Unplugging Kids

Posted on April 10, 2013 by Professor Taboo

Interstate 45 Dallas to Houston

Several times a year during a holiday break our family would drive I-45 toward Galveston or I-35 toward Austin to spend time with family. It was a trip I would always be excited about because of how much fun and mischief was going to be had with my many cousins. One such game we would all play was bottle-rocket wars. We would have these wars at night for as long as our money and rockets lasted.

My Uncle Bill was a construction worker and always had scrap metal and various random work site throw-aways out near his barn. Three or four teams of two would have one cousin holding a 4-5 foot pipe while the other, with a bag of 30-50 bottle-rockets and two or three lighting pumps was the loader. The loader placed the rocket in the back-end of the pipe like a bazooka, light the fuse and the shooter aimed as best he/she could. Since most bottle-rockets were not an exact science as far as precision flight, these wars became hours of crazy laughing fun for us. This is just one reason out of many that made the 5-hour drive so unbearably long for me and my sister because Dad could never drive fast enough. For my parents it must have sometimes seemed like 12-hours.

This particular trip I’m sure my sister and I slept little the night before due to our growing anticipation; we were ready to come out of our skin. About two hours into the drive in our four-door light blue Plymouth Gran Fury sedan, zipping along at 55-miles per hour, sitting in back with my sister, she would inevitably say something or do something to provoke me. It was always her fault!

Several “stop its” and “you shut-up, no you shut-ups” later my Dad gave us our first warning. Ten minutes would pass. Again, my sister of course would whisper something mean to me or make a face at me, hence getting our second more firm warning from Dad. Mom would try to intervene, sometimes successfully other times not. She would not this go round.

**The We’re-About-to-Blow Speech and Vulcan Death-Clamp**

Maybe 15-minutes later, my father’s voice raised several decibels and gave us one final ultimatum. Had he not been driving he would have contorted out of the front seat and launched himself backwards to pop both of us on the legs or butts; and they would not have been love-taps. His pops STUNG for a good ten minutes. But the scariest part was knowing what was going to happen at the next stop. Thinking about it was pure torture. I’m sure Dad knew this too and worked it to the hilt. One of his most potent we’re-about-to-blow speeches were when it included the Vulcan death-clamp under the collar-bone. He’d stare at us like a drill sergeant. It paralyzed us making our eyes seem to pop-out as our little knees quaked! In my little mind not even God’s wrath scared me more than my Dad’s.

However, Dad explained he was not going to loose-it this time with us. He had something different planned. I doubt my idiot sister’s brain was processing as fast as mine trying to guess what “mystery punishment” was going to be thrown down. I couldn’t imagine it would be anything that delayed our arrival with the family; Dad was a stickler for schedules and planning and no misbehaving kids of his were going to spoil the appointed arrival time. After all, he was a mechanical engineer. Precision was his specialty. So what on earth could it be? What was going to be the final fate of my sister and me?

Mile-Marker 241

Then the loose gravel on the shoulder of the highway began hitting the under-belly of the car. Forty-five, forty, thirty, twenty-five miles per hour, then we came to a slow stop. “Get out” he said sternly. Mom looked at him puzzled. Her expression didn’t ease my fear at all. When I noticed that neither he nor my mother was getting out, I felt my palms get clammy and my pulse raise. “Get out on the right side, both of you!” he said more firmly. My sister looked like she had seen a ghost, but she exited the car with me. He pointed “See that green sign that says 241?” Then he explained what was about to happen for the next several miles. We were going to find number 251. Weird. Was this a hunting math game? Meanwhile, the traffic on the highway was whizzing by every few seconds, drivers and passengers all staring at our family moment as they passed.

Forrest Gump

“Both of you will now run next to the car. Do not walk, do not stop. Run!” He slowly began to pull away. My sister and I stood there in shock. “Get over in the grass and run!” he yelled, like those were about to be his last words we would ever hear from him. In the spirit of sheer fear which would have put Forrest Gump to shame, I ran….I ran like the wind! My sister screamed and quickly found her legs as well. Dad pulled a bit ahead of us; we sped up. The long grass didn’t help our stride. I tried to glance down to see what not to step in or stumble over, but I couldn’t keep my cue-ball sized eyes off the car for fear of being left! “Come on…run!” he yelled out the windows.

A half-mile gone we are still running next to or just behind the car, but never ahead of it for some reason. About every third or fourth vehicle passing us would honk. I have no clue about why; maybe they were cheering us on, maybe they were expressing their hysteria. I don’t know. What I do remember was how embarrassing it all was every honk and quarter-mile as onlookers stared at us; some grinned, some laughing, some astonished but all of it humiliating.

Approaching a mile and a half my sister and I are panting. Will he show us mercy? Where the hell was the next damn sign? “Run!” was the answer. It was always his answer until our little arms and legs were becoming jello. I believe that was just over two miles later. I was trying too hard to suck in as much air as my mouth could capture to notice any mile-marker.

“Are you two finished fighting?” as he slowed to a stop. Since we couldn’t utter a word for lack of oxygen, we both managed desperate nods yes. Once back into our seats still trying to breathe, I laid my head against the door unable to say or think anything coherent about my sister. I didn’t care. I just wanted oxygen! Mission accomplished.

For the next three hours that drive was perhaps the most pleasant drive the four of us had ever had to date and would be for years.

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Rabbits, Eggs and Crucifixions

Posted on March 29, 2013 by Professor Taboo

On this Good Friday and upcoming Easter Sunday, I am reminded again of my many years of Christian fundamentalism and fervor for all things sacred and committed. Three-hundred and sixty-two days out of the year I am typically respectful and tolerant of opposing and differing world-views and faiths. But during those bygone years and Easter weekends I was utterly baffled and amazed of the hundreds, maybe thousands of followers and believers that came out of the woodwork; out of nowhere! Never before had I seen so many unrecognizable faces and families! The outfits and hats, some of them gaudy, you thought you had taken a wrong turn to the red carpet of the Oscars. On top of this awe was the fact that on this particular Sunday I and my family, as weekly members, would have to walk three-times further from our car to enter and exit our church. The parking lot and spaces were filled to capacity that would challenge even Super Bowl Sunday! What saddened me was that I would never see their faces again; maybe I would see them a year later. Maybe.

Having gone to seminary for three years, learning the New Testament inside and out, and knowing (and back then complying) what God’s holy infallible scriptures direct us to do…. there was no possible way for anyone with at least a 9th-grade reading level to not at least comprehend what our/the “Savior” was asking us to do on a daily weekly basis. As a result, Easter Sunday became one of my least favorite Sundays of the entire year. I had developed an unattractive distaste for what it had become: wayward and diluted.

Many things have now changed in my life and I’m happy to say, that in a spiritual, emotional, and mental aspect, for the better. The comical irony of those changes would makeup another post of which I will spare all of you this time. However, in the spirit of the day and holiday weekend, I will share two of my favorite 3-minute songs from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life and The Life of Brian. These songs always make me smile and happy. Don’t take things too serious but enjoy your holiday weekend in whatever manner you see fit — this is my way. And with that…. Live well, Love much, Laugh often, Learn always.

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The Illusion Game

Posted on March 19, 2013 by Professor Taboo

In a university laboratory a scientist is collecting data and reactions of a student wearing high-tech goggles showing him what seems to be his own blue-jeans from the waist to his white-socked feet. Right next to the student is a manikin with the same jeans and socks wired with a real-time video feed into his goggles. As the scientist uses a soft brush to rub the manikin’s left-leg the student’s left-leg is also physically rubbed with an exact same brush, the student sees through his goggles and so feels the sensation on his left-leg. All neurological connections for the test student are accurate.

The scientist then puts a large kitchen knife in front of the manikin’s camera near the manikin’s zipper. Seeing this real-time knife in his goggles, the test student’s pulse heightens and begins to race. The scientist turns the knife downward, raises it, and suddenly stabs the test student in the crotch. The test student jumps, in fact, jumps violently. What has just happened?

The power of optical illusion is far more reaching and subtle than we sometimes know; so much so that the illusions can make us react in completely unverified ways.

Bars and clubs — there are likely no better examples of optical illusions than in places that welcome or promote “attraction” between the sexes or same-sexes; gender identity or orientation is irrelevant when it comes to The Game and profits. And the online dating websites are no exception either. Does this mean “avoid at all costs?” Certainly not! What it does mean is go in with active brain-cells and no illusions. The adage “You get what you put in” is the bottom-line and that adage is so damn true in almost ANY place and circumstance, not just the bars, clubs, and dating websites.

I have come up with one of my best approach-lines ever in my 30+ years of ‘exploration’ and fun: “Do you believe in the power of optical illusions?” Nine times out of ten the answer gives me the desired result. Sometimes I’d get the answer “What, objects in your mirror appear larger than they are?” But even better, the benefit is ultimately two-way: is my first-impression a high ROI (Return on Investment), or a flop? And based on that answer the same question is extracted from the recipient: what are they there for? What kind of ROI are they seeking? Next step. The same process works just as well online too.

Do you believe in the power of illusion?

The next step after the approach-question is just as revealing: “Do you believe in the power of verbal illusions?” Same concept, varied results. And with those varied results comes a clearer picture of the subject – which in all honesty reflects you as well. Your inquiries reflect what you are after. And none of it is inherently wrong or bad as long as the two (or group) understand what is being expressed. How often do you think that happens?

In the end I think it all comes down to this: Say what you mean and do what you say. If either of these are out of sync, then you have only yourself to turn to and re-examine.

Garbage in…garbage out. Garbage outward…garbage inward. Exquisite out…exquisite in. Beauty outward… beauty inward. Get the picture? Don’t be fooled by all the optical and verbal illusions. Question everything! More precisely, question everything you put outward and you’ll understand what you are attracting. I believe they call that The Laws of Attraction?

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No Dickie on Big Texie

Posted on February 28, 2013 by Professor Taboo

$Texas map+Big Tex$ Since 1994 the proud state of Texas has been strongly Republican. The recent film “W.” directed by Oliver Stone was a good portrayal of our politician’s larger-than-life pride in how things should be run in America. Governor Rick Perry, both branches of our state legislatures, and a majority of municipal representatives all proudly support the defense of heterosexual marriage. The current state laws indicate a Republican-way conservative Right firmly entrenched. Listen to our thousands of good ole boys and you’ll know exactly who wears the pants at home and in this state! YEE-HAAW (spit in the spittoon)!

Yes, we Texans define the art of exaggeration in a BIG way. Case and point: the proud heritage of Big…Big, BIG Tex and the Big Texas State Fair. Do we seem obsessed with size? Are we compensating for anything?

Apparently so…as events of October 19, 2012 revealed.

**Not Peecaan Pie, Humble Pie**

Some of you may have seen or read this story last year. It was bigger news than many realized. One of Texas’ iconic symbols of everything big in Texas lost its Alpha-male high-testosterone image by losing his Dickie-brand shirt, his hat, his boots, and more embarrassingly his Dickie jeans. Female witnesses with libidos in high-gear, watched with baited horniness to see what Big Tex had underneath his 284W-185L jeans. When the smoke and fire cleared hetero-Texas was as devastated as Tin-man, Scarecrow, and Lion when the curtain of the Great Oz came down.

The events of October 19^th, 2012 redefined the adage “The bigger they are the harder they fall.” Investigators determined that Big Tex’s wiring in his jaw – of all big blabbing places – was faulty. Imagine that. The fire spread and singe’d off his haughty (or gaudy if you prefer) cowpoke threads. The Goddesses of Venus and Aphrodite were DONE with big Texas talk and big Texas poking on sex and gender. And they made a great show of it.

As it turns out, Big Tex-ass had no cock at all. Even more astonishing – or for Texas conservatives “more disturbing” – was that Big Tex was transgendered and they didn’t even know when or how! “Holy White Be-Jesus Earlene! Go get my guns!” But alas, for the state’s few pragmatic liberals such as me it was a day of reckoning….a coming out of the proverbial closet.

On that one day I was a proud Texan. YEE-HAAW!

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