Table Nine

Palm Springs 5.15.4


Picture by Susan Scott


What are weddings for? Well besides the obvious, it's a reason for family to get together. And I don't mean just relatives. I mean family. The brothers and sisters that you choose in life to be your chosen family. With blood relatives you have no choice. Some chump pops out of Mom and there it is. Your sibling. Like it or not, there it is. A big cry baby eating all your food. Soon you'll learn to love them. Cause their there.

I choose most of my family. Every one, hand picked. Boy, girl, boy, girl, girl, girl. I love my relatives just fine. But I also love my chosen family. You could say that God brought them to me. I don't believe that. I believe they brought them to us. We belong together. One and all.

At my wedding last May my whole family came, minus four. They were too busy. And I forgive them because they're family, and I love them. Kellie was one of my sisters that came. It was no easy trip either. She had terminal cancer and no money to spare. But she came anyway. We danced, we drank and we told stories. Old stories. Stories that happened 27 years ago. Some good, some embarrassing. But all were hilarious.

Seven members of my family sat at table nine at my wedding. It was kind of a misfit table. Two of the funniest comedians in Los Angeles, one epic photographer, one of the best violinists in the world (used to be married to the photographer), A real estate mogul slash loyal friend, and a guy that's done everything except fuck a girl. And then there was Kelly. (She's the one in the picture that looks like a Kellie)

Kellie was the queen of table nine. All sunshine from top to bottom. She even let me grab her tits. She'd let anybody grab her tits. She was good that way. She thought James P. was cute (He's the guy kissing Marty). James P. had his own TV show about a year ago. I'm not jealous or anything. I just hate him for it. We all had a great time and that was that.

On Christmas day my sister Kellie died. She died at 8:01am. By 6:00pm I was drunk and balling my eyes out at the dinner table of my Mother and Father in law's house in Bellingham Washington. I was really drunk. The kind of drunk where you don't remember anything the next day. Of coarse I apologized the next morning for my blubbering the night before. Donald, my wife's father, is a Presbyterian minister. His wife Maureen is a Skull Jockey. They were both appalled I'm sure.

Later on I thought that maybe I shouldn't have apologized. I didn't do anything wrong. My sister died and I was hurting. When people hurt they go to the medicine cabinet to relive the pain.

I'm not drunk anymore. But I'm just as sad. I'm sad for her three kids. I'm sad for her friends, and I'm sad for myself. Now it's just memory's. Memory's of childhood dramas, ditching school, and Table Nine.

I love you Kellie. For all you're faults. You we're my sister. We all had a great time, and that was that.

How bout those Sonics? I mean Lakers? I mean Celtics?

It's been 8 years but who's counting

Go Gary!

Gary Payton 2004

I just love Gary Payton! When I lived in Seattle I had season tickets, (20 game you pick it) not because I liked basketball, but because I liked Gary. He is one part basketball player and five parts entertainer. He is so much fun to watch.

In 1996 at the finals against the famed Chicago Bulls, I was there. Section 203, row 9, seat 7. I heard him dog the champ Michael Jordan all the way up in the balcony. It was just wonderful. "Give me da ball Michael, come on. Throw me da ball big fella". I laughed my head off. "Who's that big fella? Is that your Momma over there? She's winking at me big biggie. Now throw me da ball". Oh Gary will dog ya. Then he'll steal the ball 231 times. That's right. 231 times in 1996. How bout that? Oh he'll dog ya alright.

So far, as of today, Gary has 4,731 rebounds and 8,192 career assists and a total of 20,256 points!

After the Sonics won game five of the 1996 finals to bring game six back to Chicago, me and my girl went to the 13 Coins restaurant in Seattle to celebrate. What other teem during that time could win that many games against the Bulls? That's right, none! Anyway, right in the middle of my Steak Sinatra, in walks Dell Harris (he was a commentator for NBC that night). Then Sam Perkins. After Sammy was the great number two man of the Dynamic Duo Shawn Kemp. Then, right behind Shawn was #1. The big guy himself, Gary (the glove) Payton! Oh my fucking god! They were all here. Right after the big win they ALL came to dinner at the Coin. We had no idea.

What am I going to do? I've got the ticket stub in my pocket. Wouldn't it be great if Gary signed it? Oh god what am I going to do? Liz and I were sitting at the counter far away from the VIP room. But, we were right on the way to the toilet. They had to go by us, to get to the can. First it was Dell. I thought it would be smart to practice for Gary so, after Dell walked by I followed him into the honey bucket. He was just washing his hands so I stood next to him and did the same. He was huge! Like 6'10 or something. I'm 6' and I think I came up to his tits. "Dell, how's it going?" I choked out. "Very well, and you?" "Great game" I said with a wide smile. "Sure was" he said. Then he explained why he was there but I wasn't listening. Should I ask him if The Glove would be urinating this evening? Should I ask him to sign my ticket stub? Fuck no! I'm sure he would have but I was waiting for someone much greater than Dell Harris. "See ya later" he said as he left. "See ya later Dell" I said. We were on a first name basis.

I went back to my seat and waited. Did they have a bathroom back there in the VIP room I thought? I wasn't hungry. My Steak Sinatra was getting cold. I drank another martini. Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw him. I felt the wind from his body blow my hair. Good god it was him. He was on his way to the men's room. I started to sweat. "Where's a pen"? I asked Liz. She found one in her purse. My brain didn't tell my legs to stand but they did. And they walked me into the men's room.

Now, Gary Payton doesn't walk into a men's room by himself. Of course not. He had two body guards with him. One was angry looking and mean. The other was fat, angry looking and mean. The room was only a four holer. Two uninals and two stalls. I walked directly into a stall. Gary was on his cell phone against the wall. One body guard was at the door and the other was taking a leak. I stood in the stall with my feet aimed at the can. I didn't want them to think I was up to something. I was hoping they weren't listening for my peeing sound because there was none. If I had 15 gallons of piss in me I wouldn't have been able to go. I was too nervous. I had to think fast. First of all, what is the allotted time for a pee? Next, how long would Gary stay in the men's room without having to pee, and finally, how long would the second body guard take to finish up. There was a lot on my mind.

I flushed the empty toilet and went up to Gary with my ticket and pen in hand. He was talking on his cell phone still. The conversation was dramatic. He was mad at the person on the other end. I tried not to listen, I didn't want to easedrop on my favorite players personal life. I just stood there and smiled like a fool. Gary was looking the other way. He didn't see me. I looked over to the body guard at the door. He looked back at me and shook his head 'no'. He made a pouty face like he wanted to tell me to forget it and move on. Gary was in no mood for autographs. I held my ground. I thought if he just saw my ticket stub he would sign it. Then I looked at the other body guard. He had a look on his face like he was walking on coals. All tense and scared. I held out. I must have stood there for 2 minutes, seemed like 3 days. The whole time the two body guards were giving me the skunk eye.

Why was Gary mad at this asshole on the phone? He had just beat the Bulls! Almost singlehandedly! This guy on the phone must have been a major asshole. I hated that bastard. He was going to cost me a moment in history. Who did he think he was? Giveing the king of basketball shit. Must have been a reporter. All reporters suck. Then, all of a sudden, Gary turned around and saw me standing there. I held up the stub and pen like a 4 year old child. My eyes were as big as donuts. He held the phone between his chin and shoulder, took the pen and stub and wrote, ' Gary Payton #20' on the back. Gave it back to me and smiled. Gary Payton smiled at me big as life. What a guy. He can even smile.

I walked out of the men's room like I was the Queen of Sheeba. The bodyguard even held the door open for me. I collapsed in my chair next to Liz and wiped the sweat from my brow. Wow! What a night!

Of course we ate slowly so we could see all the guys leave. That night I was able to see, in person, the greatest 'team' ever in the history of the NBA. From Coach Carl to Eric Snow. They were all there. To this day no team has ever come close to the 1995 - 1996 Sonics! What a year.

Thank you for a great year.

Vincent Askew

Frank Brickowski

Sherell Ford

Hersey Hawkins

Ervin Johnson

Shawn Kemp

Nate Mcmillan

Gary Payton

Sam Perkins

Steve Sheffler

Detlef Schrempf

Eric Snow

David Wingate

1982 or was it 1983

Animation or Cartoon. Take your pick

Jon Anderson


One day when I was just 22 or so, the unthinkable happened. I was walking home from work, turned the corner of Oak & Central in San Francisco and I saw Gary Parra loading the car with gear. I ran up to Gary and asked, "Man, What's going on man"? (We didn't say dude back then) Gary told me that the manager of the Palo Alto Keystone called him and that Jon Anderson's band 'Animation' had missed their flight and would be late to their show. We were going to open for him and play till he arrived. I said, "What? Dude, I mean man".

It was true. Our little band 'Cartoon' was going to open for Jon Anderson. We loaded the van in record time and raced to the club. By this time we were all very skilled at setting up the band. Although Gary wouldn't let anyone touch his drums. I could have set them up blindfolded but never got the chance. We were there, set up, and ready in no time. The doors opened. We held our breath.

As the people filed in, and were getting wind of the problem with Animation, tempers started to flare. The MC said, "Animation was on their way but for now we have this band I think you'll enjoy". "Boo, boo". I was sweating bullets at the light board. I hate to honk my own horn but I was a master light man. I knew the music inside and out. I never made a mistake. Never!

There had to be over a thousand people in the audience. They were a Yes crowd so there were no chairs flying. Just disappointment. We had a challenge ahead of us.

The first thing I was told was that I couldn't raise the lights up past 7. 7! Out of 10! Who did they think they were talking to.? I was the king. The guy put a piece of duct tape over the controls that made it impossible to raise the lights up higher than a 7. What he didn't know is that I knew how to manipulate duct tape in my favor. I knew this was a one time deal so... Fuck him!

After throwing up into a beer cup I raised the spot light onto the MC. He walked on stage again and said, "Ladies and Gentleman, Jon is on his way". The crowd cheered. It was a smart thing to say just before the boys went on stage. Got their attention and made them happy. "Ladies and gentleman, Cartoon"! "Boo, hiss". I darkened the stage and the boys got in position. I threw up in my plastic beer cup again. People were drinking and yelling to each other as Cartoon took the stage. I remember Herb strapping on his bassoon and Craig doing a final tune up on the violin. I wondered if anyone was taking note that this was no ordinary band. There was no bass player! No singer! Nope, I don't think many people were paying attention. So, I'd do my part to make them pay attention. I ripped off the duct tape, put it in my plastic beer cup and got ready. I even rolled the roll of tape into the crowd so the house light guy couldn't find it. Fuck with my lights will ya?

I can't remember what the first tune was but as soon as I heard the third drum stick count I was right on it. Bam! Full lights. Red as red can get. With a little yellow backstage. No one did red and yellow back then. I gave the house light guy a roach so he was no where to be seen. We looked like giants. The crowd hushed. The show was ours to take.

After the first song the audience cheered. They couldn't believe it. These guys were great. Who are they? Before they could think, Cartoon was into their second song. We had to rush the set cause who knows when Anderson would arrive to kick us off stage. The second song went off without a hitch. But, it was after 'Rocky & Bullwinkle' when all hell broke loose. People started to push towards the stage. Everyone stopped talking and started listening with those big fat 'Yes' ears. Before you knew it, we were killing. I mean really killing. Girls were on their boyfriends shoulders, fists were flying, heads banging. I threw up in my beer cup again. Fuckin buritto.

I don't know how many tunes they did when the dickhead light guy came over to give me shit about the duct tape. "What happened to the tape man?" I told him that in all the excitement I must have accidentally ripped it off. "Where's the roll?" "You took it with you" I said. So, he told me to keep it on 7 and he'd look for it. Dumb ass. He never found it. Soon it was time for a song called 'Shark'. Before Craig came into the band this tune was good. After Craig, this tune was great! I remember people holding onto their heads while Craig played his solo. That song was a hole in one. Made ya cry.

Before you knew it, it was over. Jon Anderson arrived and was ready to set up. The crowd wanted Cartoon to do an encore but management wouldn't let us. The audience freaked. They were stamping and yelling, "encore, encore." We killed. Just fucking killed. The boys played perfectly and my lights were killer. I learned to throw up and do lights at the same time. Wow.

Of course to make my point with the house light guy I jammed a toothpick into the light boards master slider at #7. Then 'accidentally' spilled my plastic beer cup on the board as well. Animation would not be able to shine as bright. I blamed it on some drunk chick and ran into the dressing room. The boys were already in there and they were all smiles. Except for Mark Innocenti. He was pissed that they wouldn't let them do an encore. At that point who the fuck cared. We won. Bigtime.

After Animation was finished, Jon Anderson came to our dressing room to thank us for filling in. I was stunned. I loved Yes. I'd been a fan for years. There he was, with his red Nike sneakers and his white pants. (In a very high pitch voice) "Thanks fellas, great job. We really appreciate it". Then he was gone. I almost fell over. Jon Anderson thanked us. What a guy. I love that guy!

Now I've been in dozens of films. As well as sit-coms. I did Seinfeld 8 times. I've met everyone from Walter Matthau to Mel Gibson. But that day in 1982 was one of the greatest moments of my life. We were young and did a good job and Jon Anderson said so.

Of course through the years no one ever believed me. They believe I talked to Mel Gibson about egg salad sandwiches for 15 minutes but not my Jon Anderson story. Christ I was lying about Mel. The only guys that believe me are the boys that made it possible. Scott, Gary, Mark, Craig and Herb. It did happen didn't it? Thanks guys!

Housesitting

I need a job

Some people aspire to greatness. I do too. That's why I want to be a housesitter. There are no classes you can take. No consultants to consult. I don't even know a professional sitter. I guess I'm a visionary. An idealist. A romantic utopian. Shit like that.

I've been trying to practice but it's hard getting people out of their houses. So I've had to practice in my own home. I've been like getting my own mail. Feeding the cat. I think I'm ready.

I don't know what the future will bring. But I have a magazine and my own towel. I believe the future will be bright.

Mr. Bill

Mr. Gody two shoes.


Good Boy Bill

Thought's on real men.

My best friend is Wilfred Raymond. It's not because I like him more than any of my other friends, it's because he's good at being best. He's a great best friend! I can count on this guy for anything. I think he'd even give me money. I would never ask but it's good to know.

He's one of the nicest friends I have. He's nice to everybody. Even dickheads. I hate dickheads.

Bill plays a mean guitar. No songs or anything. Just riffing and boinging. "Please Bill, play something I can understand. Play a song?" Not yet, I've known Bill for 20 plus years and I've never heard him play anything recognizable. And he's great at it. Of course when he's on stage with his band he's a start to finish dynamo. I'd call his music a 'punk - Bill' sound. Taste like punk but smells like Bill. My best friend Bill.

He's single of course. Too nice for most woman. No fist fighting, clean living, NO CAR! Never had one. Rides a bike everywhere. I don't think he's ever been in a fight. He got mugged once. Got punched in the mouth by a couple thugs. Didn't cry. I wanted to make up a fake fight to tell girls but he wouldn't have anything to do with it. Girls like bad boy's you know. The only bad thing about Bill is his...... I really can't think of anything bad. Maybe his feet stink but I don't think so. He did yell at me once. We were having our usual homelessness argument. I think we both feel the same way about the problem, I just like to see him get mad. It's close to being bad but not really.

And get this, he's a scientist! He works on curing people of cancer, asthma, aids, shit like that. He even works good.

I think Bill is one of the greatest men I've ever had the pleasure to know. He walks the walk that most of us just talk about walking. Makes me look like a perfect jackass. My best friend Bill.

Turning it around

I'm white and I'm a racist

I've always thought it was strange that there's no word in the English language that means 'race lover'. I love the different races. It would be a boring world without them for sure. I can't imagine it. Although I think 500 years from now we will all pretty much look the same with all the ramped globalization going on. So why not enjoy the races while we have them?

With this in mind I say lets have a word for it. And I say that word should be racist. It's perfect! That words fucked up anyway. I mean Buddhists don't hate Buddha. Chemist's don't hate chemicals. Plus, it would really make the bigots of the world pissed. "That's our wurd! Yawl". They would be really scrambling. And then just when their off balance, we hit them with a symbol. Like an 'R' with a green circle around it or something. It could be a fashion statement. 'T' shirts everywhere that say, 'Yes, I love Asians, Blacks, you name it. I'm all for it. Not only that but I'd like more of them'.

So how bout it? Lets get this bigot ball rolling. I'm a Racist and I'm proud of it. Now where's my 'R' socks?

My Hero

You Comin With? Er No?

I just want to give a shout out to my bro Rob Brackenridge. He went to entertain the troops in Afghanistan a couple weeks ago and lived to tell about it. I knew he would be ok but just in case we sorted out who would get what just in case. I got his Cow bit and his stereo. Howard got his car. Fuckin Howard...

Anyway, read his road stories and you'll have a laugh. Rob's the funniest comic I know. So far.

cool.

God done those squirrels wrong

Here we go again

Every year at my house, squirrels dig holes in my yard hiding their nuts. The nuts come from the chestnuts tree from the nut next store. I must have at least fifty trillion holes on the property. So far in the six years that my lovely wife and I have lived here, I have witnessed approximately 4 generations of squirrels digging up my yard looking, and looking, for nuts that aren't there.

God gave squirrels a keen intuition when it comes to burying nuts. But no intuition at finding them. They really have no idea where the nuts are. I don't think they know where 'they' are either.

You should see these guys digging and digging. Stupid bastards.

Farting in space

bad fart jokes

I hope their not listening.

Is a fart really happening? I accidentally destroyed a high school basement dance in 1977. Everyone knew it was me too. I was holding back too much pressure. It would be loud. I tried to fart while circling the room but I was fingered by a fart spotter friend of mine. "Jon Thymius farted"! 15 sixteen year old girls got to smell my decomposing Wing Ding's from the 'Rapid Mart' down the street. I wonder if anyone remembers? I wonder how my life would have been changed if that kid didn't shout out my name. I may have been a Doctor or an Astronaut. I know Annita Knight smelled it. She was the prettiest girl in high school.

I wonder how many others in the universe have farting stories that changed their lives? Could be infinite. Could be automatic people farting automatically right now. I wonder if they think farting is cool. Unless your around girls. Makes you think.

How do we get rid of all this sand?

Good Taste

A quiet moment with Denice Straw

This morning I'm going to get up and eat my favorite breakfast. A Chorizo egg breakfast burrito from 'The Hobo Burger' at the bottom of the hill. I live on top of the hill, far above the burrito and it's maker. I am a sort of God to my burrito man. From high above I ask for food. I will challenge him with silver and gold. My sacrament delivered, I will climb back into the clouds.

As I put on my shoes I am conceiving my burrito below. With every pull of the laces I can see the burrito fetus taking shape. It will be the best Breakfast burrito ever.

Sadly, some giant ant has covered my house in sand and left it like that. I can't get out. My burrito will rot.

In a bed of lettuce and sour cream my burrito lay motionless. Waiting. Botched by some sudden sand problem. My hopes dashed along with all the other borrito's in my head. Fuckin sand.

Bud & Mary

the cute couple next store

It's hard to believe that my good friend Bud is 88 years young. In dog years that's I don't know how old. Bud & Mary live within eye shot of us. If you don't count the older gentleman across the street who is not gay, then Bud & Mary are our next store neighbors. They've lived here 47 years. Bud loves Mary and Mary loves Bud. Bud is all man. A bricklayer by trade. Bud's got big strong hands. Big enough to flatten my head. Or, big enough to hold his wife gently behind the neck while talking to me. Mary had a bad case of suriousus. It's all better now. Mary has white hair, cut short with a perfect curl on both sides. Years of wearing glasses has pulled her eyes closer together. Bud and Mary live in a cute little house, have a cute little garden and drive a cute little car on our cute little street.

Bud and I discuss all non important information. The biggest reason for this is that silly super nova deal. Another reason is that Bud is a liberal. It's easier to have a conversation with a liberal.

Recently I met Bud in the middle of our quiet street. Little street. Of course it was the end of the world for some reason. I think the topic was about a commercial we'd both seen. It's the one where people get to kill each other. Those murderous video game trailers. The one that kids play with, you know, the kids.

Bud and I don't want to rush the end of the world. I mean It would be cool to see it but, I'm only a kid. And Bud's not really interested in it happening at all so. Let's shoot for 2048. Until then, rip these game boxes out of the fucking wall, kneel on it and pray to the cancer gods to stop eating our young. Bud's gutters are fucked this year because of Lou's tree. Make that tree's. That Miracle Grow he put on it last year really took affect... Lou...