July 2, 2013
4th of July Spent Watching Charlie's Angels by myself on my dad's Astronaut Helmet TV
...while everyone else shot off bottle rockets, lit snakes and used sparklers to scare the neighborhood hounds.
Well, listen, I was grounded...I was 8 years old...the night before, my dad and stepmom Shirley went out on the town and our boy babysitter (who I just knew deep down in my heart was going to be my first wife) came over to watch me and Wendi.
Well, call it trying to impress the little misses or whatever but I wanted to see how quickly a paper towel burned after being lit with a Playboy lighter. Now, I didn't want to upset Farrah who was hanging in my "room" at my dad's in Texas -- she already looked so chilly. So, I decided to try my experiment in my dad's bedroom...
Here's the thing...yes, paper towels certainly are the quicker burner upper...but man, oh, man, when that blazing sheet hits thick shag carpeting...oh my Bambi fire!
So after I had taken one of dad's golf shirts and put the fire out I noticed a charcoaled hole that was approximately the size of one of the new 45s I had just purchased (Rubber Band Man, perhaps??). Well, I was exhausted so I took the bathroom trashcan which was mirrored on all sides and I simply placed it nonchalantly over the seared shag remains. (I'm not sure if I was in denial or what but I didn't think it was too strange that when you walked in the bedroom there was a mirrored trashcan in the middle of the room stuffed with three rolls of crispy paper towels and one smokin' golf shirt.)
I blew only warm kisses to Farrah and sailed away to boy babysitter's and my dream honeymoon. Well, before we could even order a fruity cocktail I was being woken up by Mr. Jack Daniels who was actually whispering louder than I can nightmare scream.
Long story short, Dad asked me no fewer than 7 times if I knew anything about the alleged mirrored trash can, alleged hole, alleged burned gold shirt, etc. and I was pretty sure my alibi of "nope" was iron clad. But then it happened...dad (the genius that he was) went right for my heart. "Maybe we should call (your future wife) and see if he burned the carpet. Oh, MY< CHER! Seriously, dad, you ruthless bastard?!
I tossed off the matching Farrah pillow and dropped to my knees begging for forgiveness and rehabilitation with Mr. Smokey Bear. I told him I had been speaking in tongues all night but no one could hear...blah, blah, blah.
Thus, to prove a point or lesson or whatev...instead of playing with all the droll, boring neighbor rats and my sister on 4th of July, I was "forced" to stay inside watching a Charlie's Angels marathon on the TV set that looked like an astronaut helmet, drinking a 3-liter of Tab. I chalk it up to my very first true celebration of Independence Gay.