Topic Author's Original Post - Dec 23, 2012 - 12:40pm PT
The day starts out well enough, crisp, clear blue skies… the first nice day in a long time. The thought of spending it in the warehouse, filling orders, shipping off packs that other people will stuff with their dreams seems dismal. It doesn’t take much convincing to get me to blow it off.
The day, it turns out, is a traitor. Micah and I huddle under a cold, gray sky on The Naked Edge, the wind intent on blowing us from our perch. Like I said, we’re playing hooky, him from school, me from my mind numbing job.
“I gotta pee,” he grunts, fighting his harness and his fly. It seems to be taking him an unusually long time to get on with it.
“Having trouble finding it?” I ask, unable to resist.
‘No, I know where it is,” he moans, approaching critical mass. “I just can’t get to it through Lynn’s underwear!”
I step away from him, as far as the small ledge will allow. Its not the splash factor; we’ve climbed together a lot, peed on each other more than once. Suddenly, however, I’m having serious doubts about the future of this relationship.
Maybe I should explain: he’s house sitting for Lynn Hill, I’m helping. My job is to make sure nobody sneaks in and steals the couch in the middle of the night. I take the job seriously, if anyone takes the couch, they’re getting me with it.
Over the past month Micah, his girlfriend Amelia and I have all slowly been going nuts writing our papers. Mine is for Alpinist, its about hanging out in Cochise Stronghold with my dog and this bimbo I used to date. It draws heavily on the history of the area- the Apache in general and Geronimo in particular.
Micah’s paper is for school, Asian history. The first sentence of Micah’s paper reads: Genghis Khan conquered the world in girls underwear. I’m not making any of this up.
“Roadie,” he said to me last night as he took up space on my couch, (well, ok, Lynn’s couch) “I bet my paper could beat up my paper.”
I looked up from my laptop, fixed my eyes on him menacingly and said in a cold, hard voice, “Micah, my paper would kick your papers ass.”
The argument escalated, "Dude, my papers got Mongrel Hordes!”
“Micah,” I explained, “My papers got guns.”
Amelia chimed in, “What about my paper, it’s pretty bad ass!”
The argument stopped. Micah and I looked at each other, looked at Amelia and began to laugh. “Amelia,” he said, “our papers would eat up your paper like cup-cakes.”
Amelia’s paper is on John Wesley Powell. She stomped out of the room, angry and hurt. Micah and I continued to laugh, wiping tears from out eyes.
So here we are, freezing on The Naked Edge, dodging wind-blown golden drops. Micah in Lynn’s underwear, me in none at all. Finally, curiosity gets the better of me.
“So Micah, what are you doing with Lynn’s underwear?”
He looks at me, begins as if explaining something to an exceptionally dull-witted child. “It’s like this: if Genghis Khan could conquer the world in girl’s underwear I thought maybe I could conquer The Red Garden Wall in Lynn’s. Its not like she’s just -any girl.”
Maybe he’s on to something here I think as he sends the crux pitch and I pop off of it. Twice.
By the next night white stuff is falling out of the sky like crazy. Delightful. Micah and Amelia go out to dinner, that cheap Vietnamese place on 22nd Street, the one by the laundry mat. This is my chance. I tell my dog, Oula, to guard the couch as I creep into the bedroom. It doesn’t take long to locate the drawer, the top one on the left. I pick the black ones, no lace. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before I get my Carhartts back on. I don’t really feel comfortable discussing all the feelings that evokes so we’ll just skip that part…
On the way out the door I remind Oula to guard the couch. She looks up, yawns and goes back to sleep. I leave the house with every confidence she’ll do as good a job as me.
The gym is packed with all the usual muscle-bound twenty-something’s. Tthese guys don’t have six-packs, they’re packing cases. I do a few quick warm-ups to get used to the rather, uh, constricting feeling of my new secret weapon then, nonchalantly amble over to my nemesis, the much feared and coveted Blue Route. You know the one: steep crimpers, dyno to the little pinchy thing, figure four off the squirrel, bump to the pelvic bone, left foot flags off the plywood thingie, then campus through the blobs… sounds simple right? Fifty feet to glory!
People stand in stunned silence as I lower to the padded floor. I hear whispers of: “Holy shit!” and “Who is that guy?”
After a subtle equipment readjustment I pack my things and leave. On the way home I get to thinking: I might be on to something here. I know a lot of guys--- well, few at least--- who would pay good money for a secret weapon like this. I wonder if Lynn’s still got the ones she wore on The
Nose.
All this is a way of telling you that “The Moth” is one of my simple pleasures in life. It’s a podcast and a show from NPR, and it’s taken from the popular storytelling series in New York City and other places. Basically, you go to a Moth show, get up on stage, and tell a story without notes. It could be hilarious, like one I heard recently about a couple fighting and falling back in love in Italy. It could be heartbreaking, like the one I just listened to Saturday about a father trying to get over the death of his daughter right before childbirth.
Moth stories educate, entertain, and basically remind me how you really can learn something from every person you meet. Some of these tales are five minutes; others last for 20.
But all of them leave you richer for having heard them, because hearing about someone else’s life experience can only inform yours.
According to DNA testing, after only eight centuries, something like 8% of the male population of Asia is descended from Temujin - Genghis Khan - or at least him and his family.
You ought to have one of these on your desk, several sizes for sale. Scissors would solve one problem. Visits with a shrink might help with certain others.
What was Largo wearing when he decked? I hate to think.
I'll bet the elastic got F*#KED up, unless you moonlight as Tinkerbell.
Look forward to your peice on cochise stronghold. Make sure to reference the 2nd amendment, abortion and the Kardashians in the title, Alpinist will appreciate it I'm sure.
oh my, and oh my, again... kind of like a superman-suit, i reckon...
and as to michelle's qoute:
She does now
;)
say, and to zbrown:
part of your quote THE LAST PART:
Moth stories educate, entertain, and basically remind me how you really can learn something from every person you meet. Some of these tales are five minutes; others last for 20.
But all of them leave you richer for having heard them, because hearing about someone else’s life experience can only inform yours
i've tried to get the grandkids to have a 'go at that type of fast story-on-the-run'... at tea time...
it is amazing the things they share... good simple fun.. and then othertimes, as you noted--heavy things to pray about and time to give hugs...
thanks for sharing...
and--all this drawn out from drawers, from a drawer,
by a climbing 'drawing' a drawn-out-picture of the power of lynn's underwear, :)
Let us know!