Category: richie

I was calling all over the world wide web to find out the best way to move all of our stuff from the in-laws’ basement. I filled out a form online that was supposed to compare and find the best deals. Scarred by the obscene amount of obscene junk mail I get, I am always hesitant to give anyone any information. I entered “dude” as my name. A few minutes later, a nice woman called and asked if “Doodie” were available. If I wouldn’t have been so taken off guard, I would have acted offended and, in my best French accent, said something like, “My name is Mr. Doo-day!”

I never liked onions as a kid. Hated them in fact. I remember people telling me that cooked onions are OK because you couldn’t even taste them. Not true. I still didn’t like them.

I didn’t want to be a picky eater in Poland, so I devised a plan to make me like onions. I think I was just curious what people saw in them. So, a couple weeks before leaving, I ordered extra onions on everything, most notably the “Mike” sandwich from the now defunct Tafoya Brothers. After eating extra onions on everything for two weeks, I developed a love for onions comparable to my love for garlic and jalapenos. Maybe I just like stinky food. I guess I should try the same with fish — that’s a bit too stinky for me though.

I was driving from Salt Lake to L.A. with a group of students. In the wee hours of the morning, we approached our freeway exit, or, which I came to find out later, was a toll road exit. There were two lanes: one said, “Pay” and one said, “No Pay”…or something to that effect. The choice seemed obvious to me. I’d rather not pay, thank you. I quickly scanned both lanes to make sure there were no spikey things to shred my tires and chose the no-pay lane. No sirens went off, I didn’t have to break through any barriers or anything. Who are the suckers that volunteer to go through the pay lane? That sure is nice of them to give you the option.

When we got to my uncle’s house and I explained what happened, he simply told me to expect a ticket in the mail. I called and explained that I wasn’t from them-there parts and couldn’t read too good (Hence the blog’s reading level — see previous post). They told me they’d take care of the ticket…so, again I ask, who are the suckers that volunteer to go through the pay lane?

I’m not sure what sparked the idea, but I use Wikipedia so much, I thought it would be fun to create a page for myself:

click here.

It’s sort of boring right now, so please feel free to embellish it…

I was asked to write about 8 things that most people don’t know about me. I don’t know who started this or why I’m playing along, but here it goes…

1. I have a crush on Cyndi Lauper.

2. I used to suck my middle finger, so it would always stick up slightly higher than the others.

3. I don’t like furry drinks (pulp) and I don’t much like fuzzy drinks (always with one exception: Fanta Red Cream Soda when I was a kid, Root Bear in High School, and Fresca now).

4. Wafers are the best treat (Can anyone confirm the existence of “Twookies?”) and pistachios are the best snack.

5. Pineapple does NOT belong on pizza.

6. I occasionally like to drink buttermilk.

7. Claire suggested I write “I sing on key” since most people don’t know that about me…”Tone, Connie!”

8. I associate almost everyone with an animal or famous person.

Now, I’m supposed to request that other people keep this weird thing going (I feel like a teeny bopper) by doing the same. Honestly, though, I would love to hear Julie’s list.

A totally unrelated photo of Claire on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade…

I had an excellent birthday. Claire’s cactus thing and Seitan tacos at Alma were tasty, but my enchiladas were probably the best I’ve had…and the Brooklyn Heights Promenade was all romantic and stuff. My sister’s Arbonne gift package was packed to the brim. The fact that it was Yom Kippur made the mood extra celebratory.

First Encounter
I was driving a friend’s jalopy, which I don’t think was capable of exceeding the speed limit. We saw lights and pulled over. After handing over license and registration, the nice police officer asked me what time it was. I politely told him I didn’t know and expected him to get on with it and tell me why we were pulled over. He just looked at me. I just looked at him — and wondered what was going on. He asked me if I wanted to guess what time it was. I gave up hope of an explanation and asked my friend if he knew. Although confused, I was willing to play along. I turned to the officer and said, “We’re guessing around 9:00″…He answered, “It’s about time to turn on your lights.” I still haven’t been able to come up with a snappy retort.

Second Encounter
I got a speeding ticket.

Third Encounter
To remind myself of the second encounter, I made a color copy of my ticket (about 30% of its original size, so I hope there is no legal issue there) and attached it to the Krishna beads hanging around my rear view mirror. I figured this would remind me to always obey traffic laws. So, a few days later, driving through Washington Terrace around 2:00 or 3:00 in the am, I was pulled over again for not totally coming to a complete stop at a stop sign. The officer was pulling out his ticket book when he noticed the miniature ticket hanging from my rear view mirror. I told him the story and explained that I needed to come up with something else because this obviously wasn’t working. He must not encounter too many of these reminders because he got a real kick out of it and let me off with a warning. I guess it worked…just not in the way I anticipated.

Fourth Encounter
The year was 1998, and there was a lot of hubbub about how Montana had just gotten rid of the speed limit. We were on our way back from Canada and were driving on a long straight stretch of highway. To give you an idea how long and how straight, we were traveling around 110 mph in my white Montero, “Rhino,” which took his sweet time getting up to such speeds. Well in the distance we spied a highway patrolman. The only details we knew regarding the speed limit in Montana was that there wasn’t one. So, as far as we knew, we were not breaking the law. That and a commitment from two friends in the car to pay any fines or raised premiums convinced me to keep going. Half expecting to go to jail for reckless driving, completely expecting to be pulled over, we drove right passed the highway patrolman, glancing at the rear view mirror and putting together our argument about the speed limit. Sorry to disappoint, but nothing happened. No night in jail, no increase in premiums, not even a warning. We just kept driving. I certainly do not condone this behavior and consider myself very lucky to now be able to say we drove 100 mph past a police officer.

I looked up the details on the Montana speed limit and found the following on Wikipedia, the source for all knowledge:

From December 1995 through December 1998, Montana had only a “reasonable and prudent” speed limit on rural roads, meaning that speeds that were not reasonable and prudent were illegal and ticketable. From December 1998 through June 1999 (6 months), Montana had no rural highway speed limit whatsoever. However, a law prohibiting reckless driving, applicable to extreme speeds but less stringent than the previous “reasonable and prudent” standard, still applied.

I guess 110 is reasonable and prudent.

“Rhino” (1995 – 2005)

When I was a kid, I went to the 5th street ramp as often as I could find a ride. “5th Street” was a halfpipe that was 12 feet high and 20 feet wide, with 2 1/2 feet of vert. A major breakthrough for a 10 year old ramp skater is starting from the top and “dropping in.” The problem is when you are standing on top of the ramp looking down, you can’t see the top half of the ramp. What often happened was people would hang their board over the edge and stare down into the ramp. This would inevitably scare them out of going through with it.

One day, I was at the ramp with some other kids, one of whom wanted to drop in. He asked for advice, and I told him not to stare at the ramp. He walked up the ladder in back of the ramp, walked to the edge, placed his skateboard over the edge with one foot…and looked straight up at the sky. I thought he was praying…Then, still looking straight upward, he went to put his other foot on the board…which he very nearly accomplished…and fell straight to the bottom of the ramp.

Because of the ambulance and chaos that followed, it took me a while to realize that I was to blame. He was just trying not to stare at the ramp. A few years later, I ran into him, whom I was able to identify because of the gnarly scar on his forearm. I felt terrible. Unfortunately, I was never able to give my revised advice for dropping in, which would be: “Put BOTH feet on the skateboard and don’t fall.”