Author archive: coll3297

6

Because of Social Media – A Tale of Two Faces

Have we recently become a two-faced society or have we always been that way?

Is this my real face?

Colleen Ann Guest - left portraits

Or is this?

Colleen Ann Guest - right portraits

Years of online interaction has yielded discoveries about my world and shattered my illusions about what I used to think about myself, other people, and the accepted norms of what it means to be a member of society.

From the dawn of civilization until only a few years ago, we could (would?) only divulge those parts of ourselves we deemed worthy of sharing, mostly through our “in person” associations and to some extent our written correspondence. Fortunately for us, fading memories serve us well when we have unwittingly shared the worst. For the most part though, we were more guarded with our innermost thoughts and feelings, cared very much about how others viewed us, and took great measures to protect our reputations and relationships.

Not so much these days.

For better or worse, by willingly participating in social media, we have unintentionally revealed ourselves in unflattering ways and have shaped and changed the definition of “community” for future generations. These days, it’s far too easy to hide behind a computer. Like alcohol, our magic box gives us a sense of liberation from our inhibitions and unfortunately, many people use their devices unwisely, wielding keyboards like swords. With our screens shielding us from the outside world, we feel much freer to bully, create a pretend life, justify our actions and condemn others, brag incessantly, etc. But I call this, “hiding in plain sight.” Everything we post reveals a little something about our nature regardless of the content of what we post, but astute observers will see the “you” that you don’t even know you’re projecting.

For many of us, our online persona doesn’t align with the impression we present in person. You know what I’m talking about: The mousy girl who smiles politely and practically hides in a public setting, but then incessantly rants negatively on her Facebook page and calls shame on the “terrible” people she observes (and assumes she knows their intentions), or the crusty curmudgeon of a guy (get off my lawn!) with whom you’d go out of your way to avoid if you see, but who only posts pictures and links about saving puppies and kittens on his Facebook page because he’s really a big softy.

As it turns out, I don’t really know the people I’ve known in real life. Their pages, comments and messages show a side I was previously unaware of.  Some online relationships have uncovered a kinder, more thoughtful person than I ever imagined existed and I’ve developed a stronger bond with them than I thought possible. And I’ve sadly had to let go of others due to their negativity and/or hostility in their online life. It’s rather crushing to find out that a schoolmate with whom we have shared many a playground laugh now has diametrically opposed values to our own.

Both sides of the revelation spectrum begs this question though: “Is it me or is it them?”

  • Is it me who has been too self-absorbed in my own life that I’ve failed to elucidate their true nature or have they always been this way?
  • Is it me who has dug in my heels in opposition to their values or have they resolutely refused to acknowledge my point of view?
  • Have they, through their life experiences, evolved into the person I’m seeing now or has my perspective towards them changed based upon my own experiences?

If we’re honest with ourselves, the answer is a combination of all of the above.

But there’s more to navigating this online world of social media than evaluating the true (and sometimes depressing) nature of our existing acquaintances. There’s a plethora of people we’ve never met and it’s only because of the interwoven web of friends of friends that we catch glimpses of who those people are and, if we’re adventurous enough, connect with.

Willing to see the best in people, I have been daring enough to seek out and accept total strangers into my online world and have uncovered a bevy of virtual (and literal) strangers with whom I share a great deal of commonality and have come to count among the closest of allies. We’ve found our way together via mutual friends or interests and would have never crossed paths if we were to rely solely on an in-person rendezvous (either accidental or intentional). Most of these online-only friends of mine are hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands of miles away; some are in far off lands which I doubt I will ever visit in my lifetime. However, some are right in my own back yard and I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with them and getting to know both their online projection of themselves as well as the in-person self-portrait they’ve chosen to paint.

Ours is a great, big, marvelous world with continents of uncharted territory of man’s inner workings, and multitudes of dusty corners hiding untold fortunes of man’s immeasurable ability to find common ground with others regardless of culture, ethnicity, place of birth and current place of residence. I am continually intrigued, delighted, surprised and yes, even disappointed at times, by the people who co-inhabit this planet with me.

By observing how social media has changed my perspective of what I thought I knew, I’ve come to realize that I have bigger goals in mind when I choose to commune with my fellow man than simply abstractedly scrolling through online posts or putting in obligatory time at public gatherings.

With every interaction:

  • I hope to continue learning about the world through all of my varied relationships,
  • I hope to grow in knowledge about who I am and who I want to be,
  • I hope to use my presence to emit a source of positive (or at least entertaining) energy in your life,

And finally,

I hope to mend my own fractured portrait and present a united
(and honest) face to the world.

Colleen Ann Guest, photo by Chris FlorioAll this, because of social media

 

Details
0

Auto Motive – Presented by Därkhorse Drämatists

Auto Motive

is a new comedy/drama by Mickey Ray. Today’s cars are more advanced than ever! And when a car’s on-board computer develops a mind of her own, she resents her owner that only wants to take her for a drive. Watch what happens with man versus machine! Directed by Missy Harris and starring Rick Kumpon, Colleen Ann Guest and Cat Robinson. Performed as part of Därkhorse Drämatists‘ 200 Miles Off Broadway play festival on July 15th and 16th 2016 at the prestigious Cider Mill Playhouse in Endicott, NY.

Colleen Ann Guest in 200 Miles Off Broadway

Details
2

Time

time2

There are no shortages of clichés regarding the passage of time. Some center on how fleeting it is and others ask us to patiently wait for it to pass. Human beings spend a lot of it just trying to understand it. When did it begin? How does it work? Can we travel across it?  Perceiving time is as simple as watching the ticking of the second hand but understanding its complexity is beyond comprehension. Perhaps the key to utilizing it well in our reality lies somewhere in the middle of those clichéd phrases and not in trying to harness it. We ought to be willing to put in time doing something productive in small increments over the long haul while knowing it’s evaporating with every breath we take.

But try telling that to the eager, starry-eyed kid who just bought his first beat up Strat asking his guitar teacher how to play Cliffs of Dover in his first lesson. Or to the student who thinks getting their college degree will yield the same results as spending 10 years working in their desired field. Or to the middle-aged mom who spent years allowing their body to get out of shape and expects miraculous results in only weeks from the latest slimming fad. Wanting to be immediately adept at something new is no different for anyone with dreams of achievement. But asking people to put in the work and be satisfied with modest yet measurable gains over a long period of time is a tough sell to the majority of people in any endeavor. In a world where instant gratification is available and expected these days, there’s one commodity that just cannot be bought, sold, borrowed, lent, ransomed, given, stored, stopped, or manipulated in any manner – time.

How can I teach someone to do what I do? I learned it over the course of years by accumulating knowledge and adding new skills to those I already had. My position was built, not taught.

That’s how my mom puts it.

Did you ever have a boss ask you to teach another co-worker how to do your job? Or have you ever had a pupil or admirer of your talents ask you to show them how to do what you do? My mom is right. To attempt to quantify, condense, and disseminate your expertise into a quickie training seminar after having the luxury of building upon your skill-set and honing your talent over the course of time is ludicrous. It would be overwhelming and discouraging to dump all of your years of knowledge on someone’s plate and expect them to remember it and become as proficient as you without granting them the benefit of time to learn. Yet this is what is often asked of us and what we ask of others.

The concept of apprenticeships seems to have fallen by the wayside in our 21st century charge towards instant fulfillment. We ought to be teaching our youth to accept that there are no shortcuts to greatness – in anything: work, music, art, relationships, etc. And if we’re honest, we need to come to grips with that fact ourselves. Too easily we get caught up in the magical thinking that one day we’ll be who we want to be, where we want to be, with the skills we want to have, through no investment of our own. It will just “happen.” But hard work is only part of the equation. Time is a critical factor that is seldom talked about. It takes time for skills to become fluid and second nature. It takes time for your brain to be ready to accept additional training. And it takes time to build a past that you can reflect upon.

Time is a resource that will be used – one way or another. No one knows how much of it they have been allotted. Am I spending my precious ration of it on activities which serve to advance me closer to my goals while patiently waiting for the fruits of my labor to ripen? Or am I only wishing for the unattainable while frittering away my days and years with meaningless actions, frustrated that a short-term investment hasn’t fulfilled my lifelong goals?

Time. What are you doing with yours?

twilight-zone-time-enough-at-last

Details
0

Friends – Great Expectations

Yes its a Dickens reference. You probably hated that book. I loved it. But that’s all I’m going to say about that. You’ll see where this is going if you stick with me long enough.

When I was a child I had Friends. Yes with a capital “F.” My mom must have told me that’s who they were because that’s all I remember calling them. They were my collection of stuffed animals and dolls which I imagined had feelings and loved me as much as I loved them. Among them were Big Donkey (Eeyore, but I didn’t know that’s who it was), Little Donkey (a beanbag critter than in no way resembled a donkey), Big bunny, Big dolly, Little Doll (are you seeing a pattern here?), Sweet Tears, Mrs. Beasley, and on and on. My brother had his own set of Friends – Schroeder and Biff were two standouts I remember fondly. Together we would gather our friends and play all kinds of games and make up stories. When we were at odds, my brother would tease me mercilessly by holding one of my friends hostage. I’m sure my mom still has exasperated nightmares of me running around the house crying, “Maaaaaa, Craig’s got Tiffany!!!”

At bedtime, I would gather my Friends around me and place them in an order of the most beloved closest to me and the ones I was least attached to out at the fringes. Sometimes I would take stock in this arrangement and feel guilty that some got more love than others so I would rearrange the sleeping order to give the fringe Friends some quality “me” time. Rarely would anyone have to sleep on the floor; it broke my heart to think that any one of them was too far away from my loving protection. If they were relegated to the floor for whatever reason, they were lovingly wrapped up in blankets and given a friend of their own so they wouldn’t be lonely. Then the very next day I would cry and hug them and beg them to forgive me – making a very special point to include them in my life so they wouldn’t feel alone and outcast.

Being a less-than-healthy child – I recall spending a lot of time in bed listening to my brother and cousins playing outside my window on summer afternoons. Without the plethora of electronic devices and scads of toys kids have today, I depended upon my Friends to play with me in my sick bed. I read to them, colored and drew with them, organized games and playtime with them, scolded them when they were bad, cried over them when I thought I was too harsh, and hugged them close – as much for my own emotional needs as theirs. We shared a lot of love, conversations and adventures, my friends and me. No matter the lineup, if I was confined to bed, I was always buried under a pile of Friends.

While our house was on fire in 1976 my brother and I paced around our Grandfather’s house waiting for news regarding the damage and we consoled ourselves by telling each other that maybe only the middle of the house was on fire and that our bedroom and porch playroom was spared. We absolutely did not want to think of our Friends burning up in the fire and we were beside ourselves thinking about how scared and in pain they must be. Later that evening we were told the house was gutted, all was lost, and that we only had the clothes on our backs remaining. More than anything else, losing my Friends was, to me, the most catastrophic loss in that house fire. My devastation and grief was immense – these weren’t just playthings, they were my babies, and they were real – just like the Skin Horse and Velveteen Rabbit.

Now that I’m grown up, a few interesting observations about my childhood Friends occurs to me. I didn’t choose them (they all arrived in my care as gifts) and yet I loved them ALL as if I gave birth to them myself. Some naturally rose to the top as the most beloved and others were relegated to less than top status for reasons I’m not even sure of. I interacted with them as differently as I do with my animals and children and yet I loved them all “the same.” But the most interesting thing of all is that they were inanimate objects incapable of feeling or acting, yet I can still vividly recall their distinct personalities and our imaginary adventures as if they were real. However, we know with certainty of course, they embodied only the personalities and emotions I gave to them, and our adventures were fantastic tales I made up in my own mind. Other than their physical bodies, all of their attributes were 100% fabrications of my own choosing.

This got me thinking about my real-life relationships with the people I call my friends. Not everyone I know is a Friend with a capital F but I call even fringe acquaintances my friends. This is obviously a carry-over from early childhood in which anyone I knew who wasn’t family must have been a friend – I didn’t know strangers after all and I definitely didn’t have any enemies. The biggest difference I can see between the real-life people I call friends and my stuffed animal Friends, is that one group is completely under my control and the other is not. Follow me here. For my (stuffed) Friends – I created their back-stories, emotions, personalities, and thoughts; and I orchestrated their interactions, playtimes, adventures, reactions, and living arrangements. For my people friends, I have had very little to do with any of those things. On some level, if we are close enough, I can claim a little responsibility for shaping their lives, emotions, and reactions but overall, they are independent thinkers and doers.

This may seem like a ridiculously obvious and unimportant comparison to you, but let me try to show you why I think it’s relevant. I believe my experience with my childhood Friends and real-life friends is not unique to me and my brother. Even the social media giant, Facebook deems anyone we connect with a “friend.” I wonder if when we transitioned from childhood (and only having friends we created ourselves) to going out into the real world (and making real-life friends) if we didn’t drag along some of our preconceived notions about who those friends are (or should be) along with us. Have we given other people attributes of our own creation without telling them? Do they experience emotions and react in the way we expect them to? Do they do anything according to the way we imagined them to? Are we guilty of having Great (or unrealistic) Expectations of other people? (See, I told you I’d get there eventually.)

I think, if we’re honest, we will see that we expect other people should be who WE THINK they should be instead of the individuals they really are.

In a social media world in which friends are “unfriending” people left and right simply for sharing their differing views and expressing their opposing opinions, I think I see a little shred of evidence that I may be on to something. Perhaps we need to take an honest look at our “friends” and remember that they aren’t made of sawdust and polyester fur, whose feelings can’t really be hurt. They neither offered to love us unconditionally, nor did they promise to always hold the same values and opinions as our own, but for some reason, when we met, we chose to be friends. After sharing some common ground and perhaps good times, do we really want to relegate them to the status of stranger – or worse – enemy? Maybe we need to take a step back, examine our own motives and see if we are projecting too much of ourselves onto other people. Perhaps our disappointment in them is unwarranted because we have never taken enough time to get to know the person they REALLY are versus the person we created them to be in our own minds. Differences should cause us to strive to learn and understand instead of immediately putting up walls of opposition. Originality is to be celebrated! Our friends might actually help shape US into better human beings if we let them. Why be so quick to dismiss a fellow human being over an offense to an inaccurate presupposition?

Going back to my original musings; even though my inclination is to ignore who people tell me they are, I think my preschool self did have something right. Even my “fringe Friends” slept on the bed with me if at all possible.

Friends don’t let Friends sleep on the floor alone.

My daughter and her bear My daughter and her bear

Details
0

Southern Bank, Checking that Pays

See Colleen in action at the video link below:

https://clickvue.com/sb/

copyright 2015 ClickVuecopyright 2015 ClickVue copyright 2015 ClickVue copyright 2015 ClickVue copyright 2015 ClickVue

See Colleen in action at the video link below:

https://clickvue.com/sb/


				Details       
		
0

Lowes Home Improvement – Garden Gate with Arbor and Fence

Colleen helps Keith build a garden gate. This easy-to-build entry gate makes your side yard look inviting and extends your home’s curb appeal. For complete instructions and materials visit the Lowes Creative Idea website

 

Details
0

2014 North Carolina Supreme Court Judgeship Ad

2014 Political Ad for North Carolina Supreme Court Judge race

Details
0

Journey Creative – Barriers

A short video from Journey Creative showing how sometimes we don’t communicate effectively – there can be things influencing our behaviors which cause us to put up barriers where there shouldn’t be. Featuring Darren Smith

Details
4

Anti-Social Butterfly

I love the company of my fellow Earth dwellers. What a privilege it is to share in their unique journey through life; it always gives me a feeling of immense connectedness. I think we all long to be connected to someone. No matter how much we claim to be independent and self-sufficient, we are not meant to be solitary creatures. Often we just need a single other being to call a best friend – someone who will commiserate with our hurts, fears, failures, disappointments, and sorrows as well as someone who will share in our joys, achievements, laughter, pride, and contentment. That person doesn’t even have to be a “person” – for many folks, that “best friend” void can be filled by a beloved animal companion. God surely fills that void on so many levels, but I’m not talking about spiritual fulfillment. People also NEED a living, tangible, someone they can touch and be touched by.

In addition to a wide array of loving family and friends, I’m fortunate to have (for the second time in my life) the most amazing life partner/soul mate anyone could ask for. I know not everyone is in that position even once in their lives much less twice, but I think most folks can relate to the idea of an exchange of mutual love. Not the gushy butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling, but REAL love – the kind of love where you know that you’d give your life for someone without a second’s hesitation and you know that they would do the same. If you’ve ever looked into your dog’s eyes while you rub his ears or seen your kitty smile while scratching her neck you’ve experienced that warm fuzzy feeling for which there are not enough (or the right) words in your lexicon. (If you truly have never known any kind of love, then my heart is burdened for you and I want you know that I am moved to pray for your heartache.)

As you’ve suspected, I love interacting my friends, family and animals. They each have so much to teach me and I’m a sponge when it comes to learning. Even if you think you’re not offering anything of substance, I’m soaking it all up and formulating ideas about who you are and what brought you to where you are at this particular juncture of your life. A casual conversation about your trip to the grocery store on your way home can yield a plethora of intriguing information you have no idea you were imparting to me. By the way, nonverbal communication is perhaps more important than all the words thrown down. For instance, the way my horse nuzzles me while I groom her or shows her backside to me after I haven’t visited in far too long tells me volumes about her mood and needs. I love paying attention to what the creatures around me are trying to communicate.

Elvira, Colleen Ann Guest Elvira and I coming to an understanding (photo by Side Yard Studios)

Habibi Happy Habibi!

BUT despite being drawn to people like a moth to candlelight, I’m also very much a loner. For the most part I honestly prefer my own company and am satisfied with my own thoughts for conversation. There are many times I’d rather withdraw into a cocoon and wish the world would quit knocking on my door. My mom can attest to the many times I would seclude myself in my room for 3 days at a time and requested that she “hold my calls” – even the calls from my best friend whom I had no reason not to talk to. Nothing much has changed in that respect. I think there’s a certain bi-polar nature to creatives. We (creatives) are either on fire and immersed in our pursuits or we are in re-charge mode. There’s no compromise for either. I have come to grips with the fact that I am either “on” or “off” and I have finally come to know when I need to flip the switch for my own health and sanity. Being “off” means I don’t even have the energy to think or verbalize. Nothing. It’s a blank slate up there – for real. For a Chatty Cathy like me (as my public personality would suggest) it may be hard for you to imagine that I can go for days without uttering a single solitary sound or thinking substantive thoughts but it’s true.

Unfortunately the timing of my on and off modes don’t always coincide with the needs or expectations of others. So I do my best to work within the realm of reality while conserving my precious downtime as much as possible. It can be disconcerting to others when I’m secluded and non-communicative. I’ve learned that people tend to interpret my walled off times as an affront to them when in fact it never (or rarely) has anything to do with anyone else. It can seem like I’m mad or put out, but I’m just on re-charge mode. Not everyone “gets” my modes or knows what to do with them. So I have learned to live with that and I try to be overly extroverted in situations where I would otherwise isolate myself if I had my choice. When I’ve had to exert more energy to be social than I really have on tap, I simply must find time for a deeper re-charge, leading to an extended “people vacation.”

My husband, Neel, and I were just talking about how we were “peopled out” after last weekend’s flurry of social activities. It’s not that we didn’t enjoy the moments of flitting around rooms, making friends and enjoying stimulating conversations, but after 3 days and nights of non-stop social events, we were spent. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, we sat silently and limply in our favorite chairs, our critters in various stages of repose around us, and beverages of choice in our hands with the afternoon football games on TV. At one point, he looked over at me after an hour or more of no conversation and said, “I love our life together,” and reached his hand across to mine. I looked over into his eyes, smiled, said “me too,” and stretched my fingertips out to meet his for a brief loving touch. Then we turned away from each other and sank back into our quiet reverie with no misgivings about what we could be saying, or could be doing. Just being in each other’s presence was enough. Having someone in my life who gets the dichotomy of my needing to be a super social butterfly (and performer) but also needs an equal amount of “off” time and doesn’t get offended or take it personally is priceless.

colleen ann guest and Neel guest Nonverbal conversation at it’s finest

Colleen Ann Guest Neel Guest My hunny makes me smile too!

Details
0

The Epic Boombox Bicycle Wreck of 1983

Feeling the writing bug gnawing at me I cast around my brain looking for the storeroom where I file away brilliant potential blog topics for future reference. But it appears that the room is either locked at the moment, or it’s mysteriously moved locations, or maybe it’s the tequila begging me to just sit and enjoy her tasty goodness without expending brain energy which is impeding my search. I would like to write about something other than motorcycling since that’s all I’ve been on about lately but that’s tough since that’s all I ever seem to do any more. NOT that I’m complaining about it – I LOVE riding and it’s given me many great adventures to entertain the masses. But I don’t want my audience thinking I’m a one trick pony, so after throwing ideas out against the proverbial wall to see what sticks (and nothing does) I opened the floor to my husband and asked him to give me ideas. A potentially dangerous proposal – he’s got some really off the wall thoughts. You think I’m wacko? Oh, he makes me look like the sane inmate in the asylum. He rips off a few topics which are quite thought provoking and blog-worthy, but require way more time and effort than my soon-to-be tequila influenced brain will be able to tackle.

“Let’s keep it light,” I say. “I’m in the mood for funny; I don’t have to think too hard to be funny.”

“I’ve got it – write about your boombox bicycle wreck!” he exclaims.

“Hmmm… That is a funny story.” I close my eyes and play the memory reel of the event in my head and confirm that I think I can cobble together a decent tale from the decades old event. So here goes…

It was the summer of 1983; the last summer before my senior year of high school. Heavy Metal was the reigning choice in music for anyone who had any taste whatsoever (you can stick your Madonna up your ass) and I was the metal queen – my nickname was Marion Metal! Sony’s Walkman was all the rage but I didn’t have one; instead, I carted around a rather large Panasonic boom box as my portable listening device of choice. All my friends should remember this box; it was my constant companion and you hardly saw me without it in tow. My preferred mode of transportation was my brand-new-bought-with-my-own-money blue, Sears Free Spirit 10-speed bicycle. And my very best friend Susie and I were inseparable cohorts in crime.

The Panasonic portable listening device The Panasonic portable listening device

The 1983 Sears Free Spirit 10-speed The 1983 Sears Free Spirit 10-speed

Colleen Ann Guest Me and Susie pretending to be all bad ass in the girls bathroom

If I wasn’t in the barn or riding my horse, I spent my free time hanging out with Susie listening to music, going to concerts, or plotting some epic adventure which inevitably never came to fruition. Or sometimes we had exploits that SHOULDN’T have come to fruition but did anyway – these usually ended badly. Like the one time she was staying over at my house and we snuck out of the basement in the middle of the night to go roam the streets of Hillcrest. We literally only walked to the local elementary school and swung on the swings for a few hours then walked back and snuck back in. No smoking, drinking, drugs, or meeting up with boys, were a part of any of it. Sounds like it should have been easy to avoid parental detection right? Oh no, not with us. On the way down, taking a shortcut through the hay field, we saw something glowing green in the field. What is that??!! Oh Crap!! I recalled that somewhere I had heard about skunk spray glowing in the dark but had never seen it in real life. “RUUUUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!” I yelled at Susie, and as we took off, the most abominable stench ever wafted over us, making our nostrils burn, our eyes sting, and our stomachs wretch. By the time we got to Hillcrest proper we could still smell the despicable little beast. How can that be? Did it follow us? We inspected our clothes and saw we were splattered in glow-in-the-dark green spots. OMG, we suffered a direct hit and were doused head to toe in the noxious substance. By the time we got back home (avoiding the hay field shortcut) we had no choice but to undress outside and leave all our clothes out there on the patio stinking to high heaven betraying our transgressions. Needless to say we had some ‘splainin’ to do the next day…

So, here I was almost 16 years old and beginning to experience some freedoms in my life (despite dumbassery like “skunk night”). My parents eagerly allowed me to ride my bicycle to work (slinging spiedies at the local Char Pit) or to any other approved social gathering/destination. This wasn’t a privilege as much as it was a necessity. I know all of you were surely driving by that age – but I was vehemently opposed to getting behind the wheel of a car. Why would any sane 16 year old oppose that rite of passage? Well, I had had a few not-so-pleasant experiences with motorized vehicles at an early age. Picture an 8 year-old me clinging to the handlebars of a 3-wheeled trike with the throttle wide open, my long, Laura Ingalls braids streaming behind me, and (I swear this is how I remember it) my body flying straight out horizontally while my dad chased me around trying to tackle the machine to stop it.

1970s Rupp Ratt - I think this is the 3-wheeled trike we had 1970s Rupp Ratt – I think this is the 3-wheeled trike we had

Then there was an episode around the same age when my dad insisted I learn to dig a hole with our Case 680 Backhoe but when I thought it was going to tip over I jumped off the machine crying, well, like a little girl. Then my dad put my experienced brother in the seat and told him to dig the hole. He gave me a superior, condescending look and then proceeded to almost accomplish the actual tip-over while attempting the same maneuver I had just tried. Experiences like those left me paralyzed with fear when it came to operating anything with an engine. Since I was a social butterfly and my folks were sick of hauling my ass around town, my transportation options were: 1. get a ride from someone else, 2. hoof it, 3. ride the bus, or 4. ride my bicycle. Seeing as we lived out in the country and a mile up a steep road, getting somewhere usually involved some sort of combination of all four.

On this particular fine summer weekday, Susie and I made plans to take over the local radio station by force, blockade ourselves in, and play non-stop AC/DC until we either passed out or got arrested… or maybe we were just going to ride our bikes around and talk about Star Wars characters. One or the other – the mind gets cloudy with age. Our plot (whichever it was), began with meeting precisely at 11 AM at Cornaby’s, a general store/post office/restaurant, which was the neighborhood place in Hillcrest everyone met up for anything.

It was an easy ride for me – all downhill – and I always enjoyed going as FAST as I possibly could. With my bike in 10th gear, I would pedal as hard as I could until it was freewheeling faster than my legs could keep up. I bet I had gotten up to 40 MPH down the steepest slope. Because I was a rockin’ Metalhead chick, I was probably wearing one of my awesome concert t-shirts to compliment my cut-off shorts, high-top sneakers, and at least one bandana tied somewhere on my body (more likely 3 or 4). AND of course, no trip anywhere – for any reason, could be made without my portable music system – the big honkin’ boombox – BLASTING out shredding guitar and screaming vocals from one of my favorite bands. This particular day it was Quiet Riot’s Metal Health cassette. I knew it would take me less than one song to get to Susie, so I calculatingly queued up the most obnoxious awesome song I could think of to produce the most repugnant effect on entertain anyone I passed. Yes, I was THAT teenager. Knowing my objective, I’m pretty certain I selected the title cut “Metal Health.” Now would be a good time to click the video link below and let the song play in the background to put you in the moment while you read on:

And right about now, you’re asking yourself, “Where did she carry the boombox on her bike?” The answer is, I didn’t carry it on the bike – no self-respecting Metalhead would do that. It was firmly lodged on my right shoulder with my right hand gripping the handle and the speakers facing out for the sonic benefit of everyone within earshot. I usually rode either no-handed or with a light touch on the bars with my left hand.

I punched the play button, cranked the volume up to 10, adjusted the EQ and set off down our gravel driveway. I hit the main road and shifted up through the gears and pedaled hard, nodding my head to the beat. The final descent, where top speed is achieved, comes immediately after crossing the top railroad tracks and I approached it with gusto. Over the tracks I sailed and flew down the hill with what might have been my all-time speed record. Feeling extremely confident in my skills I always made a point of skimming around the cars parked on the street as close as possible without touching them, as if I was on my horse pole-bending.

Everything was unfolding in utter perfection up to this point.

And then right about here’s where things went horribly awry. At the very bottom of the hill, with me hunkered over the handlebars, surely moving faster than the speed of light, I made a slight miscalculation in swerving around one of the parked cars: my right handlebar caught the back left corner of one. Even if I had had both hands on the bars I wouldn’t have had any hope of recovering from that minute yet devastating blow. Me, the bike, and the box tumbled cartwheel style over and over, bike parts and blood fanning out in a lovely arc, and Kevin DuBrow belting out, “Bang your head,” until we all eventually came to rest in the middle of the street directly in front of my friend Lesa’s house. As you yourself might have experienced when a traumatic high-speed event occurs, weirdly, time seems to slow to a crawl and you become hyper-aware of everything happening. From the moment I nicked the car I remember thinking these thoughts:

“OHHHHH SHIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT….”

“DON’T DROP THE BOX, DON’T DROP THE BOX, DON’T DROP THE BOX!”

“TUCK AND ROLL, TUCK AND ROLL”

Like a mother heroically sacrificing herself to save her baby, I hoisted that boombox over my head and writhed gymnastically rivaling Nadia Comăneci’s perfect 10 Olympic performance allowing my body to take the brunt of each impact so that no matter which way I hit, the box never touched the ground. Got that?

NEVER TOUCHED THE GROUND!

With the wheels still spinning on my crumpled beloved bicycle and the music still blaring from the box, I lay there in agony, stunned, not hardly daring to move in case something (on me) was broken. A passing car approached the scene of the accident, slowed down, and carefully drove around me – not even bothering to see if I was alive or needed help. Really??!! I set down the box and clicked off the play button. One of Lesa’s older brothers ran out into the street, picked me up and carried me into the house and upstairs to the bathroom. Their mom checked me all over, decided nothing was broken, then cleaned and patched me up pretty well. While she was taking care of me, her son took my bike and did his best to repair the bent handle bars and God knows what else.

This was the dark ages – no wireless communication devices – so I couldn’t contact Susie to inform her of the delay. The incident happened only a block or so from our meeting point but there was enough of a curve in the road that she couldn’t have seen anything unfold. I didn’t end up meeting her; instead, I limped home dragging my contorted bike behind me and my pristine boom box no longer held valiantly aloft over my shoulder, but instead, drooping like a lead weight from my low sagging left arm.

No music played.

Epilogue

The boom box lived a long and happy life, continuing to blast out the tunes from the passenger seat of my Ford Bronco (yes I eventually learned to drive!) until it finally passed on of natural causes. The bicycle was repaired and I rode it into many more battles until I gave it to my brother-in-law to borrow while I was pregnant, who irreparably tore it apart in an attempt to “modify” it. I still have that original Quiet Riot cassette which actually plays decently without warbling too much. And to this day, I have the scars on my hip and elbow from the deeps holes scrubbed into them and I still have a speck of asphalt embedded in my right leg to prove this story really happened.

Scar on my elbow Scar on my elbow

Gravel in my leg Gravel in my leg

My ORIGINAL Quiet Riot cassette My ORIGINAL Quiet Riot cassette

 

 

 

Details
Top! © 2017 Colleen Ann Guest
Social Links:
GOOGLEPLUS
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
YOUTUBE