My '69 Commando

The year was 1985 and I had just paid $500 for a 1969 Jeepster Commando that was rusted to the point of being see thru. Plus it had several mysterious electrical problems and an unidentified odor. I couldn’t have been happier!

I picked the doors off the ground and tossed them in the back and then jumped into the truck - being careful not to stick my foot thru the gaping hole in the floorboard. I turned the key and it roared to life, quite literally considering the muffler was sitting next to the doors in the back.

As the smoke cleared the nice gentleman I had given $500 offered this sage wisdom “as long as you keep moving them fumes ain't gonna make you that dizzy, but keep them windows open!”

On the way home I was topping breakneck speeds of almost 40 mph. Of course, they were “breakneck” only because of the way the truck would lurch violently when it slipped out of gear. Which seemed to happen quite often.

After few miles I noticed the hood was kind of loose and lifting slightly. Then it started to fly open!!  Being a genius (have I mentioned I'm a genius?), I quickly placed my hand in front of the window to protect the hood.  This proved to be a bad idea.  As less than a split second later my hand was smashed between the window and the crumpled hood. I had saved the window, but my hand looked like a display at a horror museum. It looked very painful.  The pain hadn't hit yet, but I could see it was gonna be very painful.

Of course that was all I could see. As the hood had bent over the windshield, blocking view of the road. Lucky for me, the kind motorists around me helped by honking and offering helpful words of advice. Such as, “get that pile of shit off the road you fuckin moron!”.

After extricating my mangled hand, I removed the hood and tossed it into the back with the muffler and doors. A few moments later a police officer pulled me over in order to inform me that it was illegal to drive a vehicle in this condition.  Then he strongly suggested that I have it towed to the junk yard as opposed to trying to drive it there.

He laughed hysterically when I explained that I had just purchased the vehicle for $500... He took pity on me and let me off with a warning and some helpful advice regarding my intelligence and schooling.

After I finally getting home I parked and turned the key off, which had no effect at all. So I pulled on some wires and and swore at it loudly, then it stalled.

The bummer was, a few of the wires I pulled out were somehow important.  So, I was unable to get it started again for several months while I learned to rewire it.  In that time period it seemed to leak every drop of fluid it had contained onto my parents driveway.

While it was dead, I was dumb enough to invest several hundred more dollars into it. By welding new panels over the gaping holes and patching the rust with a couple hundred pounds of Bondo. I even installed a new back seat. Well, technically it was a beanbag chair.  But it was a back seat nonetheless.

After I patched or covered most of the holes I decided to paint it. The idea was to paint it “Porsche Yellow” until I found out that shit was $250 a gallon! Where as “School Bus Yellow” was only $15 a gallon. I figured a school bus was as close as I would ever come to a Porsche, so I bought it.

I rented a sprayer and got to work in my folks garage. To this day you can see a yellow outline of a bike that once hung upon the wall. My Dad was kind of pissed that I didn't take his car out of the garage before I started. But I thought the yellow hue made his Dodge Aries look cooler!

As winter set in, I had yet to paint the interior. It was getting a little cold. So I rolled up the windows, brought in a space heater, a few beers and a joint. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The first few layers of shiny black paint looked great! Yet, after painting for a few minutes I started to get a little dizzy. But I thought I could quickly finish it up and be done with it.

When I came to, my Dad was yelling something like “you fucking idiot!!... blah blah blah... what were you thinking??.... blah blah blah... You could have died!!... blah blah blah” But I couldn't open my eyes. Which seemed a little weird. Seems I had passed out with the sprayer running and my eyes were painted shut. That was kind of a bummer and it took a few weeks to get the last specks out of my ears.

However, (as luck would have it) I had a pretty even coat of paint over the interior of the Jeep. All in all, aside from the near death experience, it turned out pretty damn good!

I was able to monkey with the engine enough to get it to run. But the electrical system was screwed up. So I just installed a button to start it. Keys are overrated.

After installing a few Grateful Dead stickers it was pretty well done and I was really proud! I finally had a car that would impress the chicks and I took it out to show off.

It turns out chicks were not nearly as impressed as I thought they would be... My girlfriend Karen refused to drive in it. Something about “it smells funny... blah blah blah... it always dies at intersections... blah blah blah... why did you paint the bean bag chair black?... blah blah blah”.

I really didn't care. I thought it was beautiful. It was big and yellow and ugly as sin. And it was mine! I drove it for a few years and even took it to college with me. It held a lot of beer and had no trouble making it to Alpine Valley several times.

Eventually I got a job that was about a 20 mile commute and the 16 mpg was starting to kill me. Even though gas was like $1.00 a gallon back then. But there was also the lack of heat, AC, radio, seat belts and functioning windshield wipers. So I sold it to a 16 year old kid who lived up the street for $2500.

Then the stupid little bastard wrapped it around a tree and it was gone. Of all the cars I have owned, that is the only one I really miss.  

Snowed in up North, Der hey.

With the snow we are having at the moment I begin to think of snow incidents I have had in the past.  One of the best was the time I was snowed in while skiing in Tomahawk Wi.

The year was 1998 and I had a sales appointment at a paper mill outside of Tomahawk in the middle of winter.  I was rather familiar with the city as that it where Gina #4 was from.  There is not a lot to do there aside from drinking.  So after I was done doing that I decided it seemed like a good idea to go skiing.

It was snowing quite well and there was about 10” already on the ground.  I had brought along my skis and gear as well as my dog Bob (Bob Barker).  At the time I was driving a little 4wd Civic station wagon that handled very well in snow.  So I thought nothing of driving out of town to a county park I was familiar with.

Once Bob and I got there I connected him to the harness and he pulled me thru the drifts at about 10mph.  He loved snow; he was a big furry Chicago Alley dog.  I could pretty much connect him to the harness and read a book while he pulled me along. 

The snow was coming down harder as I got further away from the parking lot.  I was having a damn good time and the snow was perfect.  Cross-country skiing is one of the few things I can do and still appear graceful.  Which is saying quite a bit if you have even seen me fall from stuff. 

I’m guessing I was about 15 or 20 miles into the loop when I noticed it was pretty much white out conditions and decided to turn back.  Which proved to be a more ardent task then the trip out.  Even Bob was having a hard time.  He was covered in about an inch of snow even though we were moving the whole time. 

I’d say it snowed about 10-12” in the time we were gone.  When I got back to the car it was completely covered with snow.

I was pooped so I decided to make myself a little snack.  I had brought along my camping kit, which contained a lot of ready to eat meals, tea, snacks, dog food and whisky.  So Bob sat in the car and enjoyed a snack and I had some tea and whisky.

All the while it continued to snow, HARD!  I swear there was an additional 6 or more inches to fall in a half an hour.  So I decided to pack up and get back to my hotel before I got snowed in.

No sooner had I thought that then I plow came through and plowed in the entrance of the parking lot.  Apparently he didn’t see me or perhaps didn’t care.  The drift at the entrance was a good 3 feet deep and I was driving a Civic.  I attempted to drive through it and failed miserably.  I got out a shitty little shovel and it was futile.

Lucky for me I had brought the camping kit along with my winter camping gear.  So I set up the tent and laid out the sleeping bag.  Then proceeded to settle in for the night with Bob and a bowl of ramen noodles. 

I assumed it would stop snowing by morning and the plow would return to clear the entrance.  So I had no worries as I slept soundly listening to the wind howl outside of my tent.  We were warm, we had eaten, I even had whisky left.  No problem.

I was awoken by the sound of a plow rolling past on the road about 200 feet away.  It turns out it didn’t stop snowing.  In fact, we got another 10-12” inches overnight or at least 30” total.  Plus it was still coming down!

Since there was no way I was getting out I decided to make the best of it and go skiing again.  I put the harness back on Bob and he looked at me like “Dude, WTF!?”  but we went anyway.  I spent the whole day skiing as the snow began to slow and then stop.

When we got back to the parking lot you could barely see my car.  Plus the plow had come through again and the pile at the entrance was taller than me.

So I broke out the whisky and camping stove and made dehydrated stroganoff, which sucked.  I was running out of food for both of us and the bottle of whisky was almost empty as the sun set. 

We settled in for another night and I decided to ski 30 miles into town the following morning.  The temps dropped overnight to –3 and even with my 0 degree bag and a fuzzy dog it was downright cold!

We woke up and I packed everything up and then strapped on the skis and put the harness on Bob.  The trip into town was very difficult in that I had to ski on a partially plowed highway.  By the time I made it to Tomahawk I was a mess.

I went to the police station and they wouldn’t let Bob in.  I told them that I was snowed in at the park outside of town and had been there for over two days.  They laughed and didn’t believe me.  After some convincing I got them to believe me and they drove me to the hotel (which I had paid for, but hadn’t slept in) and gave me a chance to change clothes and warm up. 

An hour later the plow driver picked me up and we drove out to the park.  He laughed his ass off when he saw the entrance.  It took the plow about a half hour to break through the snowdrift in order to get into the lot.  But I was able to get the car out.

When I got back to town I decided to go to the bar that Gina #4 used to work at and have a drink.  Word had spread about the “idiot city guy” that got stuck in his car.  Everyone was talking about it and laughing.  “Jeezus Christ, what a moron der!  Who’d be dumbass enough to do that udder than a city boy”… 

So I told them it was me – because I like abuse.  Then I told them the whole story while they fed me free drinks.  So I told more stories and received more free drinks.  I proceeded to accept free drinks (and Pizza) until I decided I was far to wasted to drive to the hotel. 

As the bar closed I told them I was too drunk to dive, so they let Bob and I sleep in the bar.…  I haven’t gone back since.  But I am sure there are stories about the “idiot city guy that slept on the pool table” still floating around.

TJ

Misty leaves a few gifts

It was Christmas time 2008 and our 4 year old was very excited for Santa to arrive.  As Christmas day neared he could think of nothing else and almost vibrated with joy and anticipation.  On Christmas eve he excitedly placed cookies, milk and a thank you note for Santa on a plate before we tucked him into bed.

After he had fallen asleep we carefully placed all of the gifts under the tree and I drank some of the milk and ate a cookie.  Leaving the rest as evidence that Santa had indeed stopped by.    

At the time we had a “not very bright” dog, named Misty, that had a tendency to chew and eat things.  So I took the precautionary step of creating a barricade of chairs and such to keep her out of the living room where we had the tree, gifts and cookies.   Then we went to bed and waited for the festive morning to arrive.

We heard the boy awake and we heard him tip toe towards the living room.  Then we heard screams of terror!  Followed by “Why??  WHY??!  Why would Santa do this?!?”  I hopped out of bed and ran to see what the commotion was about. 

It was then that the smell hit me, it seems the “not very bright dog” had found a way into the living room.  Where she ate the cookies for Santa and a pound of fudge wrapped under the tree. 

During the night her little “not very bright” tummy must have become upset.  So she decided to deliver several loads of presents all over the floor and several gifts.  Then she hid in the basement.

My poor innocent, sweet kiddo assumed Santa had pooped on the floor and the gifts and he was very, very upset. 

Crying his eyes out and saying “why would he do that Dad?” 

I calmly explained “look Buddy, because we don’t have a chimney Santa must have brought the reindeer inside the house.  It must have been the reindeer that ate the cookies and fudge.  Then they must have gotten sick and Santa must have been in a rush so he didn’t have time to clean up”. 

He seemed to accept that answer. 

But then added “we should go online and complain that the damn deer pooped on my presents!  What was Santa thinking Dad?”

To this day he still brings up the damn pooping deer and refuses to put out cookies or any food under the tree.  Just in case….  

Sally's Chair

It was around 1990, I think.  The early 90’s were kind of a blur of Grateful Dead shows and chicks named Gina.  Anyway, I had just split up with Gina #2 for the 3^rd or 4^th time and I decided I needed a change of pace.  So I moved to Chicago.

My sister was kind enough to let me stay at her place for a few weeks until I found an apartment of my own.  We had always gotten along well and she was happy to help her kid brother out in a time of need. 

Sally had a little place in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago. It was cute one-bedroom walk up above a renovated coach house.  She had a gated courtyard and a balcony overlooking a parking garage.  It was a great place.  It needed a little work here and there, but it was really a nice place. 

Plus it was walking distance to the Second City, The Exit and Ye Old Towne Tap all of which had open mic comedy nights.  So I could walk places to make an ass of myself.  

As you might imagine, I was happy as hell to couch surf at there or anywhere for a while. 

My first morning there I woke up bright and early (about noon) and Sally was already at work.  I was supposed to go out and find a job, but I decided I should fix stuff around the apartment instead.  Ya know, in order to repay her for the kindness of letting me crash on the couch. 

I started this task by opening my toolbox, because that’s where I kept my weed.  After I was good and confused I decided to get to work. 

First of all, I needed to light the scented candles in order to cover the smell of the weed.  There were three or four of candles and soon enough they were all lit.  I sat around for a while, because I forgot what it was I was supposed to be doing.  I just sort of sat staring at the flame.  Then I remembered I was in the middle of fixing stuff (well, I technically hadn’t started yet) around the apartment.

Sally had mentioned that she didn’t have the time to install a paper towel holder she had recently purchased.  She told me it was in the attic.  I decided that was a simple enough task to start with.

So I moved this big ugly recliner out of the way in order to lower the ladder that led to the little attic.  Once up there I found the paper towel holder and started back down the ladder.

It was at this time that I noticed 3-foot flames engulfing the chair.  It seems I had moved the chair a little too close to a candle and well…  It caught on fire. 

I jumped down and started to bat the flames with my hands.  Which coated my hands in burning plastic and caused flying fiery embers to scatter around the room.  The little fiery embers in turn started little fires on the couch, end table and several little carpet fires.

I was a little panicked, but kept my cool and looked for something else to put out the fire. 

As the fire alarm blared I doused the chair with a two-liter bottle of Pepsi.  The Pepsi put out the chair fire, but the couch, table and carpet were still ablaze.  Plus, I was out of Pepsi!

So I grabbed Sally’s coat and smothered the remaining flames and turned her coat into a burned rumpled ball of charred cloth.

Once I had the fire out and the smoke alarms stopped, I installed the paper towel holder.  Then I sat down to watch The Price Is Right and drink beer. 

When Sally came home I was chipping plastic from my hands and trying to act casual.  She walked into the kitchen and asked “what is that smell?  Were you smoking?”. 

I said, “well, yes, I was smoking a little”.

Then she said, “did you drink all of the Pepsi?”

I replied, “well, no I didn’t drink it.  I used it to put out the fire”…

She let me stay until the end of the month, but we didn’t talk much…  I bought her a used chair for Christmas and an electric candle…      

The time I caught on fire

Portions of this story are a little fuzzy but friends have confirmed they are true. The names have been changed, but then changed back because I kept getting confused about who was who.  

It was back in 1988 and it started at Eric’s house where we had made a bong out of a vacuum cleaner. I was with Carlos and a couple other guys, as well as Eric. We turned the vacuum on and fogged the whole room. That’s when things got a little fuzzy… 

Carlos and I walked out and up the street to Julie’s house where she was having a bonfire party. Like I said, things were a little fuzzy but I do remember there were a ton of people there. If you were one of them you might remember better than I do, which would be no surprise. So anyway there was this big ass bonfire and (as luck would have it) an open bucket of gas. 

This was back in the day when videos were a big deal on MtV and I think Kiss had a horrible video out at the time where the dude without the big tongue lit his hand on fire for like a second. It was really cool. 

So we were stupid impressionable teenagers (yes you were, admit it) and we began dipping first a finger and then our whole hand into the bucket of gas and holding it over the fire where it would burn for a second and then go out. 

So I was doing this and having a wonderful time when someone yelled “the gas can is on fire!” > In a split second Billy (the good Samaritan) had the presence of mind to kick the can of gas over. Unfortunately he kicked it onto me and I went up like a match head! 

Keeping a cool head, which was hard to do considering my head was on fire at the time I remembered the Milwaukee river was only a few steps away. I quickly leapt for the safety of the cooling water only to find out it was 3 inches deep. 

So now my back was still on fire and I had jagged rocks stuck in my knees and forehead. 

Around this time I could hear Julies Mother screaming “he’s gonna sue us, he’s gonna fucking sue us!”…

Eventually the flames kind of burned themselves out and I walked back up to the shock and horror of what up to that point had been a fun party. I knew it was not good because only Carlos was laughing at me, everyone else looked rather serious. 

It was at this time that I decided to drink Southern Comfort to dull the pain. Which later in life I learned is NEVER a good idea, gin works much better! Things after that got even fuzzier but I do remember Beth trying to convince me that eyebrows were not that important. 

Later that night I lost my bike and my left shoe. I did get home safely and was able to recover for several weeks as my parents made me stay home for “the rest of my natural life”. Lucky for me I was able to annoy them to the point of being let out early - promising I would never do “that” again. I have kept that promise and have not caught on fire at Julies house since, other places yes, Julies house no.

Of course there are other high school stories I could share – but they are too embarrassing to tell…

FYI eyebrows take 7 weeks to grow back completely