The Prayer of the Faithful

This was a story related to me by my wife, Mrs. Wiggy...

It seems that my wife has a Catholic priest in the family. This is useful, as it often happens that families have need of a priest, and hey, you know you can call the guy. Cool.

For one reason or another, mah wahf's family found themselves having a family Mass in the living room of a cousin, and Father was celebrating the Mass. Imagine a living room full of relatives, all in suits and dresses and so on, very formal, very serious, having a religious ceremony in sort of a circle with the Father at the center. Sort of church in the round.

There comes a time in the Roman Catholic Mass called "The Prayer of the Faithful." This is where the priest invites the congregation to pray for various people, situations, and etc. For example, the Father might say "For the people of Afghanistan and their well-being," and the congregation would reply "We pray to the Lord." This can go on for a bit, sort of a call-and-response kinda thing. With me so far?

So, here's the family doing the Mass in the living room of the cousin's house, and apparently, "The Prayer of the Faithful" went on for a bit longer than usual. Perhaps it went on for a really long time. At least, for one little cousin of my wife, who was maybe five or so at the time.

"For the family down the street whose grandmother has gout, we pray to the Lord."

"Lord, hear our prayer."

And so on...

When the Father finally ground to a halt, he asked "Does anyone else wish to say a word?"

Silence.

Then, the five-year-old leaned forward, a serious expression on his face.

"I would like to say a word," he intoned quietly.

You could have heard a pin drop.

The family is taken completely off guard. Here is this very serious, somber moment, and this very serious, somber young boy in his suit has stated his intention to add to "The Prayer of the Faithful" his own special prayer.

Father responded, "Yes, young man? What is the word you wish to say?"

The silence is palpable - everyone strains to hear the boy.

The boy took a deep breath...

"Crocodile."

In the pandemonium which resulted, the Father shouted "Mass has ended, go in peace and serve the Lord!" and that was the end of the service.

Or so I'm told.

Keep Yer Stick on the Ice,

Wigwam Jones

My Head Hurts

My wife is currently on the phone with her long-distance buddy and NYC trouble-maker, a woman named Anne.  Anne has Mrs. Wiggy watching the TeeVee and Jumpin' Jehosephat, they are watching QVC and giggling like fiends.  Some bronzed trog named Thad is showing off a "Set of 6" Victorian Style Porcelain Ornaments for the low-low price of $21.57.



I grabbed my empty Sam Adams bottle and struck myself over the head, but it seems not to have put an end to this madness.  I am going to hurl until I hear the marble that I ate in a drunken moment in 1981 hit the porcelain.  I mean, it's ALL comin' up.

Keep Moving,

Wigwam Jones

The First Okinawa Rock-n-Roll Brigade

Your ol' pal Wiggy was a young Jarhead in Okinawa, Japan in 1983. The USA brought over a strange brew to entertain us - parts of Kansas (the band, not the state), parts of Pablo Cruise, all of Cheap Trick, and the Happy Days TV show cast and crew (minus the Fonz and Ritchie). The Happy Days guys played exhibition baseball - Mrs. C pitched.

No, I'm not kidding, and no, I was not on drugs. This happened.

The bands, or parts thereof, put on a show in the Camp Foster Field House, which was across the street from our barracks. I was an MP (Military Police) at that time, part of the 3rd Force Service Support Group, 7th Marine Amphibious Brigade.

As an MP, it fell to ol' Wiggy (well, young Wiggy back then) to help provide security for the bands. I was not lucky enough to draw escort duty out in town - that would have been cool, I was told they visited music stores and just about bought everything in sight. I did get to provide security for the concert that night in the Field House (read - really big gymnasium).

I got into a fistfight with some body-builder who would not put out his cigarette (it was a wooden building, no smoking). I insisted he put the thing out - he bounced it off my chest, and it was on.

He stood up and I hit him with a straight shot from my nightstick - direct from the holder at my waist to his chin. Turfed him. He sat down like a sack of rocks.

I grinned and prepared to introduce him to my favorite song at the time - 'Five from the Sky'.

Then he rubbed his jaw and got up. Dang.

The monster got a hand full of my cammie blouse and lifted me off the deck. Urp. I wrapped my legs around him and proceeded to climb on his back. I stuck my nightstick under his chin and put the ol' Figure Four on him - usually knocks them out in under ten seconds. Didn't. Seemed to have kinda made him mad.

He tossed ol' Wiggy around like a matchstick - I was clinging to his back and massive neck while he just shook me around like a rag doll - we had to get our own MP bodybuilder, one Corporal Peese, to come out and put the Habeus Grabbus on the dude. My head felt like it was being used as a maracca.

I fell on the floor, shook my head to clear it, then realized that there was no music coming from the bandstand. I looked up.

Cheap Trick had stopped playing. Bun E. Carlos was staring at me and pointing at me with his drumsticks. The whole damned Field House erupted in laughter. I wuz humiliated! I had to go chase down my nightstick, badge, and etc that had gone skittering across the polished wooden floor whilst I was getting my comeupance.

I was humbled but proper. But Bunny came up to me after the show and told me over and over again how much he had enjoyed the show. I asked if he had seen my front tooth. He gave me his number and told me to look him up, but I never did.

Keep Yer Nightstick Shiny,

Wigwam Jones

Ottomans as Coffee Tables

Let me lead off by explaining somethin'. Mrs. Wigwam and I have been watching way too much HGTV recently - having become first-time home owners ourselves. And HGTV is a Good Thing, no doubt about it. We're addicted.

But there is something I can't take. If I see it again, I'm going to go berserk, I just know it.

The very concept turns my stomach.

The Ottoman as a Coffee Table.

You see, there are ottomans, and there are coffee tables. They are very different things. They are not at all the same. The only characteristics that they share are that they are both furniture, and they both belong in the living room of a house. That's it. Otherwise, they are as related as a microwave oven and an ice-maker. They are both lovely, but intended for different purposes.

But someone, some Evil Person, has gotten it into their pointed little head that since you can put your feet up on both a coffee table and an ottoman, that means that they are interchangable. They are not.

Let me repeat. An ottoman is NOT a coffee table. It is not right to try to use an ottoman as a coffee table. An ottoman is typically soft and upholstered and has a slightly round top. In what way is that useful as a coffee table? Where, pray, does one put the FREAKING COFFEE? Y'know, because they CALL IT A COFFEE TABLE for a REASON! This insanity must end!

Now, having seen on HGTV that they've been turning ottomans into terrible coffee tables for some time now, it has become a trend. Yes, and furthermore, since ottomans make such lousy coffee tables in one sense because they are too small, they now make ottomans that are oversized, so that they can be better coffee tables! It does not make them better coffee tables, it makes them worse ottomans! Morons!

Making an ottoman bigger, so that it can be a better coffee table, makes about as much sense as making your mailbox softer so that it will be a better couch. A mailbox is not a couch, and an ottoman is not a coffee table. Torturing the poor dumb thing doesn't fix anything.

I'm a gonna say this about one more time. An ottoman is a little rectangular poofy upholstered thing that you put yer feet up on. A coffee table is a table, made of wood, glass, or some similar hard flat level material, which you can also put yer feet on, but is more properly used to put yer dang coffee on. Or some books. Or the TV remote. Or what-have-you. Try putting all that stuff on an ottoman. Doesn't work, does it? Slides off onto the floor. That's because it is not a very good coffee table.

So stop it. Just stop it. I mean it - knock that crap off now. I can't take it no more.

Folks, just say no. Don't buy an ottoman unless you plan to put your feet up on it as it was designed. Don't buy an oversized ottoman, for God's sake! Tell HGTV to get their head and ass wired together - or who knows where the madness will end?

I can see it all now - bread boxes as TV sets. Microwave ovens as coffee makers. Flag poles as Barca Loungers. I don't mind strange, folks, but there has to be a limit!

Keep Pluggin'

Wigwam Jones

A Blank Piece of Paper

There is something intimidating about a blank piece of paper.  There is no direct analog in the digital world - blank screens don't feel the same.

A blank piece of paper is a challenge, an insult.
It has a smell and a taste and it is rude and degrading.
Eight and one-half inches in one direction; eleven inches in another.
The Europeans seem to be happy with letters and numbers to represent paper sizes.
A4, A5. Whatever. 8 1/2 x 11 says it all for me.
White, clean, emotionless paper.
Makes me angry.

I rip the cap off of an El Marko
And proceed to deface the future.
Now, my anger bleeds into the paper.
And pries open your head.

Stay Hungry,

Wigwam

Curtis Mathis Tried to Kill Me

I have an interesting story for you. When I was a young Wigster of 2 or 3, I had a tricycle. We lived in a three-story brick four-square house in Galesburg, Illinois. This was an old (say early 1900's) house with wood floors and a winding main stairway that went from the ground floor all the way to the top floor. My father traveled for a living, and my mother stayed at home (my parents would eventually have 4 kids).

My mom was absolutely rabid about having a clean house. The house got scrubbed from top to bottom dang near ever day! Since I was just past 'toddler' stage, and was now happily riding a tricycle all over ever-thing, she would take me from floor to floor and she cleaned. She had my father install those 'expando' style gates over the top of the stairway on each floor, to keep me from riding my trike down the steps.

But, dear readers, your Wigwam was a clever chap - too clever by half. He figured out quite easily how to flip open the little latch and the expando gate would snap open - very nice.

And the stairs looked so inviting. So very, very, inviting for a young man who would one day decide that there was nothing quite as fun as bouncing a 1946 Willys CJ-2A Jeep up and down the Colorado mountains.

Ah yes. The challenge. Could the stairs be navigated on a tricycle? It sure looked possible.

And so young Wiggy opened the gate on the third floor and cautiously edged his tricycle over the edge of the top step. He extended his pudgy little legs to slow his descent....

And began to plunge at a rather rapid rate down said wooden stairs.

After the first twenty step or so, a corner came up. And your hero could not quite make the turn. But the trike had picked up a great deal of momentum by this point, so over it flipped, and over and over and over. With young Wiggy holding on for dear life (probably not the smartest choice, but Wiggy was not exactly thinking clearly at this point).

I recall seeing ceiling and floor and wooden rails and then the whole scene over again as I flipped end-over-end down the stairs, picking up speed and negotiating corners with the alacrity of a ball bearing in a pinball machine. There was much sturm und drang happening, let me tell you!

At the bottom of the first floor stairs, dear readers, was a closet.

And in that closet was a broken console TV.

A Curtis Mathis B&W console.

It had merely stopped working, but probably just need a new tube or something.

But the rapid insertion of my punkin' haid into the picture tube at a rapid velocity ended any aspirations my dad had harbored that he might one day fix the beast.

Apparently (I don't recall this part), I shot into the closet (the door was open) and over the handlebars of my trike. I went face-first into the picture tube of the Curtis Mathis and came to rest in a less-than-conscious state.

That's where my mom found me, as she came hurtling down the stairs after me, shrieking like a banshee.

I was stretched out flat, face down. Head in the TV and body outside the console. Much blood. My mom told me (many times) in later years that she thought I had decapitated myself. It looked like a body with no head.

I got a bunch of stitches on my punkin' haid. Until years later, when I started going bald, I never really noticed the scar. I guess you can kind of see it now - I can feel it as a sort of flat spot under the skin on my forehead on the left. Heck, it kind of explains a lot about me.

But Curtis Mathis *did* try to kill me. I got proof.

Keep Yer Stick on the Ice,

Wigwam Jones

Spiderman 2 - Awful, but Required Viewing

Went to see Spiderman 2 this weekend; I guess I expected too much.  After all, the critics had given this movie both thumbs up, and I have been a Spidey fan since I was just a kid.  I'm one of the few who prolly still remember the acronym 'FOOM' (Friends of Ol' Marvel).  I have been one of the True Believers for a long time.  Stan Lee, I'm gonna give you such a pinch!  This movie is nearly as stinky as the ill-conceived 'Hulk' disaster.

Oh sure, I enjoyed the movie well enough.  Plenty of action, and Toby Maguire is a terrific actor.  I saw lots of Character Development, but I think was overdone.  For example, I saw lots of some waif-thin daughter of the Evil Russian Slumlord, Ursula Ditkovich, (played by Mageina Tovah) making googoo eyes at Peter Parker, feeding him cake and milk, but then nothing came of it.  Obviously, she is intended to be Somebody, but we don't see her again after the weird silent cake-eating scene.  I half-expected to see her show up over MaryJane's shoulder when she showed up in her wedding dress at Peter's door, but no.  Apparently, she is intended for something else in future movies.  If not, these scenes could just as well have been left on the cutting room floor.  We got the point that Peter is googoo-rific when she made eyeballs at him during the confrontation with the landlord over the rent in an earlier scene.

Getting back to the Character Development.  Lots of setup.  We get to see Robbie Robertson, and we learn he is a Spidey booster.  We meet Dr. Curt Conners, and plot twist - we find out that Mary Jane is engaged to and going to marry (remember the wedding dress) J. Jonah Jameson's astronaut son, John (played woodenly by Daniel Gillies).  John will go on to become Man-Wolf, a minor star in Marvel's universe.  Curt Conners will become Lizard Man.  But who is Ursula Ditkovich?

We also get lots of Heavy Introspection as Peter vaccilates back and forth between whether he will or won't be Spidey.  He knuckles down for awhile and gives up the web-slinging gig - there's even a nice montage of him being successful and happy, with even a nod to Mary Tyler Moore, for crying out loud.  But of course, he must return to being Spidey, and the heartbreak that job brings with it.  Here's a hint, folks.  It's not a tearjerker, it's just long and boring.  Five minutes would have been quite enough.

The computer-generated animation was awful.  Really bad.  I don't know why everyone is gushing over it - it is the worst I've seen in some time.  Most of the Doc Ock sequences are actually not too bad, but the Spidey shots are just terrible.  Unrealistic and more importantly, unbelievable.  I saw much better animation in "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" than I did in this movie.  And that's really unforgivable.  Spiderman is a movie that had to wait until technology made it possible for comics to appear to come to life - it could never succeed otherwise.  Therefore, I must be fooled into believing that what I'm seeing is happening.  No strings, no wires.  And I was severely let down - I kept seeing the wires, so to speak.  The sparkler coming out of the tailpipe of Buck Rogers' spaceship in place of a flame.  Shame, shame.

Really, what I got out of this entire movie was that it was one giant set up for Spiderman 3.  OK, so you have to go see it to be able to follow Spiderman 3.  But don't go thinking it is All That, 'cause it ain't.

Keep Yer Stick on the Ice,

Wiggy