Jeff Kay's West Virginia Surf Report!

My Pledge for 2012, Atomic Fireballs, and Death of a Weekend

Thursday, January 26th, 2012

Now that we’re in another political season (already), I’m looking forward to hearing about the people the candidates have met while out campaigning.

“I was in a diner last week, Sherry’s Diner, in Raw Sewage, Arkansas, when a mother of Siamese twin war veterans approached me in tears…”

I love when they tell us about these conversations, and it’s even better when they bring the people onstage with them, like Carrot Top and his trunk of “funny.” Someday, if I’m lucky, I’ll also be able to play the part of fully-exploited political prop. Look at this man! No, look! Don’t turn away!!

And it’s fun to watch the candidates drip-feed their talking points to the media, then hear people at work or the grocery store, or whatever, repeating them — as if they’re saying something really original and profound.

It’s also enjoyable when people get into huge political arguments, using pre-programmed slogans and opposition propaganda. “99%!… socialism!… fair share!…”

Years ago I had a forum attached to this website, and people would go there and start political flame wars all the time. They repeated the same buzzwords and well-rehearsed arguments, over and over again. I got tired of it, so I went in and set up a bunch of rules that would cause the forum to automatically change certain phrases, to new phrases that I chose.

There were a bunch of them, but the one that worked the best was “Halliburton.” Whenever someone typed that word and posted it, “I have a tiny penis” would appear in its place. Comedy ensued. I kept adding these kinds of rules, until it was almost impossible to maintain a political argument there. So much fun…

But I’m going to make a pledge to you now: there will be no political commentary at TheWVSR in 2012. Not by me, anyway. It’s not that I don’t think it’s important, or that I’m uninformed (you might be surprised). It’s just that the world is already lousy with armchair political scientists, and I can’t see the need for another one.

If you desire a political blog, it’s certainly not hard to find… But the West Virginia Surf Report will serve as a sanctuary during this election year. When it all starts to weigh you down, you can come here and join a conversation about vomiting, Elvis Costello, fast food, juvenile delinquency, House Hunters, fat people falling off toilets, etc.

And so, I hereby proclaim this website a Politics-Free Zone. At least through the election… I don’t want to be in the business of censoring anyone, but please also try to hold back on the political snark in the comments. I’d rather not install a rule that turns “Obamacare” into “I sniff the buttholes day and night,” and that sort of thing. But I will, if necessary.

Thank you for your attention to this important matter. And pass the beer nuts.

This past week was tough on me at work. I struggled to make it through four days, after recently sailing through eleven with little trouble. I COULDN’T WAIT for the weekend, and today it finally arrived. Ahhh… sweet relief.

But I was sitting in Moe’s a little while ago, polishing off a cannonball of chicken and rice, when my phone rang. It was my boss’s boss, and she asked if I was available for a special project on Friday and Saturday. So, there you go… My Loverboy dreams are dashed, once again.

Yeah, I know. I could’ve said no, but that’s not the way I roll. Plus, we can always use the extra money. I’m trying to write a book and keep getting knocked off course, which is frustrating. But whatever. The Bat Phone rang, so I need to do my duty and serve Gotham. Or something.

Speaking of work, someone brought in a giant bucket of Atomic Fireballs last night, and put it in the middle of our department. There was a sign taped to it that said, “Our team is red hot! Help yourself to some red hot candy.”

After mumbling “oh, brother,” I decided to take them up on their offer, and unsheathed a fireball into my mouth. I used to like them as a kid, so I went to work on one of those jawbreakers like it was 1974.

And within two minutes I was near-tears. It was unbelievably hot, and just kept on going. I seemed to remember layers of relief, but this thing was unrelenting and felt like it was burning a hole through my face.

“Holy fuck!” I hollered, and everybody laughed. But I wasn’t trying to be funny. It was like a hunk of plutonium in my mouth. I kept gripping it between my front teeth, so it wasn’t touching any skin. But even then… I could feel heat radiating off the thing. I wanted to spit it into a trash can, but refused to be defeated. Eventually it disappeared, leaving strips of dangling skin in its wake.

I used to like those things?! Wonder if I would’ve also enjoyed an hour or two on “the rack” at the Tower of London? Good god.

Have you had any recent encounters with the full-sized Atomic Fireballs? The ones that are slightly smaller than a golf ball? Please tell us about it. Also, have you ever revisited a food that you remember liking, and was shocked at how bad it was? That might be a long-shot, but it’s all I got.

I need to call it a day, my friends. All four of us are going out to dinner tonight, which is super-rare. So, I’ll see ya next time – whenever that happens to be. My inner-Loverboy is weeping softly into his red leather pants…

Have a great day!

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Can You Remember Anything About First Grade?

Tuesday, January 24th, 2012

My first grade teacher died this week. She was 99 years old, which means she was about 56 when I was in her class. All the way back in 1969/1970… Or was it 1968/1969? It doesn’t really matter. It was a million years ago, and she seemed old to me, even then. Yet she was still around, as recently as last week!

She was a nice person, as kind and gentle as teachers of young kids are supposed to be. And she was apparently very good at her job, too. She won many awards and taught at the same school for 45 years(!). She was a legendary figure by the time I met her, and I’m glad to have been one of the hundreds and hundreds of Dunbar kids who passed through her classroom.

Ten or twelve years ago Toney and I were in the Dunbar Library, using their computers, when I heard someone say, “Well, hello Jeff. How have you been?” I looked up, and it was her! My teacher… from first grade. And she’d called me by my name. How is it even possible? It blew my mind, fully and completely.

We talked for a few minutes, and she couldn’t have been nicer. I introduced her to Toney, and she jokingly warned my wife about me. And while all this was going on, I kept thinking, “How in the hell did she remember my name??” It still amazes me.

So, today I thought I’d briefly tell you about some of the things I remember about first grade. It was a long time ago, and it’s kinda foggy. But I do have a few memories…

If you were facing the front of the class, I sat in the row all the way to the right. Behind me was a girl named Arlene, and the two of us talked constantly. And I got into trouble because of it. Arlene didn’t, but I did. Even though she was doing at least half the talking…

One day Arlene kept leaning forward and whispering the word “underwear,” so that only I could hear. I found this to be hilarious, and couldn’t stop laughing. The teacher kept telling me to knock it off, but ten minutes later I’d hear someone whisper, “…underwear,” and it would start all over again.

I had to stay after school and tell the teacher what was going on. I tried to explain, but it sounded ridiculous as the words were coming out of my mouth.

“So, the word underwear is what made you laugh, all day long? Underwear?” she replied.

“Uh huh,” I admitted, trying not to laugh again, after hearing the word two more times.

“You can go,” she said.

I also remember sitting in her classroom as a flatbed truck drove past the window, with a ton of playground equipment loaded on the back. There was a fully assembled slide on the truck, and the sun was reflecting off the metal, and blinding me.

And I recall sitting in a corner of the class, just a few of us at a time, learning to read. Each letter of the alphabet was tacked above the blackboard, and we went over them — one by one — until we reached Z. I was excited when we got to the end, and announced to my mother, later in the day, that I could read now. But she seemed skeptical.

Also, there was a kid in the class named Jeff W. He was one of those people who was around during elementary school, then disappeared. I have no idea what became of him, and don’t really care.

But I remember him emerging from the bathroom, with his pants around his ankles. He shuffled into the classroom, and said, “Teacher, will you wipe me?” There was a tsunami of laughter, and the poor bastard waddled back into the bathroom, with a look of sheer terror on his face.

During that year the teacher was also showing us how dangerous the doors could be, and warning us not to slam them and get our fingers mashed. She held up a pencil and closed the door on it, to illustrate what would happen. The pencil snapped in half, and we all got the idea.

Except Jeff W., that is. Within one to three minutes, he somehow managed to slam his hand in the exact same door, and his fingers were pointing in multiple directions. We couldn’t stop laughing. Wotta first grade douche.

During that year our teacher disappeared for a month or two, and returned with skin grafts on her face. They talked with us, at length, trying to prepare us for this, but it was still pretty shocking at first. I still don’t know what happened, but suspect it had something to do with cancer. It was not pretty, but it didn’t take us long to adjust. She was still just as smart and kind and gentle as she’d always been.

And that’s gonna do it for me, boys and girls. Do you remember anything about first grade? If so, please tell us about it. Use the comments link below.

And I’ll see you again tomorrow.

Have a great day!

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