My tale begins in Tulsa, Oklahoma somewhere around 1998. I was living in my friends’ basement, which was, at one time, a funeral home. I slept in what was once embalming chambers. If you think you’re disgusted, think about how I felt when I heard the news. I had been living there for a few months already, when our next door neighbor told me this. Our neighbor, Ron, was a tweaker, which was not uncommon in Tulsa. He was a skinny, balding red head who smoked like a chimney and wore pink/orange hypercolor Ocean Pacific shirts, sleeves removed.
“You know this building was a funeral home in the 1920’s?” He said, shaking nervously.
I was silently soaking this information in as Ron began to tell me the details. The landlord told him directly when he moved in, sometime in 1996. I usually had a policy about trusting tweakers, but I saw no reason that Ron would lie about this. This tale was not leading to more drugs, or money for said drugs, so I took it at face value. Later that week, the story was confirmed by the landlord. He would drop in occasionally to make sure that none of the repairs we requested were being made.
This “funeral home business” bothered me slightly. And with summer’s humidity choking any sort of temperate comfort, I found myself awake at night, staring at my dwelling. To pass the time, I found myself trying to work more hours at a pizza place around the corner, or diving into my roommate’s book and record collections.
One of my roommates had been an English major, which meant he burned through books at an unprecedented manner. I had seen War and Peace laying next to the toilet with a bookmark in the first 20 pages. The very next week the book was placed in the “already read it” pile. With a nine to five job, and a dedicated regiment at the gym, he read a novel on the toilet that would have taken me two years of uninterrupted attention.
“Food? I can’t be bothered with food! Prince Andrei has just plummeted into a pit of nihilism!”
“The cute girl from the pizza place is here? Pierre has just discovered from numerology that Napoleon is the antichrist figure of Revelation! Please ask her to wait patiently on the couch. I only have eight more months of reading.”
That being said, I was always appreciative when there was easier-to-digest reading next to our throne of relief. It was here that I first saw what appeared to be a daguerreotype of Abraham Lincoln nude. Over his genital area was a typographic censor that read “Naked Pictures of Famous People”. I was unfamiliar with Jon Stewart being a humor writer at the time. “The guy from MTV put out a book of historical nude photos? Is nothing sacred?” I thought. Then I, of course, opened the book.
The first page I saw was a drawing of a beer helmet (wine helmet, in the book) as drawn/planned/invented by Leonardo Da Vinci. I laughed hysterically at the rest of the chapter, wiping tears away from my eyes. I finished the book that afternoon with the same fervor my roommate displayed for Tolstoy’s masterpiece.
Fast forward to 2006. I was living in Washington D.C. The embalming room was a memory, and Ron was still somewhere in Tulsa; being Ron. As it turns out, I had followed my English major roommate out to D.C. He, his wife, and another friend proved to be a strong base for friends when trying my first relocation experiment. From the time I moved out to the Baltimore/D.C. area in 2003, I had been enamored with the culture. Used record stores, independent book sellers, clubs where Fugazi played… I was in heaven.
I worked as a production manager for a downtown D.C. company, and was eating lunch in the break room with a few co-workers. We were regaling each other with jokes from the previous night’s Daily Show (with Jon Stewart), and something clicked. I had all but forgotten the book, the wine helmet, and the cramps in my stomach I had contracted from laughing so hard. Everything flooded back, and I interrupted a story about Jon Oliver to tell my co-workers of the hilarious book. “You….HAVE…..to…..read….” I stammered. I knew I sounded like Ron right after a snort, but I was already laughing so hard that I could barely keep it together.
My impatience is legendary. To make sure my co-workers go the full effect of the joke, I took an extra long lunch, and walked up to the nearest independent book store to purchase my copy. I laughed the entire seven block walk. Since it was fall in D.C., one could never be too sure of what the weather was going to be like. I wore my winter coat unnecessarily, and after four of the seven blocks, I began to sweat mildly.
A bell rang as I pushed in the door, and almost ran to the humor section. Lo and behold, I didn’t see the book. But this was an independent store, maybe it was filed under “Charlie’s favorite picks” or “Neo-Historic Photographic Reference and Humor”.
I went up to the counter where a mid-twenties, hip clerk was working. I had been in such a hurry, I hadn’t predetermined how terribly awkward the question was going to sound:
“Do you have ‘Naked Pictures of Famous People?”
“Excuse me?”, the clerk rightly responded.
“I’m sorry… Jon Stewart’s book, it’s a humor book” I said trying not to sound like a pervert.
…Jon Stewart – 1. Me – 0.
“I don’t know… “, said the clerk “Ask our information desk”.
As he pointed to the desk, the mild sweat turned into a profuse affair. It was partly from the quick walk to the bookstore and the standard retail temperature that only Dante could truly appreciate. My core temperature doubled as I saw the information clerk was a nice, grandfatherly looking old man. How was I not going to offend this old gentleman? He works for a bookstore! Surely he has heard of this book from ten years ago! He probably read it as a young chap who was in his late 60’s and his entire elderly life in front of him!
“Can I help you son?”
There it was. “Son.” I held out my hand to accept a Werther’s Original candy, but there was none to be had.
“I am looking for a book”
“Okay son, what’s the title?”
“It’s a humor book.”
“Uh huh.”
“Do you know Jon Stewart?”
“Is that the title?” …damn.
“No…”
“Is that the author?”
“YES!” There was a glimmer of hope that I wouldn’t have to offend this grandfather-like figure.
“…hmm…It seems we have America” …damn.
“Do you have ‘Naked Pictures of Famous People’?”
His eyes widened in disbelief in what I had said. At this point, I expected him to send me to my room, or have a heart attack. Either seemed entirely possible.
“It’s the name of the book; the humor book. It’s a lot of funny essays and…” I feverishly tried to explain.
“I’m afraid we don’t.” he sharply interrupted. I sighed and sulked back to the humor section. I could feel his judging gaze on my back as I did. I was a sweaty pervert in Father Literature’s eyes.
… Jon Stewart – 2. Me – 0. You magnificent bastard.
I felt obligated to buy the new Stewart book called “America (The Book): A Citizen’s Guide to Democracy Inaction” so I didn’t look like a complete degenerate. I would prove to them that I was a fan of humor writing, not celebrity nudity. I carried the book up to the young clerk.
“That will be twenty seven, sixty four... did you find it?”
“No”
“Oh, sorry man. Do you want a bag?
“No thanks, I’m good”
“Okay, here’s your receipt. You know there’s a section on the Supreme Court in there that’s really good. On page ninety nine”, he said nodding his head in a cryptic way.
“Oh… Okay. I’ll check it out” I said, and exited the store with my head hanging defeated.
I had seven blocks to walk back to the office, so I decided to drown the fiasco away with hilariousness. After reading one section that made me laugh, I thought about the clerk’s strange nod. I looked for a section on the Supreme Court. Sure enough, on page ninety nine, “Dress the Supreme Court”. Satirizing paper doll dress up books from childhood, Stewart and crew have a page of cut outs of Supreme Court robes (complete with paper tabs to hold the robes onto the figures). On the facing page, are pictures of the Supreme Court members photo manipulated onto nine naked bodies.
Not only was the young clerk aware of the exact page the naked Supreme Court appeared on, he figured it was a sweet tip to tell the sweaty pervert where to locate it. Apparently, this kid thought the best place in a bookstore I could find pornography was in the humor section. Not to mention their large selection of pornographic magazines; “No good fellow! Penthouse is for the unimaginative! I like my pornography in the form of people somewhere in the range of fifty-five to seventy. If I can get photos of the very physically unfit, that would be ideal! Now go fetch me a Stewart book young man, I like to chuckle while I churn!”
…Jon Stewart – 3. Me – 0.
No comments:
Post a Comment