Dumb Moves / Injuries

Active. Radio active. Being more than slightly hyper, I have managed to commit bodily harm in a myriad of ways that, for some, may seem a bit improbable.

In the words of Bill Cosby, "I started out as a child"...

And it got worse from there.

At 4, I was hit in the head with a baseball bat. Wood. Direct to the forehead. 47 stiches and 2 metal staples later, good as new. Got a real cool 1/2 a "Y" shaped scar right smack in the middle. Cracked the egg, so to speak.

Played football. Lotsa football. Nothing like the physical agression release of being able to hit someone, legally. Was on scholarship to a fine West coast instution of higher learning. Worked the summer at a establishment that had great lunches. Lunches that had large wooden toothpicks in the sandwiches. I swallowed one. It gave me a ruptured appendix, perforated intestines, and a week long hospital stay. It took my game playing weight of 215, and in 2 weeks, dropped me to 145. Still went to the school. Shocked the shit out of the coach. Played the entire season, enjoyed the hell out of it. You dont see too many linebackers in California that weigh less than the quarterback. Or that hit the shit out of you. Anger, chanelled the anger.

Took off almost my entire right big toe surfing. Put holes in my head from the reef, numerous times. Emasculated myself from landing on my skeg (fin) of my board. Big, huge balls for a week.

Fractured my skull 3X's skateboarding. The last time, I lost conciousness, and my memory. For about a day. Fun coming back from the efge, tho'. Real interesting, when you are on the mainland, too. And didnt know it.

Ripped open various body parts, from surf, landing wrong, what have you.

But the dumbest move I ever made was smuggling.

1980. I think the movie midnight express had just come out. I saw it. Shoulda known better.

Specifically, I took a LARGE quantity of high grade Hawaiian Bud to the mainland. Not for personal use. Well, maybe, if was gonna be stoned for the whole year. Packed in my carry on. Stuffed. Now this was in the days when, well all kinds of shit went on; on planes. Mile high club like that. That one, too. So the trip route is from here, to there, stopping in O'hare. (rhyming!) All goes smooth, and I land, get out in Chicago, and wander around the terminal, till my next flight to midwestern hell. I left the secured area, with my carry on.

Ooops. Big kind ooops.

I have to come back in, thru the detectors, and a wisened older african american lady is the agent there. She notices that I have a large box in my carry on, she asks to open it. She goes rumagging thru the stuff on top, talking with yours truly. Then she stops. She asks "what is in this tackle box?" I say, fishing gear, from Hawaii, going to try to see if it works in ----. "Oh, you are from Hawaii?" Yes. "They grow a lot of Marijuana there, dont they?"... At this point, I figures I was dead, dead to rights.

I said - "I guess so, i dont really know"

She then grabbed the entire bag, moved it to me and said, "You have a nice year at school, sweety"

After cleaning the piss off myself, I rolled the biggest joint I could.

Sometimes, you get lucky, even if you are a moron.

Aloha.