'Yesterday's Crossdressing Fiasco.'

      Standing in line at the grocery store, I mourned the line I had chosen. The one to my right was moving at a fevered pace, food items being thrown into bags like hand grenades. Meanwhile, my line was glacially pulling forward towards the Ship it wanted to destroy (me), whose steel hide would prove no match for the oncoming iceberg known as slow customer service. I found myself wondering why ships are often referred to as 'She' when they are not 'She' but rather, a damn boat, when I heard, "Young man, why are you wearing ladies shoes?"

         I looked down instinctively and thought 'Am I' even though, I knew I had put on an old pair of Chucks.
See, at times I do wear what is thought of as 'womens clothing' although I have never seen any genitalia on the garments and so I have always considered clothing to be genderless, like a ham, a chair, or as I said before, a boat(admittedly, a ham used to have genitals but no more as they are mighty tasty around Christmas). Then, I saw that the person who asked the question was an old lady in front of me in line and that she had said it to a young guy of 18 or 19. He was dressed as your average layabout grunge kid would in the early 90s only he had on an enormous pair of high heels. I was thinking they looked expensive but the old lady in front of me was just confused as to why he would put these shoes on.
       The boy, who was accompanied by a male friend, shouted back, "Because I can!"
       He was lucky, I thought, that her eyes were not guns, because if they had been, the reaction they gave to his answer would certainly have pulled the trigger on each. The boy's answer was given loudly and for a second I even thought he was being rude. Well, maybe a millisecond. Because then, I thought about it. Analyzed it.
      We all wanna say, "Oh, let her off the hook! She's old!" How old exactly? I don't know. But,  looking at her I would wager around 80. Which means she can recall a time when pants, for example, were just for men. Now guess what she was wearing. PANTS!!!
       I said 'Good for you' to the boys, who in turn, said 'Thanks.'
       Then, I heard the cashier say to the old lady, "There's no reason to be so fucking rude!"
       "I didn't think I was being rude," the old lady said.
       "No, not you," the cashier continued,"those gay boys. I mean, I know God loves them, too, but they're the ones dressed like that.'
       I had to speak up.
      "Ladies, you both are wearing pants."
      "So? What's wrong with that?"
      "Not a thing. But, pants were originally intended for men. So, in turn, there is nothing wrong with a man wearing shoes intended for women. It is only consistent."
       Both women rolled their eyes at me.
       "Okay, you can roll your eyes if you want but, it doesn't qualify as a genuine comeback. It is just something people do when they lack the foundation for an intelligent argument."
       They ignored me and I let it go.
       The boys were leaving and shouted "Bye Haters" in an intentionally gay tone. They sounded like southern belles saying 'Yoo Hoo' to a barebacked horseshoer.
       But just then, the cashier yelled, "Wear a dress next time!"
       This made me angry for 2 reasons.
       #1. It was said in a tone of hatred. She sounded something not unlike Lex Luthor promising Superman "will pay for his do-gooder theatrics" which proved her to indeed be a hater.
       #2. It didn't make sense as an insult since the boy would most likely have no problem with wearing a dress and would not be offended at the concept. Imagine that you are angry at an Ice Cream Man who liked his job. Screaming 'Go sell a waffle cone' would not be the best way to hurt his feelings, now, would it?
No, of course not.
       Just the same, I informed a manager that the cashier was yelling at customers. A strange business model if there ever was one. I don't think we should let such hateful thinking go unchecked in modern society.
       Then, I finally checked out and walked to my car. I thought about how fast some right wingers will turn to quick bursts of  anger and hate before a shred of thought pops into their head.
      The line on the left moves slower but with a precision and clarity that is much healthier.
                                         

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved.

"The Negotiation of a Curb Approaching October." (a poem for my son)

He lifts his foot to the curb as though it is a wrecking ball,
Trying to kiss a paper plate balancing on an upright toothpick.
It is like King Kong is nervous to reach the top of the Empire State Building (for he knows about the planes).
Only the planes don't come.
And we are laughing.
Though nothing is funny.
We want to cry.
Though nothing is sad.
And the sin of pride becomes a beautiful thing.
At the top of the Empire State Building.
Where King Kong is two.
Where his fathers heart swells when his son can step up onto the curb.
All by himself.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved.

Renting The Rain

         I made a phone call to a place that makes overhead sprinklers while feigning confusion as to the function of their business model. Check it out if you like.

'The Immaturity of Spell Check'

So, if you read that last piece (the Eisner -winning 'The Floating Beard') you may have noticed the word 'immature' was typed in it.
At first, when I typed it I was going too fast and accidentally put only one 'M'.
So, spell check, in it's infinite wisdom, suggested I wanted to put the word 'Mature' even though, I typed 'imature'.
Close, right? WRONG. These two words happen to be polar opposites. Battling for supremacy. The mature and the immature want nothing to do with one another.
It is like I was typing 'Salma Hayek' and spell check assumes what I meant was 'Carol Channing' or 'Pick-up truck' or 'Large Salmon'.....all things I have decided are the opposite of actress Salma Hayek.
Wrong again, computer. And how ashamed you must be.

written by tony santiago, all rights reserved

'The Floating Beard'

Imagine, if you will, a disembodied beard........somehow it is intact and floating towards you. Somehow...somehow it is staring into your eyes, though it has none. It knows you....you can't place where you may have met this hovering beard. In another life perhaps?
Now imagine it is getting closer....and closer. Just then, the beard begins screaming "Do you find me attractive?!?" in a terrifying screechy voice.
You're beginning to question the universe.

Now stop imagining that.
It's stupid. You're being very immature.
Really? A floating beard? Questioning the universe?
Who the Hell do you think you are?

.........written by tony santiago, all right reserved

"Tooting My Horn"(a tribute to modesty)

          One should never toot their own horn but, rather, let someone else place their mouth on one's respective horn and toot the crap out of it themselves. This is what people call "Modesty." And I have it in spades. I absolutely adore how amazingly modest I am and you all should, too.
          Just think about it. I have not brought up how many times I have been published (many) or how unbelievably good I smell after a shower (it is quite extraordinary). I have not once mentioned the countless times I have been lauded for my charity work (3 times) or the way my pants hug my buttocks just tight enough to give the ladies an idea of the both full and compact majesty on which I sit and yet, just loose enough to say "This man is not a male bimbo. And I should know. Because I am his pants."
         You see, arrogance is an awful trait. This is why I never write about the many awards in the arts I have received or the vast collection of famous friends I have gained over the years (I'm thinking of you, Larry Storch). No sir. It would just be unseemly. No one wants to hear about the afternoons spent canoodling with movie stars, supermodels and heads of state(canoodling still means eating noodles in a canoe with someone, right?). They want modesty. There is nothing the public despises more than an egotist. Can you believe an egotist likes himself so much that he does not aspire to be like me? It is true.
         You may have trouble swallowing this but there are many people (and I use that term loosely) who don't want to be as modest as I. Sad facts such as these is why I let the rest of you toot my horn. But please toot harder and faster. Thank you.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved

'The Perfect Storm'(my history with puffy stickers)

         The disappearance of the Puffy Sticker in America is one I find perplexing. The popularity of them in the 80s would be difficult to overstate and yet when my children (Kid A, Exploding Boy and Lost Little Girl) and I go sticker hunting at the store we find only your basic non-raised sticker. I'm sure it is easy to find them on the internet or in a specialty shop but what I find suprising is that they are not commonplace anymore. I don't even really want to buy any necessarily. I just want them to be everywhere as they were in my youth. The combination of cartoon image and pointlessly enclosed foam was, for some reason, a perfect storm. But just like snowcone stands and barbeque joints, in Albuquerque, one must now search.
        You see, I had many Puffy Stickers as a kid (yes, I will continue to capitalize it). In a sticker album, I pulled them together along with regular stickers, shiny stickers and of course, Scratch N Sniff stickers. I gave each page an appropriate theme as my mother had taught me. There was the DC and Marvel Superheroes page, the Star Wars page, and my personal favorite, the Tooth page. This page included nothing but stickers given to me by dentists and the stickers usually depicted a cartoon tooth or a part of the human mouth in various degrees of celebration and/or decay with a dental pun or an ominous warning about hygiene.

        The He-Man stickers you see in these photos were given to me by my mother in the early 80s. The Wrestling, Thundercat and Ghostbuster ones were at a Wendy's Restaurant.. My brother Richard, my mother and I had decided to walk to the nearby Alpha Beta (a long gone grocery store) when a storm shook the city like a Tyrranosaur attempting to make our eyes dart back and forth in a panicky Jeff Goldbumian manner. It would have been a further trek to head back home so we finished making our way to the Alpha Beta and stayed there for quite a while as the streets began to flood. Eventually, Ricky and I complained of hunger and it was Mom's duty to quell our pangs.
       Mom decided we would make a break for it and venture forth to the nearby Wendy's, a task that would prove difficult. I was about 10 at the time, but the size of an 8 year old which made lifting my feet to take steps through the deepest parts of the flood almost impossible. Ricky and Mom each held a hand and pulled me along as they made their way to Wendy's. The intoxicating promise of hamburgers and danger were a thrilling sensation for a young me. I found myself hoping for some kind of action-packed scenario involving my mom and brother near drowning and a crane with a pulley system that only little kids could use (it would break if anyone older tried it). I would rescue them and my mom would feel too guilty to tell me the kids meal with the toy inside was too expensive. She would have to buy it!! But soon we were at Wendy's, stomping the excess water from our shoes. And I learned I would be getting the kids burger without the toy. Anger was all I could feel towards the imaginary crane for not existing.
        But there at the counter was a tub of Puffy Stickers featuring Sylvester the Cat, various Thundercats (whose names I did not know as I was a He-Man fan, but still, free Puffy Sticker) and even The Junkyard Dog, who you can see on the bottom far right of the above photo and was easily one of my favorite wrestlers. I was so excited I could barely move. I just stared at them in awe. My dad had told me recently that I was getting a bit old for stickers but, here they were. And with a little note that said only my favorite word: 'Free.'
       "How many can I take?" I asked the man behind the counter.
       "Well, I don't think we'll be getting much business today," he said,"Take as many as you want."
       Suddenly, I found myself madly in love with the storm.
       "Very well," I said in my best Benson (I would often imitate TV's Benson when I wanted to sound cool), "I'll just take one of each character. I shouldn't want to get in the way of other youths enjoying your selection."
       Admittedly, The Junkyard Dog sticker was the last of his kind in the tub but, I didn't care. The flood was treacherous, I had traveled far and I deserved him. I worried a little bit about how Dad would react if he saw them in a new album. He wouldn't beat me over it or anything like that but, he might shake his head and make a face that said, "Really? Stickers? Did they come with a dress?"
       Somehow, I think the nice burger man could sense that I was more nervous about having them on display at home than I was about the dreadful weather.
       I took a plethora of Puffy Stickers home that day and saved them in a bag that the nice burger man at Wendy's provided me with until I could think of what to do with them.
      Years past and the stickers were forgotten about until at about 14 years old or so I came across the bag in a drawer. Surely I was too old to be interested in stickers? But then again, Puffy ones were becoming less frequent in society and why not put them to good use?
      I didn't have enough stickers to complete a second album and certainly not enough to give the pages themes, but, a counselor I had been seeing at the time had advised me to attempt to break from routine if and when I felt strong enough so I decided I would start a new album. One without any themes. One that's pages would mix stickers with movie tickets and cutouts from magazines. Any random stuff I liked.

      Which is why one might see something like the Dalai Lama's face (seems like such a nice guy) next to a panda and Sharon Stone's legs. All of which were things I would have loved to spend an afternoon with at the time.
       But, it felt good to fill a book with a bunch of random stuff. No rules other than points of interest.
       I never collected stickers again after that but occasionally I will come across that rarest of childhood treasures, the Puffy Sticker, and it is like seeing the mythical White Buffalo or the Yeti. You let out a tiny gasp. Stare at it while keeping very still. And just bask in the glow and the memory of that perfect storm.


written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved