Our Dumb Blog

(Date unknown)

I went to the college Democrats meeting today. Not because I’m a democrat. I went to see Don Womack, the candidate running against Sonny Callahan, our current U.S. representative. I like to take every chance I get to meet the people who are running for office. I went to the room where the meeting was taking place and was greeted by Dr. Schaefer (my political science professor), Dr. Hinson (my history professor), the young man who was attempting to start up the Democrat’s club, and Don Womack himself. That was it. I was the only student who showed up. And I’m not even a Democrat! We listened to Mr. Womack talk about himself for about an hour. At one point, Dr. Harwell, one of the other history professors, poked his head in the door. Dr. Schaefer invited him in. “Oh, no,” he answered. “I do not cross this line. My credibility is at stake!”

“Well, I’m a Republican,” said Dr. Hinsen. “And I’m in here.”

I came to this meeting with an open mind, ready to accept whatever this candidate had to say. But none of what he said made sense. I really got the impression that this guy was an idiot! Oh, well. No candidate should run unopposed. At one point the guy said, “Now back in the days of my grandmother, there were houses that not only did not have bathrooms, they didn’t even have outhouses! Now what the Democrats did is they came along and had outhouses built for all these houses. And to me, that’s what being a Democrat is all about.” I’m serious! I’m not making this up! He actually said this. It kind of makes me think… no, I won’t say it…

We were working on doing our scenes without scripts today at rehearsal for
Snow White. Everyone kept stepping on each other’s lines, omitting lines, and
continuing without them. Part of the problem is that a whole lot of the lines
are the same. Sleepy says, “Is it time to go to bed yet?” several times.
Grumpy’s lines alternate between “Bah.” and “Mush.” And all Sneezy ever does
is punctuate the dialogue with sneezes. So it’s very easy to say your line
after the correct cue but in the wrong scene. The script was not written very
well, and that may have something to do with it.

[August 1995. Exact date unknown.]

Michele bought a whole bunch of fruit today. What she does is ask the
produce man at the store if he has anything he’s throwing away. He asks
if it’s for human or animal consumption. She says animal, but then
feeds us on it anyway. I’ve learned to do the same. You can get a
whole box of peaches (a bushel or so) for a couple of bucks. And most
of them are okay to eat too. Whenever she asks what we need at the
grocery store, I say fruit, because we go through it so fast. So Michele
did it again today. She came home with a couple of boxes of assorted
fruits and vegetables, half of which were suitable for nonhumans and so
delivered. Justin got excited. I was lying on the couch, sacked out,
when this conversation ensued:

Justin: Alright! Fruit bat time! Mom, do you know where the bat is?
Michele: What? No.
Justin: Hey mom, watch this!
Microwave: BEEP, hummmmmm
Michele: Justin, what are you doing? No, don’t waste that potato!
Justin: But mom, watch, it’ll explode!
Michele: Justin, that’s a perfectly good potato.
Justin: No mom, it’s rotten…
Michele: Then give it to a needy chicken.
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Whoa ho! That was a good one.
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Here’s one…
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Whoa!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: I came THIS CLOSE to hitting the rooster!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Cool!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: I almost hit Kandy…
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: That was pretty good…
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: I almost hit the flag pole.
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: YESSS!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: I hit Herman right on the head!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Again! I got him again!
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: This one doesn’t look so bad. Ah, here’s one…
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Herman’s the batter, he’s got two strikes… Hmmm…
Screen door: SLAM
Justin: Mom! I struck Herman out TWICE! He’s like, “Why is there fruit
falling out of the sky?”

And people call the Bremers weird…

[August 1995. Exact date unknown.]

Berck, you may be heating and cooling the whole darn neighborhood.

I was talking to Jenifer the other day at the kitchen bar thingy. I was
in the middle of the story of how I met Eric the Awful for the first
time, when she inturrupts, looks me right in the eyes, and says, “Jonah,
you may be heating and cooling the whole darn neighborhood.” My face
freezes for a moment in a look that has to be as blank as possible
before contorting into a human question mark as I squeeze out the word,
“WHAT?” At this, her deadpan expression shatters, broken by convulsive
laughter. My face still displays an interrogative mask as my mind flips
through any and all connections to the subject at hand only to come up
empty. Then I search the dark reaches of every conversation I’ve ever
had with anyone that would have anything to do with the words she has
uttered. Nothing again. After the five seconds or so it takes me to rack
my brain, apply logic, and apply things that have nothing whatsoever to do
with logic, I repeat my inquiry. “WHAT?!” Jenifer cannot speak. An
entirely plausible expanation enters my mind and exits through my lips,
“Do you have a problem?”

Though her body is still writhing from under the influence of laughter, she
manages to lift an envelope up to my line of vision. It is a piece of
junk mail, advertising something like airconditioner pipes or things of
that sort. Suddenly, with that one motion, everything makes sense, and
the hilarity of my bafflement with absurdity engulfs both of us. Her
eyes widen to mirror mine before almost closing as we fall to the floor
in tandem, laughing too hard to control most bodily functions.

After we had sufficiently recovered, I spoke to her, “Jenifer?” She
turns and give me her whole attention. But I can’t do it. I can’t say
it with a straight face. “You may be heating and cooling the whole darn
neighborhood!” I manage to exhale between laughs.

Later when Max came in, Jefiner subjected him to the accursed phrase
also. He got an incredibly puzzled look on his face, mingled with a
quizzical smile. His eyes wondered over to a corner of the room as if
to aid the search going on inside his head. I knew exactly what he was
going through. And I couldn’t help but laugh.

Jonah

I awoke this morning to an envelope hitting my face. Mom’s voice punctuated my rather realistic dream by saying, “It’s afternoon now, so you can get up.”

My eyes fluttered uncontrollably as I made the transition from sleep to wakefulness, the scene before me alternating between an empty pool surrounded by shady oaks and puzzled hospital workers to my mom’s form standing beside my bed (or what I could see of her from behind the envelope covering half my face). I grasped frantically at the paper resting on my head and struggled to sit up, as if that action would aid my emergence from slumber. I stared at the object clenched clumsily in my fist. It was one of those envelopes that you have to fold and tear along the edge to open. The return address read “University of Mobile.” I knew immediately what was inside. This envelope held my last semester’s grades.

My hands shook, either out of anticipation or uncoordination as I creased the edge of the paperalong the dotted line, first one way, then the other. Then my fingers came together over one corner, pulling a strip of paper off. It took me several tries to free the sheet guarded by the envelope, but I finally managed to get a hold of it and pull it out a bit. I paused as I read the course titles that had become so familiar to me over the last few months. Pulling it out a little further, I read how many hours each had credit, and something meaningless about honor points. Then came the important part. I pulled the paper the rest of the way out to find one, two,three, four, five…six A’s, all in a row. I looked back at the course titles. Yes, even chemistry had an A after it.

I looked up at Mom who had stopped her impatient pacing and was now sitting at the foot of my bed, searching my face for a tale-telling reaction. Instead of giving her one, I handed her the envelope with the grade sheet inside, but she refused to look at it. “Are you happy?” she inquired. I looked her in the eye, but then unable to lock my face, I pulled the my sheetover my head and grinned uncontrollably underneath.

“All A’s,” I heard her smile. I emerged out from under the covers. “I’m proud of you,” she said, and I smiled openly.

Chemistry was a battle I had almost given up. But I stuck through it and worked very hard. And all I have to show for it is a bit of carbon on paper, another A, lost among the rest.

I made my way casually to the fountain today (still empty as Christ’s tomb),
and looked around. The thing where they had to replace the bricks looked
promising, but when I got closer, I noticed that it was clamped down and
screwed in. I didn’t want to fool with anything that required hardware, so I
moseyed on over to the place where they are constantly digging up and peered
at the lids protruding from the ground. After scouring the area for
maintenance workers, I stooped down and lifted the one marked “Irrigation
Valve” up. Inside, ants scurried around and something that looked like it
required a lug wrench poked out from the bottom. It had a couple of things
that looked like electrical wires emanating from it, however, so I’m not
really sure what it is for. Everything was covered in mud, which made
identification difficult. The other lid was marked “WATER METER” or
something, and all I could see inside was blackness. I gave up.