of his many interests is OTR, Old Time Radio, a topic I know a bit about myself as well. But if I know a bit, Jimbo knows tons. One of his favorite shows is Vic and Sade, a very funny show I have slowly become a fan of thanks to Jimbo and his great site http://vicandsade.blogspot.com/ (just one of his many sites- this guy does a lot, including keeping a great twitter feed running) where you can learn all about this funny show, and also Uncle Fletcher, Jimbo’s favorite character. You can click on the link in the sidebar to go to http://otrbuffet.blogspot.com/, a site that has something about everything in OTR, including a couple of interviews with me, Your Obedient Servant. I also must add that some recent content on this blog has been inspired by his very funny ideas.

Today, Jimbo moves away from what I’ve come to expect from him and tells us of a very personal experience. Although it is rarely mentioned in this blog, Jimbo and I share an interest in the following topic, though his story beats any of mine.

Object: Unidentified and Flying

Thanks to BMJ2K, who has opened his website to me to do whatever I wanted to do.  I had thoughts of writing something really, imaginatively funny and I thought about writing something tear-jerkingly sad as well.

However, what I have chosen to do is tell you a true story, something that once happened to me.  I don’t ask you to believe me; you can do as you wish.

It was a cool morning and a humid one in 1997 or 1998. It is always humid here.  I live less than 5 miles from the Atlantic Ocean and am in the deepest, darkest part of Georgia, right in the middle of God-only-knows how many swamps.  Sure, I’ve seen plenty of gators and wild boar.  Deer and tree frogs are common too.  That’s life in the middle of nowhere.

Actually, it isn’t fair to say“nowhere” because there is a Naval base in the town where I live.  This means that the town is made up of all manner of Americans with about a million dialects.

So one morning, about 14 years ago, I headed off to work.  I had to be there at 5:30 am; something I’ve always been used to doing has been to rise and shine at an early hour.

I don’t remember much about that morning until it happened.  Out of my left upper periphery I noticed a very bright light.  The light was so bright and so close that I slowed down to a near crawl, as there was no one on the street but me.  There were power lines on both sides of the street and I was near my work site and I began – not be scared – but to becomes enchanted by what I saw.

I could see now there were about 6 visible lights.  They were round and white and reminded me of basketballs, although they were probably much larger.  What happened next bewildered me and left me speechless – even though there was no one to talk to at the time.

I could see now that this object was a flying vehicle of some sort and though I could not to this day tell you exactly what it was, except it was flying and had many bright lights.  It came down low, came right at my truck, probably at a speed of 30 miles an hour or so and brushed right over my vehicle.  The light blinded me and awed me all at once and I did not have the hindsight to look back to watch where it went.  As a matter of fact, I kept driving and I didn’t speed up or slow down that I remember.  I often wonder now what it was that kept me from looking back.

When I got to work, I parked and sat there a good 5-10 minutes reflecting on what had happened.  Did I just have a real experience?  Am I fully awake?  Did I just see a vehicle come out of the sky and come right over me?  The answer to all of those questions was yes.

I was in my right, fully capable mind that morning.  I was not on any narcotic nor was I an indulger of alcohol.  What happened to me was real.

I thought to myself – and still wonder to this day – if this was some kind of government (maybe a Navy) vehicle.  It could have been, I never have said it was an alien vehicle or a “flying saucer.”  However, the thing defied the laws of psychics.  It maneuvered flawlessly, silently over and around power lines.

I was excited.  I couldn’t wait to tell people what I saw.  But of course you know what happened when I told them.  Coming from me, one of the biggest leg-pullers in North America, no one believed me.  To this day the only people I feel really believe the story are my brother and sister.

I have been foolish enough to tell the story enough times to be fully disbelieved about a thousand times.  And now, a thousand and one.

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