The update wasn't in me yesterday and you know, it's summertime so in the spirit of blockbusters and their follow-ups, I'm rolling out a sequel.
If there's an oddball magnet, I'm it.
Probably because I'm not mean, I respond, I'll talk. I accept their weirdness and it's okay.
Oh the stories I could tell. Well, I shan't but I'll tell you about a man who seemed to be hired by all the professional sports teams in Atlanta to go from greasy spoon to greasy spoon holding impromtu pep rallies for the likes of the Braves, Falcons and Hawks.
Before he even sat down ol' boy was asking, "How 'bout them Braves?" That's no more a personal question than "How are you today?" Yeah, some people mean it but it's universally a greeting. So dude brings the bangwagon inside and works the room so that everyone's getting on-board.
Hey, they have been playing better and the second half of the season could be an exciting one -- we still love our Braves. And from there, he encouraged us all to come up to watch some Falcons games in the Georgia Dome (by the way, all you who are far and widely spread, have you ever heard such a creative name for a sporting arena? Are there Oregon Domes and Iowa Domes?) because -- as he'd reiterate several times -- we're gonna have a great team this year.
Perhaps you don't like sports so you won't know this but I'm going to educate you now. With the exception of baseball and possibly hockey or soccer (the latter being minor role players in the South), no one cares more for professional sports than their collegiate counterparts. So it's one thing to follow the Braves more than the Georgia Tech baseball team, but it's a whole other thing to care more about the Falcons than the Bulldogs.
However, that's exactly what was going on. A lady on the left of me filled the void with, "Them Bulldawgs is gonna have a good year looks like."
The Roving Pep Rally Administrator dropped his eyes and straightened his face with a grimmace, demanding to know, "Who cares?"
That's blasphemy here. I'd feel far safer telling people I thought Jesus was a cross-dressing Democrat with a cocaine habit than to tell a UGA fan to fuck off.
With the room silent and the floor full of the jaws we'd dropped, he picked right up and began singing the praises of the Atlanta Hawks who haven't been worth watching since they traded Dominque "the Human Highlight Film" Wilkins.
And for a fairly thin man, he sure ate alot. Two double cheeseburger plates.
Later on Saturday, back at the sushi bar, Robo-Cuz and I were enjoying a drink while I enjoyed a smoke. We were waxing philosophical about something random when a guy sat next to me. He'd been there earlier when I was talking to the waitress about the impending partial smoking ban that'd be taking place sometime this week in Athens.
He was already a planned character for these here entries because he provided an analogy that was just cruel and gross.
Overhearing the smoking convo, he said, "It's like boiling a frog."
The waitress and I broke our intense and lustful stare to ask him what the hell he was talking about. Instead of just explaining it was a metaphor, he asked, "You know how to do that, don't you?"
"Can't say that I have ever boiled a frog."
"Well, you take a frog and don't turn up the heat too quick and the frog -- well, if you throw a frog into a boiling pot of water, he'll jump out, but if you put him in a pot of room temperature water, he'll swim around while you turn up the heat and he won't know he's boiling until he's dead."
"He probably won't know he's boiling if he's dead," I remarked.
Ignoring me completely, he made his point, "That's our body politic. They do everything in increments."
"Oh. Okay," I say, turning to my waitress, my love, "I think I smell my food."
We walk away and I confide in her that I couldn't wait to get home to boil a frog. Stupid kids. Never wanting to learn more about the body politic.
So flash forward, yada, yada.
His name is Hawk, he says. He explains why.
In 1974, he was at Georgia Tech with the rest of the 13-15 year old 'prodigy class'. There were no blogs or bullentin boards in his day but a forerunner was available. Unfortunately, there were also no clever names under which to post your comments... no, I say wiping a tear, only a random series of numbers. So Hawk and pals went to work on some code that'd enable them to use cool nicknames. When the code was finally figured out, Hawk was back home with his ladyfriend. By the time he returned -- and here, I quote him, -- "All the good wizard names were taken." He proceeded to drive the point home by naming fifty different types of Gandalf.
Gandalf the White, Gandalf the Tall, Gandalf the Old, Gandalf the Syphillitic, etc.
Shattered, Hawk tried to lick his wounds by picking up some obscure sci-fi novel. In the very device he'd chosen for solace, he found his redemption. A character -- a wizard -- named Sparrowhawk became his inspiration. And soon, he noted, he was Sparrowhawk with the Sparrow part being sqaushed early on.
He was a relentless talker. The topics were broad and reached deeply into the soul of American culture. It was fun for me for a minute.
The clock was ticking on my departure and so I'd already decided that our last topic, Feminism, would be our last topic.
Hawk leaned over and in the most dramatic of raspy voices said, "Don't forget this... not because you're 50, 60, 70 years old. Don't forget," and he was reaching across my chest to point at my cousin but kept talking to me, "That human being, that person right beside you is a beautiful person who's talents and potential have not been tapped by society -- not one damn bit."
I looked at Robo-Cuz and whispered, "Thank god." After all, I know her.
Seriously, I agree and I returned the volley with some feminized male talk of my own, the chit-chatter of a formerly professional activist.
"Oh, so you know," he said stunned, "I didn't realize you knew."
The funny part -- at least until the conversation was over -- was that the whole time, my female cousin hadn't been much a part of the dialogue. Boys will be boys.
Hawk leaned back and threw out some history mingled with philosophy.
"I've been a feminist since I was a kid. Like 8 or 9. And it's like I tell people, without women, men wouldn't have any fun."
There was a pause and the stretched air belonged to Hawk.
Finally, he said, "I mean... Gloria Steinem, whatta babe!"
I exploded in laughter, Robo-Cuz did too and the bartender came over asking what was so funny. When we explained and then explained who Gloria Steinem is, she laughed.
Hawk, triumphant at last, stood, chugged the last of his sake and bid us farewell.
And that concludes part two.
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