Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part I

So, let's catch up to just where I sit at this point. As you know, if you've been keeping up, my parents have just gotten separated, and I think it's sometime in the fall of 1987. This makes me about 13, and a decision has been made that I am going rogue. Yeah, I made the conscious choice to become kind of an elusive jerk. In fact, after my dad moved out, my mom and the three of us moved with my mom to Fescue, which was a street on the complete opposite end of the exact same neighborhood. Which in and of itself, was great because I still wasn't too far away from my friends... especially Kerry Frieben. I say this because it was there where I spent the majority of my time both after school and on vacations from same. He really kind of took me in and became like a surrogate 'older brother' to me. And Chad was there on occasion as well, but it was most often Kerry and I and we did so much stuff together.

Oh, and it was also at this time that my mom got us a baby sitter. Yeah, one of those. Fortunately, he was a really great guy from a family that my Grandparents knew named Rick. He wasn't strict in the least and pretty much just let us do what we wanted to do... within reason. I am convinced, however, that my mother told him that I was skating through a rebellious period and to just let me be. Rick was cool with it, and I was so infrequently home that he hardly had to deal with me anyway. So all was good.

Kerry and I would go fishing, hiking, bike riding, out to movies, and spend countless hours wasting life away on his myriad video game systems like the Atari 7800. We were inseparable. We were, in fact, just like brothers and that was just fine. But what about my real brother, you might be asking yourself? Well, sadly, I honestly do not remember. I do know during our tenure on Fescue he got really big into pets. He had a rabbit, a snake, a lizard, and probably some fish. So I'm assuming this was he release from the stress going on round us. And as far as my sister went, well, she was 7, so as far as I know she was the real reason for having Rick around. She had a few friends, as well, but beyond that... I just can't remember much more.

I still enjoyed Scouts and my dad still took the time to make sure I made it to and from my meetings, though at this point he was no longer actively involved other than to assist me on projects and the occasional weekend gig. And speaking of my dad, it was this time he moved away from his own parents' house... again, and found an apartment at the then-new Candlewyck complex.And it was also this time where I witnessed a few things from my dad that as an impressionable youth... well, I was pretty disgusted with and damn frightened. You see, he had been on a local Softball league for a few years and one of the things they did after a game was to go get pirate-drunk. Look, I'm not blaming him for that... far from it. What I am holding against him is taking us to the very bar in which he'd slowly fall into inebriation because the whole team knew the owners and did the same with their kids. And it was at this time when he'd drive us, drunk, back to his apartment and I'd lie awake nights listening to him regurgitate his sorrows. Is it any wonder I'd taken on a slightly angry air? I'm asking you like you were there... yikes.

Oh, and before I finish this entry, this was also the time my mother began dating a member of my dad's Softball team. Just so bizarre.... but I'll get more into that next time.

See ya then...

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 15

Divorce. It's a pretty common occurrence, actually. And I've seen quite a few of them in my time. Sadly, the first of which was my parents. In fact, of all the things I can readily remember from life on Suffolk, this was not only the biggest memory, but also likely the biggest bombshell at the time (and, according to the therapist I used to chat with, might still be). Anyway, I still relive the moment sometimes in dreams; the moment when I saw what I assumed was a pretty stable marriage collapse right before my eyes. Little did I know that there was a lot going on behind the curtains that framed the facade, but I don't need to get into that. But I will share how it went down. It's cathartic, ya know?

If I remember right, it was 1986. I was 12. My dad and I used to do work-outs in our basement together. He had a weight bench and a few other pieces of exercise equipment, and we would kind of putz our way through some reps and what not and it was fun. It was me and my dad time, and I remember it pretty fondly. So one day -it might have been late afternoon or even a Sunday (maybe both, I guess), we were in the basement pretending like we were training for an Olympics that should never exist: one where slightly doughy fathers and boys with no muscle tone vie for aluminum foil medallions and chicken wings. He sat me down, my brother, too... he was hanging about being 9 and not caring about biceps or cal's. And he basically told us that he and mom wouldn't be living together any more and that (and this part is necessary for any divorce talk involving children) it wasn't our fault. Well, my brother didn't quite grasp the concept, but it hit me right away because my buddy Chad's parents were separated, too. I knew what it meant: divorce. He then told us that they just didn't feel any love for one another any more and that he'd be moving out very soon. Needless to say, I wept.

Soon, we went up the stairs to talk to my mom and I can remember it -the ascention- feeling like I was climbing into a filthy house I really didn't want to be in. It felt dank and nasty. I knew my siblings and I had nothing to do with what was going on... I knew it but it still felt like somehow not being the best kid ever was a partial catalyst for their marital destruction. So I went up into a home that wasn't a home anymore and the agony was palpable. I could feel and taste the gorge rising in my throat, and I knew it would burst forth into a torrent of crying the very second I saw my mom. You see, crying in front of my dad (I bet a lot of guys will understand this) was weird. I wasn't like I'd never done it, but there was never that kind of matronly protection one gets from a mom. So I knew, the moment I saw my mom it was going to open the flood gates. And I wasn't wrong. She held me as she pretty much replayed the same words my dad had already told us as she cried as well. Finally it sunk in to my brother, and he, too, began to sob. I'm not sure if my 6-year old sister ever fully understood it at the time, or if she just cried because everyone else was. But she cried just the same.

The rest of that day is a meaningless blur. I don't know what happened after and I don't really care, either. But the next day, which I do remember being a Monday, I walked to school just like any other day and met Chad at his house. He was the first friend I told because I knew he'd be the one to understand. And he was. He told me that it sucked and that life would go on. And that was enough for me, because if Chad could move on, so could I. Well, it did suck. Especially when my dad actually left. He lived with his parents for a while before finding his own place, and those days were weird going over there for weekends and just seeing him so morose and broken. It sucked a whole lot.

We eventually moved, too. And that will bring us to the third book of this little ride down memory lane. Stay tuned!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 14

Well, I have to apologize up front for the large gap between posts, here, but a new job takes it out of a guy. Seriously, 10-hour days literally sap the energy from a body and a mind. But I did think of something yesterday that fits right into the puzzle, and I figured I'd get it down before I nod off again...

People often ask me, "When did you learn to draw and write?" And you know what? I really don't know. I don't really remember a specific time when I wasn't drawing something, honestly, but I do know that it was during this particular time of my life (my days on Suffolk) where I really began to share my artwork with other people, specifically friends. I had always been something of an artist in school, and I frequently had artwork displayed in art class or where ever, but that was scholastically and it never really sunk in that those times were the real kick-starters. However, at home I really kind of just doodled here and there and was praised, ya know, much like any other kid would be when their parents proudly hung their pictures from the fridge. But when it came to really showing my friends that I had some kind of discernible talent... well, that was the big moment, I suppose.

I guess I was just born with some kind of artistic ability. I think most people are, it just takes practice and enjoyment to retrieve it, and a desire to want to turn it into something helps, too. So? Who were my influences? Believe it or not, I had two major points of interest who really sparked my love for cartoons and illustrations: Jim Davis (Garfield, U.S. Acres), and Don Martin (MAD Magazine). There was just something about these two that really piqued my interest. Maybe it was their balloon-y appearances to their characters, or maybe it was their expressions and mannerisms that came out in their work. Most likely, it was a combination of these and many other things, but whatever the case, I fell hard for the works of these guys and voraciously fed off and copied their designs. I wanted to draw just like them, and so, I did. I had no real style of my own at first, but eventually, copying became cues, and cues blended into the work I created on my own. I think this truly is the way any artist starts his or her work: mocking and adapting. Eventually, over the years, my style has become my own.

As for writing, it's a bit less of a story, really. I think once you realize you're and artist, may other forms of art just kind of come naturally. For me, it was writing and, weirdly, cooking. I took up a love for poetry and even writing book reports in school because I tended to add my own spin to them. I began writing along with my artwork, and, eventually creating comic strips and character bio's and silly things like that. That, soon, led to writing in semi-professional manners and, well, to this, I suppose.

So there you have it: a very brief synopsis of how and why I like make pretty pictures and words. Neat!

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 13

Hey! How about some pictures! Yeah, that's right... good old embarrassing pictures.

Before you see them, though, let me just say that they are both Middle School pics -you can easily tell by the sweatshirt I'm wearing. I think we're looking at 6th and 7th grade here, but I don't know why I'm not wearing my glasses in the second one. As for the glasses in the first, well, they are roughly the size of windshields. Look at those things! I was obviously a kid and the place at which we acquired one of my first pair obviously hadn't heard of children's sizes yet. Those things were so big I could see what was happening behind and above me without even moving my head! Yikes. Apparently I really enjoyed that chair as the backdrop, because being the Rattan King is nothing to scoff at. And please, don't even get me on a tangent about my hair. All I know is I had to brush that nonsense with a pick and a prayer. And that's the very reason why I shave my head now. That hot mess never needs to see the light of day again.

Anyway, here ya go...

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 12

As promised, today I'd like to talk about a few other friends of mine from Portage North Middle School: Jamie Francis and Mike Thompson. I think I met them in 6th grade, though it might have been 7th, and from the get go we became pretty good friends. Jamie was the more laid back and chill of the two, whereas Mike tended to be wacky and far more extroverted. Mike was also an artist, which immediately appealed to me since at that time I was really getting into cartoons and illustrations (and yes, I plan to take an entire Memory to cover how that all came to be in the near future). So the three of us -occasionally with a third member by the name of Jay Hansen, who also happened to be a great artist and eventually ended up working with me at the Tower Times at KVCC back in '93-'95- began hanging out and doing stuff quite often after school as well.

Which brings me to the summer of 1986.

Now Crossroads Mall had been around since the early 80's (maybe '81 or '82), but it was the once-called United Artists movie theater (now Celebration Cinema) that had just gotten built by the summer of '86. It was a beautiful 10-screen multiplex that easily dwarfed its next closest competition in town, the lowly Plaza 2 that was across Westnedge near Toys R Us. Now don't get me wrong, I loved me the Plaza 2. It was the one place in town where I saw the original runs of all of the following movies: The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, E.T., and the wonderful Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (three nights in a row, as it ended up only running there a week) and The Kids In The Hall: Brain Candy. Those last two are the really important ones, since their run nationally was severely limited and we were really lucky to get them at all, especially MST3K. Anyway, where was I... oh right, the Crossroads UA Cinema...

The first summer it opened it ran Tuesday movie matinees for a whole $.99! That's CENTS, kids! You can't find squat for 99 cents these days. Try, I dare you! Especially first-run flicks at a theater! It just doesn't happen! So, obviously we spent every Tuesday going to the movies. It was either Jamie or Mike's parents who'd drop them off at my house and we'd walk to the theater, since it was literally built 200 yards from the back playground of Haverhill Elementary, maybe a total of 2 miles away. Sure, there was (and is) Constitution Boulevard that bisected the two, but back then it was never that busy. So we'd hoof it to the theater with like twenty bucks between us and see a couple flicks and still have enough for drinks! Man, I sound like a guy waxing nostalgic about the 50's when I talk like this, but it's true! Cheap entertainment and lots of great movies that year. And the best part? For some unknown reason the employees really weren't into checking ID's back then, and we got into R-rated movies as well! We saw killer stuff like: Top Gun, Crocodile Dundee, Star Trek IV, Back to School, Aliens, Ferris Bueller, Cobra, and Stand By Me. It was an epic summer to say the least.

Beyond the movies, we hung out at one another's houses. I seem to remember Jamie living pretty close to Mike, but I can't for the life of me remember where in town. Oh, and I just remembered another memory that featured these two knuckleheads....

This brings me to life at Star World...

If we weren't seeing movies or otherwise hanging out doing other stuff, we were at Star World. Star World was the most epic arcade we had in town. This was long before Putters (then Putt-Putt Golf) had the array of games it has now, and when arcades ruled both in the malls and out. In Kalamazoo alone, at one time, we had 5! There was the granddaddy, Star World, there was Pocket Change in Crossroads, there was The Fun Factory off of West Main, there was Tilt in Maple Hill Mall, and there was Show Biz Pizza that had quite a few decent titles, as well. So, Star World was the joint. And we loved it for three simple reasons:
     1) It was DARK. Only neon for this place, and just enough so you didn't fall and bust your skull.
     2) It had easily 100 games, not including pinball and ski-ball.
     3) Wednesday mornings from 9-12 was OPEN GAMES for just 5$. Yup: all the games you wanted.
It's hard to get much cooler than that on a hit summer day when all you wanted to do was get a high score on Kangaroo. Star World was our place for birthdays, school magazine sale winnings, and just about any other thing you'd want a noisy place for. And it seemed that Jamie, Mike and I were there just about as regularly as we could, when we weren't seeing movies. Just so much fun.

Back at school, Mike and Jamie and I would doodle and create funny pictures including, for whatever reason, a superhero Jamie and I came up with called Captain Corn Turd. Why do I remember that? Basically because I could probably still draw it if I put my mind to it.

So that was Mike and Jamie.

I don't think I've seen Mike in 25 years or more, but oddly, I ended up working with Jamie at Bravo for three years. Small town, this Portage...       

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 11

I've talked a lot about my three really close friends from those years on Suffolk, but there were definitely others. In fact, I had a couple of really good friends from middle school who became almost as integral to my life as Chad, Jayesh, and Kerry. So, for this installment, we'll talk about two of them: Brock Rotkowski, and Andrew Mautz.

I met Brock at Portage North Middle School. He was the one exception to the odd rule of good friends living in my neighborhood; he resided down Oakland almost to Parkview on a street I've since forgotten the name of, but still currently sits kind of near the new Valley Family Church. There would eventually be others who didn't live near me, but we'll get to them another time. So Brock and I had a few things in common, such as our love of Transformers, MAD Magazines, and his then-recent fall under the warm, dark blanket of horror movies. But I think the one major thing that brought us together was skiing. Back then I had decided to take up downhill skiing. Our school offered a Ski Club and I decided to join, as did Brock. So, every Wednesday and every-other Friday we'd head to Bittersweet Ski Lodge and learn to schuss our way down the slopes without snapping a leg bones in the process.

Before I go on, I have to yank out the images in my head of just what Brock looked like... or at least what I remember. You see, I've only seen him once since I left Middle School and that was way back in like 1993. Anyway, he was a pale kid with fiery-red hair and freckles. Kinda short -well, shorter than me at the time- and just an all round cool kid. I think he had glasses, as did I (I first started wearing mine during the transition from Elementary to Middle School), if I can remember right. When I saw him years later, he might have had contacts and I seem to recall him having shot upward in height quite a bit, too. Anyway, he was a good friend for quite a number of years and was definitely one of the sadder ones when it came time for me to move away... but we'll get to that later.

Anyway, I remember sitting in the back of Mrs. Bunce's English class creating our own MAD Fold-Ins while she droned on about prepositions and dangling modifiers. It was fun and it killed the time. Oh, but don't get thinking I got bad grades in her class, oh no. If there was any subject I excelled at, it was English. Despite my disdain for organised classrooms and their epic doldrums, I was the king at poetry, book reports, and sentence creation and functions. But making Fold-Ins was just too much fun. Also we made Ninja Stars, we both had really nasty Asthma getting us out of gym class a lot, and we both had an affinity for really cool mechanical pencils. How's that for crummy grammar? HA!

So we skied a lot, we hung out outside of school, we even went camping together with his family once and the only piece I can remember is being on a big pontoon boat fishing and Brock getting something gross in his eye after we'd swum for a while. I don't know why just that piece of memory surfaced, but there you have it. Brock was a good dude, and sometimes I miss him just a bit...

Now we come to Andrew. And sadly, I remember very little about him. Maybe because we didn't hang out as much, or maybe I don't remember if he even went to Portage North with me. Now I know he was in my Scout Troop. but school... hm. My suspicions say he did, since he lived in my neighborhood, but I'll be damned if I can remember him being there at all. But then again, a lot of Middle School is a big blur and it's only now just starting to rearrange itself into cohesive memories. In fact, the more I think about it the more I want to say he was on the swim team with me. Yeah... I was on the swim team. We'll get more into that later, too.

The one thing I do remember is sleeping over at Andrew's house quite a bit during Summer break. I seem to remember him having an Atari 7800 and we'd stay up all hours playing that. I think he had a ton of LEGO, so I think we did a bunch of that, and maybe remote control cars, which eventually led to me getting one a few years later. Either way, I was there a bit. And Andrew taught me one really cool thing when sleeping over. And no, it's not that...

If you're a fan of fans, like I am, then this is really neat: First, take a sheet and put a few couch cushions or big pillows on one side just on the edge. Second, flip the sheet over the cushions so it covers them and all the rest of the sheet is now on the opposite side. Third, lay another series of cushions or something on the inside of the un-cushioned side, effectively making a weird igloo shape. Then, lay one last pillow (or whatever) on one end to seal it up, like a mini tent. Now, with the open end, spread it around a box fan (assuming you have one handy - this works best if you're already inside the tent getting ready to sleep) and drape the sheet over the back just enough so the suction from the fan blowing into the 'tent' keeps it 'sealed'. Turn on the fan: enjoy! If you do it right, it inflates the sheet like a weird balloon and you can sleep right inside! Yeah, it has to at least be on medium so it makes enough air to keep it blown up, but it's fun! Perhaps you should use the bathroom before attempting this, because once inside, it sucks getting out and then rearranging it all over again in the middle of the night.

Well, that was Brock and Andrew in a couple of nut shells. I wish I could remember more, but writing this one has definitely opened up a few previously sealed memory doors, so that's nice. I think next time I'll cover Mike Thompson and Jamie Francis. Maybe with a sheet fort!

Oh, and I've been doing some funny lately, here, too! http://saidnobodyever.blogspot.com/

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 10

So, I suppose it's finally time I tell the story of the day I got my face smashed in. And it's every bit as colorful as you're likely imagining. It all starts with my once monthly pilgrimage to J. Rollin's books to acquire my MAD Magazine...

I was 11 or 12, so it was fall of '84 or '85, and, as I did once a month every month (typically on a Wednesday) I would walk home from school in the opposite direction of my house so I could cut through the South Land Mall parking lot to the John Rollin's Book Seller. Just to acclimate you with where South Land was, just in case you're reading this and you aren't from the area, it used to be where the Office Max/Barnes and Noble galleria is now. South Land was an indoor mall, but it had a few outdoor stores such as the J. Rollin's and a few clothing shops and I believe a T.E. Murch's. At any rate, this is where I'd walk home from school on those great days when the MAD's were released.

So I went in, made my exchange for American cash, and left. As I was leaving, I took the alley that ran between the store and the Hodgeson's Light and Log (that's still there, by the way) and cut to the back parking lot so I could cut through the wooded area to our neighborhood. Oh, and that wooded area is now a Menard's, a Brann's Steak House, and the old Sam's Club. As I was cutting through, a car drove by. And it was this car that ultimately caused all of the issues that day.

If I remember right, it was a VW Rabbit. Well, at one time at was a VW Rabbit... when I saw it, it looked like some kind of psychotic clown car: a myriad colors, rainbow paint job, and a mad, psychedelic theme that was as disturbing as it was fascinating. I couldn't help but stare.
Big mistake.

So there I was, gawking at this prismatic hatchback like some kind of child... mostly because I was some kind of child... and the car slams on its brakes about fifty yards down the back lot. I was instantly petrified, but, like in most movies you've seen, my legs didn't want to make me run fast enough or even work properly, for that matter. So I just stood there and watched as the car backed up, stopped a few feet from me, and emptied its contents of three very punk-looking and angry individuals. And still, as though I were frozen to the asphalt like some kind of shuddering statue, I just stood there, and waited for the inevitable.

Now I don't remember what any of them said, except for the fact that they asked what I was staring at. I don't think I said anything in return, either, mostly because at that very moment one of the three punched me right in the mouth. My lip split right open and I fell onto my butt. I'm not sure if I cried (believe me, I'd admit to it if I did) but I was definitely stunned as I watched blood drizzle onto my shirt. They laughed, flipped me off a few times, and made their way to their car... but that wasn't the end of it.

There just happened to be a delivery truck dropping off goods at the Murch's, and the strapping lad (a decidedly older dude) saw the whole thing go down. He immediately sprinted to the punks and their car, and got right in their faces. In a odd twist of ironic fate, those three jackasses were just as frightened of this guy as I was of them! He had some kind of tool in his hand, I don't recall what it was, and he whacked at their trunk and brake lights a few times, breaking one. The guys jumped in the car and took off. Just then, the Samaritan came up to me and made sure to clean me up as best he could, offered me a drink of water, and sent me on my way making sure I didn't need any help. I thanked him, and left the parking lot headed for home.

Now what I don't remember is if I ever told my mom what happened. I don't know if it's just because my lip didn't look that bad, or if I just avoided her... I don't know. But what I did learn that day is: clown cars are never funny, especially when they aren't filled with clowns.

Pages From The Memory Vault Book II Part 9

I've been in a bit of a slump lately. I don't know why, precisely, but for some odd reason I can't seem to make any cohesive thoughts out of the memory bits I have floating around. My wife asked if I'd written anything lately and I had to tell her that it's not that easy when you're trying to gather decades-old memories. I can't just force it; they have to come by themselves with as little formatting of my own. You see, when we as a species attempt to search our brains for memories, the brain itself can be our worst enemy. As you think about things you have seen or instances you have been involved in, the brain will fill in any gaps with things that may or may not be right. To you -or me- they might seem accurate, but there is a good chance those spaces are just being filled with other memories, or even things that you -the rememberer- never even actually experienced. So you have to be careful.

So I think I'll use today as just a vacuum bag of sorts, and just toss out a few small pieces and see what comes of them.

One year in Scouts, I want to say maybe 1985 or '86, we took a very cool trip to Shiloh, Tennessee. Apparently we were studying Civil War battles or something (you see what I mean? I don't even remember why we went- but I know for a fact we did), and wanted to do a march similar to the soldiers from the 1800's. Anyway, for what ever reason, we spent ten days on the battle trail and just camped where we could, and hiked and stopped at historically significant spots. As far as I remember, it was fun, aside from the one point that, since I was the biggest and tallest of the scout, I had to lug the most stuff in my pack. Boy, I can just imagine that work out now! That gear was heavy! I had the cooking supplies, some bed rolls, and nearly all the food. Oh, and guess how hot it was doing this in the late Spring? The answer is: very. Regardless, we had a ball and that is definitely one of the coolest trips we went on while I was in scouts.

Some of the other trips I remember: Washington DC, Gettysburg, VA, The Michigan UP a few times, and a bunch of Jamborees in Ohio, Illinois, and Michigan. We had a lot of trips.

I remember the deck around our pool was some kind of really crappy stone. I can't even describe it properly, but the way it was made left hundreds of little, sharp ridges that never got worn down and we learned in a hurry that if you didn't wear some kind of sandal from the sliding back door across the fifteen feet to the pool, you's slice your feet to ribbons. Some of us never got the point and there was always a bunch of blood and equally bloodied feet whenever we had company over. I seem to remember at one point we replaced it with a more foot-friendly deck, but it'll always be that horrific mess that I'll never forget.

One summer I broke my brother's arm. Don't worry, it was an accident. We were playing football with my dad in the front yard because, as I said, the backyard was 85% pool and demonic deck. Anyway, we were really getting into it; dad would throw it up, and my brother and I would fight over who would catch it and try to score a touchdown. Well, I was (and still am) bigger than Brandon by a fair bit, and therefor had a size advantage over him. I was taller, too. Now, we're pretty even on the height issue, but I'm still twice his size. Kinda sad, really. So, dad chucked it up, we positioned ourselves... unfortunately Brandon's position was right behind me. Well, I caught it all right, and I fell directly on Brandon and his outstretched arm. Whoops! Broken. I'm not sure if we knew it right away, or just when he finally caught his breath and wailed like a sick banshee. Either way, I broke it real good.

As I said, my sister, Kristy, had her own room at the end of the upstairs hall. I did forget to mention, though, that there was an additional room upstairs that was, for a time, used as my dad's office or den or whatever, until it eventually became my brother's room. Anyway, Kristy's room ha a window that looked out over the backyard and the pool, and this was a bad thing. It was bad because it turns out Barbie dolls can dive pretty well! Yeah, we (and by we, I'm only assuming Brandon and maybe my cousins) used to chuck them out, completely naked (the dolls I mean, not us) directly into the pool. Days later we'd find their separated heads bobbing around in the filter... and it was about this time that she'd run screaming to our parents. Yeah, that was fun.

My friend, Jayesh Mehta lived just a few houses down from Chad on Bellaire (the street adjacent to ours) and we used to all meet up at his house pretty early in the mornings and then walk to school together. The only reason I could think of for meeting at Jayesh's house was to watch Three Stooges at like seven a.m. That and maybe it took him forever to get ready, because I really only remember Chad and I sitting in his family room laughing at the Stooges. That's about as much as I can dig up of that memory, but that little bit is there, at any rate.

Okay, there's a few little nuggets for ya! See ya next time!