Today is Nancy's birthday. I have officially known Nancy over half of my life. While old age is making my memory fade faster than the taste of cheap bubble gum, I still remember that life BN (before Nancy) was a bit stale compared to life AN (after Nancy). Like a lot of my friends, on paper there's no reason at all that Nancy and I should be friends. We are so completely different. Perhaps that's why her friendship is so special to me. And while our "resumes" say we're total opposites, the small "insignificant" things we have in common overwhelm what we lack in common. Stupid things like our odd affinity to the band ELO. Chips & salsa or Krispy Kreme Donuts and Tropicana Pure Premium orange juice. Perhaps the earliest memory I have of Nancy and I was helping her build a toothpick bridge. Back in 1990, one of the standard projects in the 3D design art class was to build a toothpick bridge. (Yeah, I know. Bridges in an Art class? What?!?) I eve took the class my senior year and still don't really grasp why theres bridge building in an art class. it is my understanding that Mercer's School of Engineering has taken over the toothpick bridge contest which seems to make more sense. When I was in 7th grade I build a toothpick bridge that was darn near indestructible, so I felt I could lend my (at the time) Engineering Major abilities to an Art major trying to build a bridge. So for hours Nancy and I sat in her dorm room with big bottles of Elmer's Glue and piles of toothpicks. ELO played in the background as we made lots and lots and lots of triangles. Our teamwork was so successful (?) that we continued our collaboration for the rest of the quarter. Mainly Nancy would think of the idea and I would come in and provide some sort of comedic angle. The large piece of Plexiglas with concentric circles taped on it above the "windshield wipers" and then the entire thing was covered in toy bugs. My contribution? The name: Driving To Orlando Somewhere along the lines Nancy came up with the idea of a Dinosaur Shampoo. (Yeah I didn't get it either.) My mind instantly went back to my childhood when my brother and I each had a bottle of shampoo shaped like a dinosaur. I think I had triceratops and he had tyrannosaurus rex. And of course there were epic sudsy prehistoric battles in the tub. (And after typing in those two dinosaurs names, I realize I should have use my "phone-a-friend" lifeline to call my nephews who are dinosaur experts.) When I related this story of dinosaur shampoo Nancy, she smiled politely and nodded along, tolerating my story (as she often does) and then explained that it was shampoo FOR dinosaurs. I was left speechless. She simply had visions of dinosaurs in the tub with suds all over their heads. I (being the horrible realist that I am) pointed out that the T-Rex didn't have arms long enough to shampoo the hair they don't have anyway. After about 20 minutes of gut busted laughter at the whole idea, and other jokes about things T-Rex can't do, it was decided that, Mother T-Rex would be shampooing her children's hair. When any of these art projects came up, Nancy would need art supplies. Not paint and brushes, as Nancy always had PLENTY of that. Being starving college students, we needed cheap and disposable art supplies. The best source for that? The Westgate Mall in Macon. Back in the early 90's the Westgate Mall was a real mall. Enclosed and everything. These days it's an open air ghost town of a strip mall with a Chinese take out place and a shoe store. (The three anchor stores, Wal mart, Home Depot, and Media Play either moved or went out of business leaving the small stores to wither and die.) I have racked my brain but been unable to come up with the name of the store in Westgate Mall that sold utterly cheap crap. It was as if The Oriental Trading Company had an outlet store where they sold their unwanted and rejected stuff, that's the place. It was always a fun trip as there was something new every time. Not that you'd ever consider buying anything. Unless you were on a budget and working on an art project. That store was the source of countless jokes over the years, but the longest running one (and Nancy will likely repeat after me) were the: Magic Popping EyesI am sure you're wondering how on Earth some child's toy could provide YEARS on entertainment. Well, they can't. They're just not THAT magical. The real joy of the items sold at the unknown store of crap was the fact that most items were made overseas where they didn't speak English. (And yes, the phenomenon now has a name and a website: www.engrish.com.) The packaging for "Magic Popping eyes" was loaded with insane engrish. The best one was when it told you to turn the eye inside out and hold it on your hand while it popped. The package implored us to "Feel how good that sounds." Ahh Engrish, I shall never tire of thee. At this point I bet you can't wait to get your hands on a Magic Popping Eye so that you, too, can feel how good they sound. Well sadly, after a lengthy search of the web I have come up empty on Magic Popping Eyes. There are, however plenty of less magical toys simply called Poppers. As you look at the Poppers you may notice something different from mine. The poppers on the web site all appear to have a hole in the center. Apparently several years ago my friend Cap'n Crunch had to recall boxes of cereal containing a popper toy. Apparently kids were giving themselves ferocious hickeys, bruises, and bloodshot eyes. It seems that with a name like "magic popping eyes" and the fact they LOOK like big colored contact lenses was causing kids to put them in their eyes and mash them onto their skin creating a lot of suction. So now they put a hole in them to prevent the suction. This does not affect their jumping ability, but it also removes a lot of the danger than made Magic Popping Eyes so much fun to play with. (That, and feeling how good they sound.) So Nancy, I had planned to send you some Magic Popping Eyes for your birthday, but for your own safety I have decided instead to send you some Lawn Darts. Just remember, when someone yells "Look Out" that doesn't mean "Look Up." If the video above does not play, Click here |
The story of how I got into the Krystal Lover's Hall of Fame.
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