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Wednesday, November 10, 2004
A Personal Memory of John Ashcroft
One of the barflies thinks we've been a bit unfair to John Ashcroft:
> From: "Mike Spehar"
>
> People act as if they had personally seen Ashcroft
> break into their neighbor's house.
It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in the basement of my aunt and uncle's basement on Van Ness avenue, reading Kurt Vonnegut. I decided, little knowing what it would get me into, that I would get some leftover Chinese food.
I have stayed with my aunt and uncle several times now, and every time there's been leftover Chinese food in the fridge. When I arrive, anyway; it's usually gone by the time I leave. So up the stairs I went, into the kitchen. There, in the fridge, I saw something that sent shivers down my spine.
There was...no leftover Chinese food.
I had forgotten that my aunt had joined that cult. Y'know, the Atkins diet. I mean, this is a diet that says you can't eat toast at breakfast, but you can have as much bacon as you want. From there, it's only a small step to compounds in Baja and arsenic smoothies.
So, it's two in the morning on a dark and stormy night in a rather good neighborhood of Washington, D.C. and there's no Chinese food. If I were thinking rationally, I would have gone back to bed. But I need leftover Chinese food to think rationally. So I put a pair of boots on over my scrubs (which were all I had to wear as pajamas) and borrowed my cousin Michael's Nike jacket. I slipped out the back door into an alleyway, and headed toward Connecticut avenue and the blue line metro.
I didn't get far. I had only gone a few feet down the alley when there was a breaking of glass and a dark, shadowy figure, encumbered by bulging sacks, jumped out of a house and darted for the alley. My Teriaki sauce deprived brain wasn't functioning on it's full level, and I didn't move as the figure, not looking where it was going, careened right at me.
Bam. We both went down, and the thief's sacks scattered. The thief swore.
"Watch your language, John Ashcroft!" I said.
"Shut the [expletive deleted] up!" John Ashcroft said.
"What are you doing breaking into people's houses in the middle of the night?" I asked.
"I'm, ah, um...I'm stopping the terrorists!" John Ashcroft replied.
"In Tenleytown?" I said.
"[expletive deleted] right!" John Ashcroft said. "Don't you know the terrorists are everywhere? Anyway, what are you doing in middle of the night dressed in scrubs, work boots and a Nike jacket? That's a terrorism uniform!"
"I'm a CNA," I said, "I need the scrubs for work."
"Do you have a CNA license?" John Ashcroft demanded.
"Right here," I showed him.
"Oh. Damn. [expletive included]" said John Ashcroft. "Well, go away. I have to stop the terrorists in that house I was in."
"That's my uncle's friend David's house," I said. "He's not a terrorist."
"Yes he is," John Ashcroft said, holding a flashlight below his face and making scary noises. "Anyone could be a terrorist. Anyone! Your closest neighbors. Your sister. Your pet llama."
"But David's a patriot!" I complained. "He threw a cream pie at Ralph Nader!"
"[unbelievably gross and obscene expletive deleted] really?" asked John Ashcroft.
"Yes. And you weren't breaking into his house to stop terrorism." I pointed to the sacks on the ground. "You were stealing his leftover Chinese food!"
"Well," admitted John Ashcroft, "My wife has me on that damn Atkins diet."
And John Ashcroft and me, we stayed up late into the night, sharing egg rolls and other high-carb foods.
> From: "Mike Spehar"
>
> People act as if they had personally seen Ashcroft
> break into their neighbor's house.
It was a dark and stormy night. I was sitting in the basement of my aunt and uncle's basement on Van Ness avenue, reading Kurt Vonnegut. I decided, little knowing what it would get me into, that I would get some leftover Chinese food.
I have stayed with my aunt and uncle several times now, and every time there's been leftover Chinese food in the fridge. When I arrive, anyway; it's usually gone by the time I leave. So up the stairs I went, into the kitchen. There, in the fridge, I saw something that sent shivers down my spine.
There was...no leftover Chinese food.
I had forgotten that my aunt had joined that cult. Y'know, the Atkins diet. I mean, this is a diet that says you can't eat toast at breakfast, but you can have as much bacon as you want. From there, it's only a small step to compounds in Baja and arsenic smoothies.
So, it's two in the morning on a dark and stormy night in a rather good neighborhood of Washington, D.C. and there's no Chinese food. If I were thinking rationally, I would have gone back to bed. But I need leftover Chinese food to think rationally. So I put a pair of boots on over my scrubs (which were all I had to wear as pajamas) and borrowed my cousin Michael's Nike jacket. I slipped out the back door into an alleyway, and headed toward Connecticut avenue and the blue line metro.
I didn't get far. I had only gone a few feet down the alley when there was a breaking of glass and a dark, shadowy figure, encumbered by bulging sacks, jumped out of a house and darted for the alley. My Teriaki sauce deprived brain wasn't functioning on it's full level, and I didn't move as the figure, not looking where it was going, careened right at me.
Bam. We both went down, and the thief's sacks scattered. The thief swore.
"Watch your language, John Ashcroft!" I said.
"Shut the [expletive deleted] up!" John Ashcroft said.
"What are you doing breaking into people's houses in the middle of the night?" I asked.
"I'm, ah, um...I'm stopping the terrorists!" John Ashcroft replied.
"In Tenleytown?" I said.
"[expletive deleted] right!" John Ashcroft said. "Don't you know the terrorists are everywhere? Anyway, what are you doing in middle of the night dressed in scrubs, work boots and a Nike jacket? That's a terrorism uniform!"
"I'm a CNA," I said, "I need the scrubs for work."
"Do you have a CNA license?" John Ashcroft demanded.
"Right here," I showed him.
"Oh. Damn. [expletive included]" said John Ashcroft. "Well, go away. I have to stop the terrorists in that house I was in."
"That's my uncle's friend David's house," I said. "He's not a terrorist."
"Yes he is," John Ashcroft said, holding a flashlight below his face and making scary noises. "Anyone could be a terrorist. Anyone! Your closest neighbors. Your sister. Your pet llama."
"But David's a patriot!" I complained. "He threw a cream pie at Ralph Nader!"
"[unbelievably gross and obscene expletive deleted] really?" asked John Ashcroft.
"Yes. And you weren't breaking into his house to stop terrorism." I pointed to the sacks on the ground. "You were stealing his leftover Chinese food!"
"Well," admitted John Ashcroft, "My wife has me on that damn Atkins diet."
And John Ashcroft and me, we stayed up late into the night, sharing egg rolls and other high-carb foods.
Did YOU write this? Its very good. I suggest you submit it to Ira Glass' "This American Life" or The Village Voice. Really good job, and remember Meg's B-Day on 11/14. I will celebrate by going to a concert at the Catheter of the Madeline, Guy
Posted by@ 4:05 PM
J'myle-
That is hilarious. Your dad is right, you should get it published. It's funny i noticed in his comment that out little sisters have the same birthday. Chao.
Samuel Equis
Posted by
J'Myle
That was really an extraordinarily good piece of writing. Don't stop, you truly have a gift. I really enjoy the pictures. How's the job? Ann
Posted by
They are right, and i said so in that place i'll not be visiting for a few days. This : http://iwt.blogspot.com/2004/11/pack.html , should answer why. Happy Hunting.Post a Comment
Posted byThe CO @ 10:24 PM