Crazy Days And Rubber Monkeys

I turned off the stereo in my car two days ago; it hasn't been turned back on since. Granted, in L.A. there isn't an overabundance of good radio shows to tune into, but I think I just wanted the solitude. I think I am really a commuter at heart. I have found that I enjoy the quiet drive, country scenery and mobile homes not withstanding.

I should also mention that I am, what I consider, a three dimensional thinker. Others may say "I'm not all there", but who's to judge? Me? Allrighteeeeethen, three dimensional it is. Hence, I digress. I can't explain the cerebral firing of my brain in the thought process, but it leaps to and fro pretty freely. Sometimes it seems that completely innocuous things trigger entirely unrelated memories or thoughts. Yesterday was no exception.

Driving through the mighty metropolis of Enterprise I saw the rarest of sights, a Blackhawk flying back to its base field. A spark and a fizzle led me to think about where I'd be if I had ever gotten around to submitting the flight packet I was always "almost done with". I thought of the Punk shaking his head in comical disgust offering only word: "slacker". I thought about my cousin telling me how he'd be reluctant to fly in anything he never personally worked on. He said that he saw a watered down maintenance process and it scared him, thinking of continual lowering of knowledge from one generation of helicopter crew chief to the next. Then, the rubber monkey.

Before I get to that doozy, please allow me to jump ahead to a few of my subsequent thoughts; memories really.

When I was in high school and college, my group of friends included Dave. Dave was the lovable loser, if you will. (He wasn't a loser literally, but the guy that always seemed to get crapped on by life and he had a heart of gold.) Dave's unique nature and peculiar memory frequently made him the butt of many a joke.

Dave lived with two of my other friends. Dances With Wolves was just coming out on pay-per-view at the time. One day, I sat there dwelling on some of life's great mysteries with Todd and Jay (Dave's roommates), like what beer to drink, when to start and where our late night trek for a greasy omelet might lead us, when one of the aforementioned crazy thoughts occurred to me. Looking at the movie magazine they received I blurted out "Dances with Daves". After the laughter died down, they asked me what the hell I was talking about. Holding up the magazine, I said "Dave knows more about movies than anyone we know. Why doesn't this say Dances with Daves?" And so, it was on. I grabbed a pencil and put my fine Catholic school education to work. Using the eraser like a CAD program, I transformed that cover like a skilled professional. Jay and Todd retrieved a picture of Dave and some scissors. Within minutes, the masterpiece was complete. The "Dances with Daves" magazine cover, complete with Dave's face replacing Kevin Costner's, sat before us. An overwhelming feeling of pride filled the three of us. Dave was perched on a horse, in his army blue uniform, braving the untamed west. It was a classic.

That night, the typical, unplanned party erupted completely out of nowhere. How did these things happen? A few hours in, having shown everyone the magazine, Dave finally caught a glimpse. We anticipated appreciation from him for our creative effort. However, what ensued was entirely unexpected. Dave threw a fit. He was livid! And, it couldn't have turned out any better...

Another night, another unscheduled fiesta. However did these things happen? As any college vet can remember, no one had class on Friday. It was the holy day for collegians. Dave didn't work on this particular Friday either. That, combined with a penchant for alcohol was a deadly combination for poor Dave. By the time the three of us,Jay, Todd and I, arrived at their apartment Dave was passed out in bed. After some gratuitous binge drinking and burning up the phone lines, we were amped for some fun. Todd, the sadistic bastard, came up with this whopper.

We went up to Dave's room and pulled his hockey bag out of the closet. Of course, the preliminary investigation as to Dave's level of unconsciousness was already complete. We undressed our friend, so he could be nice and comfy. We then adorned him with his helmet, gloves and skates. Wearing only his birthday suit and four articles of hockey equipment made quite a scene. As each girl arrived that evening, one of us told them "Dave's been looking for you. He needs to talk to you right away; he's up in his room." A shriek or laughter was the typical response. Some time, and many viewings later, Dave awakened. A stumble and a few loud thumps were all we heard before Dave emerged on the stairwell, wearing exactly what we left him in, to declare "really funny assholes". What a night...

Another day with nothing better to do, we drank. We had a few cases of beer and a couple of tubes of crazy glue. We had a target. Dave wasn't there. It didn't take long for this Pseudo plan to come together. "What would Dave do if we glued everything in his room down?", I wondered aloud. Hysterical laughter ensued and off we went. We glued a huge pile of change together in a random display. His phone receiver was secured to the base (this was in the days of the tethered phone). His "Kodiak" can was glued to his dresser. A picture of him, frame and all, was glued to his mirror. We didn't want Dave to forget what he should look like when he got ready in the morning. After Dave returned home, we sat and waited. It won't be long we thought. The anticipation was killing us. Dave went to his room and we giggled like school girls. Then, it happened. The phone rang. Right on cue, Dave yelled "I'll get it". And get it he did. He smacked himself right in the face with the entire phone. "What the fuck?!", was all we heard.

The "Dave Archives" contain many, many more volumes of debauchery and humor, but on to the rubber monkey.

As a child, I worshiped my cousin, NSDQDu. When my aunt and uncle moved from Toledo to Canton it was like they took my "big brother" with them. I have two older sisters and a younger brother, so you can do the math. The girls were evil and teamed up on me. I was raised not to hit girls and they knew it! Bitches... (then, not now) My precious baby brother was NEVER to be touched, under penalty of death - or so I thought. Ergo, I really looked up to NSDQDu. Whenever we went to visit, I was on him like white on rice. That is, until he entered his teenage years and didn't want to be bothered by his little cousin. This is completely understandable now, but as a child I was slightly bitter. At least in the subconscious.

NSDQDu had this big, I'm talking two foot, rubber monkey. Pseudo was a big fan of rubber monkeys. I can't explain it, but it was the first thing I went for every time we went to Canton. NSDQDu also had one of those ultra-sheik beer can collections that were oh-so-popular in the '80s. He had the coolest cans. Gennessee, Schlitz, Steel City Beer, Buckeye Beer; all of the greats! He had them arranged meticulously in a pyramid. I distinctly remember the time NSDQDu showed me how he could pull a can out of the middle without it falling. I was forbidden from trying this magic trick. What do you think happened next? As soon as he walked out, I grabbed a can from the bottom and yanked. And the cans came tumbling down. Everyone was sooooo pleased with me! They were saying nice things like, "what the hell were you thinking?" or "what is wrong with you?"; it was very fulfilling. After a token punishment, my mom felt sorry for me, I was back up in NSDQDu's room again. He was painstakingly reorganizing the cans. I had only dented one, so he wasn't too upset. There I stood, admiring my hero stacking up those cans and twirling the beloved rubber monkey. Just as he finished we were departing the room and I couldn't resist one last look. I stopped but the rubber monkey didn't. I haven't been back to Canton since.

I wonder whatever happened to the rubber monkey?

I get reminded of my affinity for the rubber monkey frequently. I think that everyone thinks it is funny today, or at least they patronize me well. Sometimes I miss that rubber monkey.

The human brain is an interesting thing...