100 Things About Me #181

Big Mike on Campus

Voted "Most Original" by my high school senior class.

Runner-up: "Most Ladylike."

Plus, unanimous wins for "Most Annoying" and "I Think of You as More Like a Brother."

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Big Weekend

Big weekend, attending my high school reunion.

I missed the first part. I had to sit in the corner an hour for Study Hall and read "Beowulf."

Then, they made me run laps.

I got home and my yard had been rolled.

But I kept my damn fish sticks!!

100 Things About Me #176

Fresh Hell

I became aware of Saran Wrap about the time George Jetson was munching the pie in this commercial, meaning when the ad first aired on television, as Mr. Jetson still resides in the distant future and has not eaten the pie I saw him eat, yet.

No wonder I am screwed up.


"The Jetsons for Saran Wrap" via YouTube and "Cartoon Carnival" Radio Show
Anyway, my mother refused to buy Saran Wrap when I was a child. She said it cost too much money and, perhaps, it did in the early '60s when she was packing lunches for four growing boys. We managed through many a brown bag feast with trusty prehistoric wax paper sealing our savory, slimy slabs o' Spam sammiches.

No wonder I am screwed up.

The world changed in the summer of 1969. Hippies frolicked and Mom went wild. She purchased her first box -- and maybe her last box -- of Saran Wrap.

To this day, I can hear her in the kitchen, moaning out of frustration. She was hopeless with gadgets. In her mind, Saran Wrap's clingy, tightening qualities might as well have been an intricate system of clock gears or movable pulleys. She could not master the physical mysteries of the thin plastic, only to have every bit of the confounded material stick and tangle unto itself, far beyond any hope of salvage -- or shrinkage.

No wonder I Ziplock.

I remember the huge wad of wild Saran Wrap, the size of a stalk of dewy bananas or Mothra's cocoon.

The mass enveloped Mom's wrist, elbow, and hand (in that order).

The yards of misguided wonderfulness at both ends of the roll fluttered in the dawn cool, stretching to her right open-toed pump, while the opposite flap continued along with a feminine swoop to an eyelash.

Mother's thumb remained miraculously fresh until my high school's shop class cut her out.

"That's a wrap," I said. "Mom, how about a shrink?"

She gave me The Slow Burn Gaze of Death^™ and folded into her car and drove away.

Those kids, though, they were great. They bought me lunch.

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More More High School Highs

Continued From: "High School Highs" and "More High School Highs"

Actual Adulation Out of the Annotated Pages of My Senior Class Yearbook

Davis flatters:

"Sometimes I'm not sure you have a brain, but outside of that you're a real cool guy."

A.K. lists the accomplishments:

"Well, there was the time he came running up and said, 'Listen to my first song. ... I-I-I was a teenage infant, baby...'

"And then there was the time he slapped me on the back and said, 'All hands on the rabbit!'

"And then there was the time he gave me a guided tour of Emory Cinema's toilet..."

I, uh, and, um, you see, I was the theatre's concierge / pointer.

Group rates. Bus drivers eat Necco Wafers free.

And, perhaps, the most touching and tender tribute to me would have to be the armpit faces Stanley S. drew on the wrestling team:

More High School Highs

Continued From: "High School Highs"

Actual Adulation Out of the Annotated Pages of My Senior Class Yearbook

John O. charms:

"This year was mucho (Spanish!!!) fun, cutting each other to shreds."

Susan, obviously in love:

"Despite your strange tendencies, you're not such a bad fellow. Maybe in a few years you'll be almost normal."

Another sunbeam:

"Durrett, it certainly has been an honor participating in the extra-curricular activities of the back corner of the room. Coach Rakestraw may have changed for the worse due to you, but I don't care. ... I also appreciate your respect for the office of Mayor and your sympathy for the problems of the office, especially concerning those rotten, gosh-awful CLOCK People.

"I thank you,

"H.R. Pufnstuf"

Tom gushes:

"You are a pretty good guy, but you wouldn't know it talking to you.

"...And I hope you will not miss me rubbing my stomach next year."

Dale R., benefactor:

"P.S. I just thought you might like a P.S."

High School Highs

You might not readily surmise I am quite the sentimentalist. I do have my soft, squishy, warm protoplasm. A recent revisit to the beloved Druid Hills High School senior year annual underscores the yearning I have to remain connected to the youthful inspirations and the gallant champions of my past.

I shan't elaborate more because I'll surely tear up, so allow me to transcribe the actual yearbook inscriptions from a few of the fine souls who opened their hearts to me and my legacy, not to toot my horn, but to share their proactive universal humanity, gratitude, and emotion for a life well engaged.

Jim G. writes:

"To the man ... who has displayed the talents of acting like a fly-eating moron [and] who created the first "Cockroach Villa," the all-new, awe-inspiring sensation..."

Keay completes me:

"Question: Do roaches possess the same Constitutional rights as you and me? Is stepping on maggots an immoral act? Is the A-bombing of an anthill 'overkill'? ... Maybe you'll just become some skid row beggar, getting pennies and wooden nickels for your starving wife and children by telling elephant jokes."

K. Cohen shouts praise:

"Mike, knowing you has been quite an experience. I have learned much from you, like I'm Jewish. I wasn't sure until you told me. You sure are a lucky guesser.

"Well, Mike, as I walk through the cobwebs of life and through the doors of my synagogue, and until my dying day, your brilliant words of wisdom, justice, mercy and love of octopusses will ring through my ears: 'Are you Jewish?'"

Frank K. hugs:

"Dear Mike, it's been great getting to know you, even though at times I wish I could put lit matches in your ___."

And:

Big Weekend

We drove to a romantic, secluded parking lot and perused the vintage jottings of classmates in my sacred high school yearbook.

Craig W. writes:

"Mike, you are the weirdest guy in this whole place. You have a way with humans. Good luck."

Big Weekend

Leafed through my school yearbooks' pictures.


2009                    1996


1962                    1952
I'm having trouble with the foreign language requirement, okay?

Si.

Big Weekend

Everything reminded me of Prom Night.

'It's a Gas!'

100 Things About
Me #156

Within my circle of friends, the only 1960s musical event to surpass Beatlemania was the insertion of a plastic-coated paper phonograph record among the pages of "MAD" magazine. The vocal artistry of one Alfred E. Neuman and the Furshlugginer Five augmented the swinging "It's a Gas," which I believe was a Wagner "Der Fliegende Holländer" aria originally or a Teamsters' meal break.

We loved this tune so much that years later it would be incorporated into our English class project, "The Birth of a Tragic Flaw," which was an original 8mm movie mash-up of William Shakespeare's "Macbeth" and D.W. Griffith's "The Birth of a Nation." We got an "A" and wet eyes all around.

The same day, we graduated from high school. It's a pass.


_{Can't hear the gas? Try reloading this page or visit YouTube.}

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Boys Will Be Boys

100 Things About Me #137

Reentering the Boys Room at Fernbank School after 42 years was exhilarating. Forty-two years is a long time to go between pees.

The headaches stopped and my nervous leg twitch may wind down by autumn.

Look at those tiny urinals for the youngest lads. Cute, huh? I remember that spot in first grade, rolling around, bumping into the wall and porcelains. Darn training wheels.

Oh, because you wonder, during the recent visit, I did check the stalls for messages. I had none. It felt like Valentine's Day again.

Justin, Class of '86, you're to "have a gnarly summer."

And "For a good time, watch 'ALF' on NBC."

I don't recall anything out of the ordinary ever happening in the Boys Room, except a seventh grade teacher questioned my zipper etiquette while we were standing elbow-to-elbow, urinal-to-urinal. I had unbuttoned and lowered my husky Haggar slacks, rather than access via the fly. He seemed puzzled by my method, but it worked for me. And isn't that the best society can hope for in a young person?

Teach and I had a very proper, instructive conversation and, frankly, it was a welcomed change from the usual straightforward "nice cinderblocks we're having."

Today, he would have been incarcerated -- and I'd be dropping trou' "On the Record With Greta Van Susteren."


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This Entry Continued From: "100 Things About Me #131," part of the "Back to School" sequence.

Getting It Outta My System

Two days ago in this opus, I posted "when nature calls" photographs, including a frontier potty.

Then, I found a related snapshot to share, so somehow yesterday seemed to be the perfect time to answer the immortal question, "Does a deer wee in the woods?"

And now I face a dilemma. What to do? What to do?

I had hatched no plans for dropping a long stream of this ick on you, yet there remain other bodily nuggets to publish from where those flowed. I'm sitting on a big fat stash. I've got piles. I'm backed up. I need to wipe my outbox clean, or it's bound to go to waste. I hate to make a stink, but I'm pushing forward. The crap runs.

For starters, here's a picture I clicked when we toured my old classroom at Fernbank Elementary School.


"Field Trips to Redundancy"

More to come, 1 or 2...

100 Things About Me #131

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #130," part of the "Back to School" sequence

And Now, for All You Youngsters, Right Here on Our Stage...

At the Fernbank Elementary open house, I revisited the site of my greatest bits -- live on stage in the cafetorium, ladies and gentlemen.

When I was 12, I performed two shows as Ed Sullivan on these boards, bringing entertainment to every student and teacher fighting in the trenches.

I wore a coat and tie and I was about as funny as Ed and I got about as many chicks as Ed. It was a really big "shoot."

Those appearances were more than a year after my triumph as the mixed-up elf in the rousing "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" extravaganza during the sixth grade Christmas pageant, mentioned previously ("100 Things About Me #89").

Bob Hope was in the Far East with his USO troupe, so I was the closest thing our school had to Miss USA, 1963, Michele Metrinko.

And I mean that because, grotesquely defaced under rosy cheeks cosmetics, I was forced to wear stretch tights for the song and sway, all against my will and child cruelty statutes.

Plus, my feet were doomed into pointy slippers. I had to be careful. I could've poked someone's thigh out.

How embarrassing, pointy shoes with jingly toes, prancing hither. I couldn't remember the choreography. I hopped and skipped with a limp and a thrash. I sounded like Tinkerbell shuttlecocked by Liberace.

I believe it was at that moment history coined the word "precious."

I did not own any tights, so a classmate offered me a pair. I liked the girl, but I had to be sweet-talked into her pants--

Hmm.

Maybe I should revive the act....


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The "Back to School" thread continues with "Boys Will Be Boys: 100 Things About Me #137."

100 Things About Me #130

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #129," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Faculty in the Dark

There was no audio-visual club at Fernbank Elementary.

I didn't let that stop me. I offered to manage the school's educational films and projection equipment. The librarian was hesitant to allow a child to force his way into her domain.

"What? And give up show business?" she wailed, palming her bouffant.

"S-H-H-H-H-H-H!" I stage-whispered, finger to lips. "Library."

Embarrassed, see listened to me. I outlined how I could make her job easier. She agreed, palming a box of Dewey decimals.

I already had professional credentials, training as a projectionist in the nearby Emory Theatre. At 12, I knew more about the clackety 16mm Bell and Howell Filmosound Projectors than anyone in the school, which tickled me and befuddled and irritated staff, which tickled me extra.

This was the era preceding videocassettes and DVDs, so the movies arrived on celluloid. I delivered the multitude of film cannisters to the correct rooms each day and made certain the movies were in the return mail on schedule.

The State Board of Education insisted the films be sent back to them "tails out," allowing their handling procedures to be conducted in a sensible manner. A few teachers ignored the policy and the boldly marked instructions on the materials. After their final showings, they rewound the reels to the beginning.

Mmm, nope. Sorry. Unprofessional.

I hunted down the offenders and saw to it that they complied to the rule. I made the errant adults run the films through the projector again in order to properly wind the footage to the end. There were several occasions where teachers had to stay late after work, as a single reel could take up to an hour to go through the machine.

Although I was polite and stunningly boylike, several teachers were hostile to me.

The nicer ones I rewarded by sharing technical tricks to finish the chore in a speedier manner, or I'd do the task for them. Be kind and Mike would un-rewind.

I was a learning lesson for those teachers and me, too. I learned the strengths of knowledge and being righteous and how to apply them to jerks -- and win!

Hee hee.


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^{Photo credits: film cans: Lorelei, Creative Commons license | 16mm: mconnors}

100 Things About Me #129

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #128," part of the "Back to School" sequence

All the Spews That Fit

Sixth grade made me a mogul of sorts. Carbon dating shows I may have been the only student in the history of Fernbank Elementary to helm his own campus newspaper, printed again and again on the school mimeograph machine, without permission.

A free press must be brazen and hijack a free press.

I was editor and reporter of "The Weekly Durrett," a daring entry in the genre of news satire.

The paper dedicated its one-handwritten-page issues to fake topics of interest for every student in the sixth grade, our vast circulation pool. I don't recall any specifics in the reportage, except I am confident that each and every article probably contained the word "vomit."

I learned quickly that there is no funnier word in the English language to 11 and 12-year-olds than "vomit." That baby is comedy gold, the Holy Grail. Use as directed.

Here's the recipe:

"Vomit." Swallow. Repeat.

"Vomit!" "Vomit!" "Vomit!"

I loved it. I basked in it.

Nevertheless, I was surprised to find my name incorporated into the title of "The Weekly Durrett," since my cartooning pals ("100 Things About Me #127") were partners in this venture, too. They awarded me the great honor -- plus, I think the lads feared somebody would get into trouble, so it might as well be me.

I do remember my friend Lewe referred to me in the paper as "Daddy Durrett," followed by the motto, "Our Hero."

I tell ya, when you possess the powerful secret and are willing to play the "vomit" card, you can rule the universe.

In the four year history of this Web site, a quick search reveals, I've only dispatched the magical utterance twice ("Pet Food Snafus," "Top 10 Reasons My Life Is Rated 'R'"). Such infrequent deployments should not be construed to mean I've abandoned an old nugget. That word is my secret weapon, always loaded and ready to hurl.

I practice restraint, which is not easy. Every day, when I sit at this keyboard, be assured, "vomit" is flowing through my brain.


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100 Things About Me #128

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #127," part of the "Back to Fernbank School" sequence

The Flab One Meets the Fab Four

The Beatles hit America and took over our minds during my sixth grade winter. "I Want to Hold Your Hand" and "She Loves You" arrived in a one-two punch, followed by that incredible debut appearance on "The Ed Sullivan Show," February, 1964.

Beatlemania was a pop culture orgasm.

That's exactly what it was, an orgasm, although I don't believe I became familiar with the term until I was much older, give or take, squeeze and giggle, pant and clutch chest.

Me like that term.

Term good!

Maybe me learn more?

Perhaps?

Pretty please?

I'm much older next March?

I'll bring hors d'oeuvres?

Chocolate Frappuccinos?

A wide assortment of home decorator monthlies?

Hallmark cards?

I've ... got ... Binaca!


Have I mentioned I'm shy?


The Beatles changed our lives. It was the perfect time to be transitioning into adolescence.

Boldness took awhile, but most of us boys amassed the courage to comb our aching wannabe mop tops into Beatle bangs.

And hard-core shakers openly flaunted barbershops' official mandate to undergo a haircut every 10 days.

Yeah. We were rebels -- in a wondrous 11-year-old world, where the simple recitation of a phrase, "I wanna hold your gland," would guarantee everyone found you delightful gear.


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100 Things About Me #127

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #126," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Eyewitness

Revisiting familiar sixth grade surroundings at Fernbank School brought back a torrent of memories, even the doodles.

My friends were accomplished pencil-and-paper artists. I was not, although I tried. We drew silly creatures to make each other laugh. We called our work "Crazy Collegiate Cartoons for Kids."

There was no money in it.

We decided each of us should have trademark character insignias.

^{©1964-2007 Mike Durrett}

Why?

Who knows, but it seemed like a brilliant idea. I created this one, comprised of the few simple elements I could draw.

(At this point in my life, I was in an artistic rut. Whenever I sketched, I always defaulted to "a house on a hill" composition. My stock hill is right there in front of you. I am very pleased with myself that I resisted using my stock house and turning it into a jaunty hat.)

I've always imagined this fella as a space alien (legal), however most observers see him as a toadstool, a thumb, or a Fudgsicle (white chocolate).

He's got hands, except they're only apparent when he's inserting a contact lens the size of a Frisbee.

He has 20 vision.

Monsters, Inc.
Double-sided poster
Buy at AllPosters.com

I've seen variations of my figure materialize elsewhere, including the popular "Monsters, Inc." movie, but mine predates Pixar's animation geniuses by 37 years.

And don't think I haven't noticed their character is named Mike, too.


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100 Things About Me #126

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #125," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Welcome to the Mating Game

The main floor of Fernbank, my primary school in Atlanta, quartered the offices of the principal and nurse, library, and sixth grade classrooms. As mentioned previously, I was seated beyond the second door to the right when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, yet that's not all I recall on the hall.

There was Becky.

I may have been too young in the sixth grade for a true case of "puppy love," so what I experienced was more accurately "canine embryo like."

Or "pre-pimples dementia."

Becky and I had been veteran classmates, but all of a sudden we found ourselves or our official delegates running back and forth, asking, "Do you like me?" or "Do you like Becky/Mike?"

We'd answer, "Yessss" or "Noooo." And then we'd all run away from each other real quick.

I don't know about her, but I'd regroup and puff a candy cigarette.

This went on incessantly for several weeks and then it stopped. I was crushed, even though we had never held hands or had a date or a conversation.

I could never bring myself to speak to Becky again, not even in high school. I wasn't being a jerk. I'd been perpetually stunned.

I do not believe I've seen Becky since the night we graduated and headed for college. Donna, ignore this part when you proofread this entry. If Becky were to suddenly appear, I'm sure I'd want to know if she, well, likes me, but I'd probably be too busy spit-taking, hyperventilating, and hiding to ask.


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100 Things About Me #125

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #124," part of the "Back to School" sequence

Touch of Evil

In 1962, while attending school at Fernbank, I survived the Cuban Missle Crisis. We could have been goners.

Even though the doomsday threat was frightening, I was also busy thwarting a deadlier killer which continues to plague our young people -- and, of course, that would include me.

Beware, lads. Be ever vigilant. Cooties can strike without warning.

--That's all. I'm done. Sorry, boys, I'm having a Cootie fit flashback. I'm going to check out of here early today and endure a full body shower with Pumice soap and a stern brass bristles brush.

I'll calm down eventually, probably during the delousing and the hot wax.

Watch this video. Learn more.


^{Can't see the video? Try here. | Via People's Improv Theater}

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100 Things About Me #124

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #123," part of the "Back to Fernbank School" sequence

I Drank to That

Fernbank School is in remarkably good shape, considering the five decades of strain and stress inflicted upon it by prepubertal toughs, and dogs eating homework.

I was surprised to see what I believe to be one of the original 1958 water fountains in service. Imagine, if you're not opposable, my thumbprints under 50,000 others.


I know of what it is you wonder. After 42 years of separation, did I have wistful longings of the stout heart and, perchance, partake of a cool, sweet, reuniting quench from this mechanical prodigy?

H-E-double-hockey-sticks NO! Grrrrr-oss!

Overall, I noted few changes in the building's decor since the antiquity of my youth.

1. Individual desks are out, group tables in. This communal seating trend must be stopped before it reaches the restrooms!

2. Computers are everywhere.

Won't you help?

Give a #2 pencil a hug.

Thank you. A message from the Fad Council.

3. The chalkboards are gone, replaced with markerboards.

When I think of all of the unemployed eraser clappers, I could cough.

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