Blitz, Boo-yah, Spartacus and The Statue Man

Mr. Blitz and Dr. Boo-yah conspired mightily this muggy autumn to squash a pesky but potentially virulent insurrection at Boone High. After all, 'tis the season for school administrators to either exert the kind of pressure that makes diamonds out of worthless lumps of teenage coal, or missing the one pivotal opportunity, retreat to various offices and golf carts for the rest of the year to lick their wounds and plot for another day. There is no middle ground. One shot. Either dominate totally and very publicly or just watch the rag-tag parade slouch by until the next school year and they could begin again. Blitz and Boo-ya went for the Hail Mary this time, and the touchdown is a matter for the refs and the playback to decide.

The game deciding play? The Statue Man.

Most of high school is a swirling watercourse of sometimes toxic events, including lesbian bitch-slap fights, nut job tazings, jocks and cheerleaders, atomic wedgies for all (both literally and figuratively) and tangy smoke filled restrooms.  But once in a while, in the meandering flow, an odd eddy forms and the world just arranges itself around it. That would be The Statue Man.

An unassuming shaggy-haired white kid, he arrives at Boone football games trailed by a cadre of fans who know what he’s going to do. He is always accompanied by his cohort/cameraman. He strolls to a good spot, like the grassy knoll (that’s what they call it) near the bleachers and a crowd forms.

He freezes in place.

The scene unfolds under the disconcertingly constant gaze of the camera, and the intimidating stares of Mr. Blitz and Dr. Boo-yah, as he adopts whatever statue position is imposed upon him by passersby. Anyone who walks by is allowed to physically move The Statue Man's arms, legs, head, facial expression or clothes to suit their whims. They sometimes add or subtract clothing or props decorating him with found items. He transforms in just minutes, depending upon the mob energy surrounding him, from triumphant Poseidon, with arms and gaze flung heavenward, to abject slave kneeling with his shirt pulled up over his face. Until someone else decides to change his scene.  He's a life-size Gumby but without the green slanty head, and his monkey-cam co-conspirator is not Pokey.

The Statue Man maintains this act of supernaturally-disciplined all-consuming performance art throughout the length of an entire football game. Some brave ones, unconcerned with whether it's cool or not, actually join him and stand still for short blocks of time just for fun. One such pioneer dork says that he strikes poses gleaned from his Art History Class. Rodin’s The Thinker, for instance. Or Tutankhamen. Or the Sistine God. Or Dr. Evil. Whatever.

Think long on this: Post adolescents standing still. Contemplating art and society and metaphors and funny movies. Miraculous. Awe inspiring.

And yet The Statue Man goes against everything Public High School in the United States of America has adopted as appropriate behavior. No, a student cannot deviate from the norm by adopting disruptive behaviors or by promoting physical contact. What if someone touched him in a “bad way?” What if one of his actions offended someone’s religious/cultural/racial beliefs? What if he “shot a bird?” What if the kids got over stimulated and a fight broke out? Or a riot? Or, god help us, a LAWSUIT?

“Young man if you stand still one more time, you will be escorted from the premises.”

This was the decree issued by Blitz and Boo-yah at the conclusion of the game before Homecoming. It was all over Boone High that Blitz and Boo-yah had suppressed The Statue Man. That they didn’t want Homecoming to be spoiled in any way by an “incident” so they nipped it hard. This was the pivotal event this year to cement their dominance. Or so they thought.

The unassuming shaggy-haired kid arrived at the Homecoming football game as expected, followed by his posse and paparazzi. He confidently took his spot on the grassy knoll and froze. Mr. Blitz and Dr. Boo-yah circled like sharks in well-chummed waters working up the nuts to make good on their decree.

But a funny thing happened.

The Statue Man suddenly had a buddy. A kid froze right next to him and submitted to the manipulations of anyone passing by just as The Statue Man had. Then another joined. And another. Then 10. Then 20. A silent I AM SPARTACUS littered the grassy knoll with Statue Men and Women. They were not kids just pushing back at “The Man” from some anarchist-esque rebellious place. They had stepped over the line to assume the positions of grown-ups; men and women with opinions, causes, and, yes, passions.

Blitz and Boo-yah were at a crossroads.  Blitz, with strict authority, swiftly and commandingly took the lead. Scowling, he approached The Statue Man closely, invaded his personal space for just one intimidating moment. He brought his hands up, dug his heels into the ground for stability…and froze.

Blitz struck a pose.

Touchdown.



"Let's see if they can keep us from standing still!"

Officer Krupke, I'm Down On My Knees

I got popped for speeding. I paid my fine online swiftly, felt like ripping a band aid off a furry spot, or even an energetic bikini wax, to ameliorate the pain of supporting Brevard County’s latest public works project. There goes all those quarters and nickels and Canadian dimes I saved up for a new reclining chair and the co-payment on the colonoscopy I am supposed to have as a freakishly undignified reminder that my last birthday makes me old… Whatever.

Now the “points” problem. It's going to take me 4 hours to complete this Florida Driver Safety Course online. I thought when I tuned into the Course, well hell, I can just skim this stuff, take the module quizzes and be done with it in no time. But no. Those wily imps, the Safety Course people, have affixed a timer, an infernal speed bump, to each module so that you cannot skim, skip ahead and just merrily guess your way to completion in a fraction of the time like I did in college. No Way. You've been a bad bad girl! Time out!

From the Course: "The operation of a motor vehicle takes a clear and focused mind, uncluttered by thoughts of aggravation and distress..."

Well, Officer Krupke, try this on for size -

"Mom! We’re LATE! Coach's going to make me do pushups. One for every minute we’re late! And laps too. Everyone will yell at me for being late. I'll sit the bench first half. Then I’ll pull a muscle from not being warmed up…”

"It’s not my fault you overslept and didn’t put out your things last night like I told you to not less than four damn times little missy. But oh no! Miley frickin’ helium head Cyrus and those fat kids living in the hotel show just couldn’t be missed…”

“My socks are dirty looking, did you wash them? My hair is awful. A-W-E --- - no how do you spell awful? OMG I can't find my cleats, we got to stop at the Sports Authority and buy some...”

“It is your responsibility to keep track of...WTF? You’re playing in your bare feet I don’t care now"

“Can't you drive any faster? God, you drive like an old lady!"

The Safety Course Voice: Must you always be right? (YES) Do other people upset you, particularly when they don't do things your way? (YES INDEEDY THEY DO!) Try cooperation instead of confrontation; it's better than fighting and always being "right"." (MAKE ME!)

At this point the Safety Course Voice begins speaking to me in a just-put-the-weapon-down-and-come-on-out-of-there-with-your-hands-up voice:

“Good drivers have a quiet level of efficiency in their actions. What do you do when emotional distress has taken over?

1. Take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds and then let it out. (Done) Go for a walk. (Can't. Got to roll. We are now officially really late.) Do anything non-violent. (Check! Chewing soda straw to smithereens.) Do not get in your motor vehicle and drive angry. (Whoops! Too late!)

2. Try to displace yourself from what it is that is upsetting you. (But she’s right there---> Can’t you see her there in the passenger seat?) Take a time out and go sit in your room. (Going to my happy place....Connecting in Atlanta.)

3. Take a moment and recognize your anger for what it is, some hurt, real or imagined. (Huh? Can’t hear you because of the blood rushing through my ears.)”

“With severe emotional pain, the driver could turn to substance ______ to hide emotional pain.
_use
_abuse
_neither
_both


Exhaustion can manifest itself in your life in such things as:
_migraine headaches
_insomnia
_both a and b
_neither a or b”

This is when I spontaneously consider this: “At what Blood Alcohol Concentration (BAC) are you considered impaired?” Sports Authority is next to the ABC store. Then I punch in all the data into the mental calculator and decide the beer goggles are not worth it.

Hey look! The Safety Voice has calculated it all out like I did:

“Towing - $150
Lawyer - $3500
Fine - $250 to $500
DUI School - $190 to $285
Insurance - $1500
Lost Wages - $1000
Court Costs - $450
Substance Abuse Evaluation - $75
Treatment - $400
License Reinstatement - $155
Cost Recovery - $350
That "one" 5 oz. glass of Pinot Grigio costs you in the neighborhood of $8000.”

Check. No green light for the coping liquids. Only at home when the keys are missing.

So migraine it is... here comes the aura, wham, and it's black. Just as black as the inexpensive cleats my daughter does not want, nor even glances at, perched like adorable enthusiastic “pick me, pick me” mutt dogs in the pound on a rickety folding table to the right. After screeching into the Authority, leaping out and scurrying barefoot into the just opening store, she sees with supernatural laser eyes, yes, the pure white shimmering aura of the sacred Nikes elevated on an altar of just Windexed plexiglass.

“I LOVE these.”

“Get them; just get themmmmm (my devil voice in lowest octave) GGEETTT THEMMMMMMMMM!”

“Mom you're scaring me.”

Deep breath, charge card, and the birds are released, cue the balloons and angels sing.

11 minutes more to go on this Florida Safety Course module. So carrying on…

Back in the vehicle we call Ursula, we peel out and step on it to make time. Ursula bleats at us incessantly until the seat belts are clicked. Ursula says; “Oh hell no! None of your faces are going to come to a splattering stop on my pretty windshield! Put those belts on, my bitches!”

Still we were 20 minutes away and going to be late by as much. So it's Sunday, everyone safely tucked away in church except we heathen soccer pagans, no one on the road, and I put the pedal down on a straightaway leading to the soccer fields.

She says, I shit you not: "Wow Mom you are driving much faster in this car than the last one!"

“Yeah well it was falling apart. I was trying to baby it into living longer. Remember it tried to kill us in Port Charlotte by not letting me release cruise control at 70 mph? It croaked anyway. Put your damn shoes on."

I felt assaulted, betrayed and abandoned by the Mazda 626 until I found Ursula. Now I could cook down the highway leaving flames in the rear view like I had my very own Flux Capacitor and could warp time and distance at will. Rock n roll!

Safety Course Voice, where the hell were you at this juncture. Sitting somewhere sipping tea after church pursing your lips and waving a naughty, naughty finger in my direction. I got another finger gesture in mind right now.

"One should avoid dangerous driving situations (excessive speed, running red lights or stop signs, etc.)"

I could have USED that information right then.

"If the vehicles are the same weight, the vehicle with the higher speed will have the greater force of impact. If one vehicle is going 20 mph and the other is going 60 mph, the one going 60 mph has nine times the force at impact than the one going 20 mph. This is a squared relationship. Three times the speed will have nine times the force of impact (32). Four times the speed will have sixteen times the force of impact (42). Five times the speed will have twenty five times the force of impact (52), and so on."

They told me there would BE no Math, not wired for it in any way at all, but holy hell! If this Safety Course has done anything for me that last piece of demonic natural was it.

"The belted-in occupants count their lucky stars and continue on with their lives. The unbelted occupants are carted off to the hospital or morgue for an extended stay; some longer than others."

You try it:

If one vehicle is going 20 mph and another is going 60 mph, the one going 60 mph has ______ times the force at impact as the one going 20 mph.

_three
_six
_nine
_twelve
_Oh God Help Me Sweet Mother of Quantum Physics!

"Drivers should … not let outside distractions deter them from safe driving habits. Billboards, homes, pedestrians, etc., can be observed yet should not consume one’s full attention. Drivers must realize that an awareness of the road is vital in safe driving.”

“I see the field lights, we're almost there. Maybe Coach will forgive us the pushups or laps or whatever.”

“Well YOU don't have to do them Mom, I do, so hurry.”

“I see lots of cars up ahead, it's right there on the right, we’re ALMOST there..."

"Mom, I see police lights behind us."

"Oh I’ll pull over so he can get to where he's going"

"He's where he's going Mom"

"Am I getting popped?"

Stopping. Turning car off.

"Eh, yeah Mom you are. See ya!"

She scampered like a happy bunny off to the relative safety of her team where I found out later, they wondered aloud whether I'd flash the cop to avoid the ticket.

Safety Course Voice,  a fey cavorting guardian angel right by my side, reminds me in a prissy lisping I-told-you-so tone: “Everyday driving is hours and hours of the same thing, followed by a few moments of terror. Imagine running as fast as you can into a wall. You'd expect to get pretty banged up. Do you think you could stop yourself if the wall suddenly popped up when you were two feet away from it?"

“Hello Officer. What can I do for you today?”

“License and registration please...”

Good Night Booby Boy Wherever You Are!

No corner of Florida is immune from my presence lately being the chief chauffeur for my kids.

We see some great stuff travelling around, most particularly is the ritual of spotting a certain young boy every morning on the short hop to school. We have seen this little guy grow at least six inches since we first noticed him and I think he has cycled through at least three bookbags over the last years. Here's the drill: After avoiding the camera light on Dixie Belle, which is relentless in its pursuit of speeding me, my daughter and I snap our heads to the right and every morning, unfailingly we are treated to our profound delight by the same scene with only slight variations from day to day.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of a collection of condominiums, is Booby Boy waiting for the bus. He is accompanied by a proud and buxom smiling lady in hospital scrubs who we can only assume is his beloved, and I mean beloved, Mommy. They wait together for the bus wrapped in their own personal bubble, talking, laughing, gazing into each other's eyes with Booby Boy's bespectacled blissful face in full contact, fully engaged, in his Mom's cleavage!

We analyze the scene every day, musing on how much he's grown, how her scrubs went from pea green to a cheerful print and maybe she has a new job, how disturbing yet delightful that this boy is so joyful every day during these stolen moments from an obviously very busy day, that we can salute a kid who is developing such a profound respect for breasts, that we feel so guilty for anonymously hijacking their small slice together, how hard is the single Mother's life.

At night, we wing by there on the way back from soccer practice and the sidewalk near Dixie Belle seems mournfully vacant. My daughter and I routinely and simultaneously fall silent and glance over trying to glimpse just the smallest hint of Booby Boy and his Mom. Unrequited we sigh, look at each other and intone in unison, sometimes in harmony-

"Goodnight, Booby Boy, wherever you are!"