The Naming of Gizmo

I've always had a fascination with naming things. Whether it is a nickname or given name, it is interesting how one arrives at a name. According to my mom, the names that my parents had picked out for me were Elizabeth or Jay depending on gender (obviously). In a moment of genius, my dad suggested 'Robert' to my mom and she readily agreed because she had been in labor for about 20+ hours. I dodged a bullet there. The reason he named me 'Robert' is that it is his father's name (my grandfather). My dad could be nostalgic and sentimental, for he was named after his grandfather as well. I was 'Robert' until I went to college. It was there that I started introducing myself as 'Rob'.

I introduced myself as 'Rob' because it didn't feel like I was saying my own name. 'Rob' was somebody different and I didn't feel like I was talking about myself. It was a weird self-conscious thing about saying my own name. Also, college is a huge shift, and I felt changing my name would be a way to reinvent myself. Nope. Still the fool.

During college I took up the moniker of Mitch Moon for my college radio station. I play the drums, and I named myself after Mitch Mitchell and Keith Moon. Most of my friends from college were DJs, and we still call each other by our chosen nicknames- except me. Maybe it doesn't role off the tongue or fit me. Maybe if I called myself 'Jester' that would have stuck.

From previous positing about my adventures (if you haven't read about them, start here), you know I named my motorcycle Simone. This is not her original name. I originally named her 'Helga' because she is German (BMW) and there is something hefty about her.When I hear the name 'Helga" I think a hearty woman. As I rode her more and more, I realized there was a beauty to her that left me enamored. I met a beautiful German girl named Simone years ago (10 years in December), and she left me enamored. I didn't name my motorcycle after the girl. I'm just alluding to her- it is an association thing. Stop judging. However, after testing the waters with a couple of different name, I have finally found the perfect name- Gizmo III.

My grandfather had a boat called Gizmo. Then there was another boat called Gizmo II, which is the source of one of  my favorite stories concerning my dad and uncle. My dad and uncle were in their 20's and just the two of them took Gizmo to go water skiing. My dad's version was that he was on the skies and my uncle was driving, sitting on the side, while steering. My uncle hit a wave and it through him out of the boat. My dad fell of the skies. My uncle claims that he was skiing and my dad was driving. However, what happened next they both agreed on.

The boat started going in circles with no captain. As the boat was circling, my uncle grabbed on to the ski rope and tried to pull himself to the ladder to get on the boat. This is very dangerous because of the boat propeller. As my uncle got closer, the force push of the propeller took my uncle's bathing suit clean off him. He let go and tried to find his swimming suit to no avail. Dejected, my dad and uncle waded in the water as the boat just circled around until the ski rope tangled up in the propeller and stalled the engine. They swam to the boat and drove back in to the boat launch. However, the two young guys in their infinite, youthful wisdom did not bring a towel or extra clothing. The only bit of clothing was my uncle's shirt. He wrapped it around his waist to cover his naked half, hoping not to offend too many people. Fortune was not on their side as the boat launch was crowded. My uncle had to dock and help load up Gizmo on a trailer in nothing but a shirt wrapped around his waist. In my mind's eye, he has it wrapped like a diaper because that makes me laugh.

I came to Gizmo III as a remembrance of my deceased ad and grandfather, and the many adventures they had in those boats. I'm having my own adventures just on land- so it is Gizmo III

Gizmo III and Rob(ert)

Until I ramble on again. . .

Community

This is truly a disjointed ramble. There are nuggets of thought tenuously strung together. I think each section is its own thought. However, the string that holds them together is social interactions. I think I could have fleshed out each paragraph into its own post, but I like the idea of being able to read a post out of order. 

Moving back to New Orleans, I have been told that I HAVE to follow Saints football. If I don't, it is like I have leprosy and will be ostracized from the city. When I was younger, I followed football to a certain extent, even had my picture taken with Dalton Hillard in Schwegmann's Supermarket (how is that for Saints cred?).  I have not followed the Saints or any football team since junior high age (maybe younger). The only sports event I follow is the World Cup, but only while it is going on. I don't follow futbol (soccer) year-round, but once the World Cup starts up, I get very enthusiastic. This has only occurred for the past 2 World Cups (since it happens once every four years). The camaraderie that sports brings has me thinking about community and how it helps create a language for people to engage socially.

I was in a story recently, and a young man was trying to create idle talk by stating, "You gunna watch the Saints game?" Fear of an inappropriate response, I said, "Yea?" To my dismay, this furthered the conversation with his retort of, "So whatdya think the score is gunna be?" In my complete lack of even knowing whom the Saints were playing, I found a nugget of information that I learned from some movie or book. Thus responded with, "Don't know the spread. Do you?" What am I, a bookie? This halted the conversation in its tracks, and I practically ran away fully aware of my social awkwardness. This young man was attempting to make a connection. It is a store that I frequent weekly, and maybe he recognized me and was making a connection- bringing me into the community. Now I can never go there again.

Our first community is our family. I am fortunate that my father was an odd duck- his favorite movie was The Jerk. While driving, he would, to no one in particular, sing-talk, "Hello. Good-bye." He would sing, "Fritz the cat-dog. He's a cat." at random intervals. He even made a joke that is still used among some close friends about being "sluggish." I could list many more examples, but I believe you get the picture. I also have cousins that have odd humor and this brings about only a modicum of feeling peculiar in your own family. My older cousins are, well, older so it was not until I was older that a bounding began to form. I felt like a nuisance around my older cousins, whether they felt that way or not- I did.

I think books were my first foray into escapism. I used them as a means to deflect any social interactions. If you are reading a book in public, most likely no one will bother you or attempt conversation. On the other hand, if someone asks what you are reading, then you can discuss something that is fresh in your mind. On the other, other hand, that person can quickly display the thought, "I've made a terrible mistake," in a non-verbal communication, which is often loss on me.

Until I ramble on again . . .

Poetry?

Time, although only a continuos set of intervals, flew by this week. As I have about ten different thoughts, activities to do, I thought a nice change of pace would be to regal you with some of my bloody awful poetry. This is actually a reaction to me finding some of my old poetry and reading. My kindle broke, and I decided to whip out my Norton Anthologies (I have several of them from my time as an English major in undergraduate school) and re-read some pieces that I haven't read in about ten years. I have read Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Beowulf,  and am currently reading Paradise Lost. My poems are nothing so intense or good for that matter. The first one, I think was me trying to be silly and playing with in a certain form. Although, I can't remember the form. It just made me laugh a little at my bravado. The other two are in the form of poetry that sounds like a sneeze- haiku.

Apples Teach

How do apples taste?

Can words decribe its essence?

Experience it!

Live

Hold a cup of tea.

Set down your stored anger.

Enjoy the moment.

The Nut Bomber

On bench do I intend my spot to watch 

A creature most peculiar bounding above.

I take a walk knowing his eyes are searching.

Someone will be target for his pecan.

His cute and surprised looks are deceiving.

Those evil eyes filled with dark intent and pain.

Lurking, hiding in shades above our heads.

On bench do I intend my spot to watch

A creature most peculiar bounding above.

He vaults from limbs with a malicious sense.

Watch the mischievous design develop.

A human is walking not aware of it,

The bomber calculating trajectory.

With a sinister smile the bomb is dropped- Hit!

Ouch! Stunned! quick, look up for the evil culprit.

But a rustle of branches is all he sees.

On bench do I intend my spot to watch

A creature most peculiar bounding above.

Searching towards the branches, but not a crackle

From above. I give a grin as he is searching

For that elusive creature who dropped its nuts

On him. I had my fun today, I walk

Away mindful of any rustle over my head.