Tuesday, December 03, 2002

To some, I was known during the Nightmare’s days as the person who stole Brian’s beloved mannequin. That event perhaps set a metaphorical tone for a lot of shit. (Life has such a way of speaking for itself.) Thought I’d share that story, since it is paramount in my memory of that time. Cookies and milk to follow.
First, it was all my friend, Jen Logan’s fault. She and I had gotten out of hand with our tendency toward petty vandalism and thievery. It was really stupid, and I’m now flooded with memories. We’d steal tacky lawn ornaments out of people’s yards (squirrels, rabbits, flamingoes, chickens), mainly in Keystone. At one point, I remember, we had a truck load of them, including one kimono dragon. Eventually, we took them all to one yard and put them there like one big happy family--must have been 30 or 40 of them. I was also particularly bad about stealing books from libraries, parties, stores (figured no one else would read them and that I was entitled), and mugs from the Down Home. Also stole a Tennessee Homecoming plaque (why? I was blacked-out drunk, really) from the DH too, which is why all the art down there is now nailed to the walls. Jen and I pilfered a little ceramic black boy from somewhere too and took him to Erwin--sat him on the wooden fence outside of McDonald’s.
In the mannequin case, however, I was guilty purely by association---a karmic hologram of Jen, which was worse. I had seen Brian’s mannequin at his and Kurt’s apartment on Main and mentioned to Jen that I wanted it. A few days later, I heard something hit my bedroom window in the middle of the night. I got out of bed and opened the window. Jen and her boyfriend, Terry, were standing in my mom’s yard, a stiffer, shaplier third party standing with them. Jen said, “We got it!”. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Then she told me how they’d pulled it off - how she coaxed Kurt into the livingroom and pretended to be a damsel in distress while Terry hoisted the thing over his shoulder and trotted down the steps with it. As she told me this, it all hit me---and that the whole thing was gonna get pinned on me. I was pissed. She said, “don’t you want it?”, and I said, “No. Uh...NO. No dammit. You keep it. Or do something with it,” and shut the window. Don’t know why I didn’t say, “Take her back to her owner.” It was as if she was on some inevitable journey, and I was in denial. It was all a boomerang of shit.
I just kept hoping the whole problem would go away and leave me alone. At some point, I told Brian I’d get the mannequin back for him, and I did, but only in pieces. Terry had turned her bottom half into an ashtray stand, and I can’t even remember what happened to her upper half. Needless to say, she was in bad shape. I gave her back though, and later, when I asked Brian about her, he said, with a disgruntled expression, that when he moved out of Melubro Court he had to throw her in the dumpster, all in pieces. I just imagined her--- all twisted at the top of a pile of trash; one stiff, size 6-and-a-half foot protruding out of the bin; her head leaning against the inside of it; the permanent smile; long, brown hair tossed across rusty green metal.
You may all now help yourselves to milk and cookies.
P.S. The Nightmares playing Suffragette City was some kind of divine accident.


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