Flipping a Bitch

Have you ever wondered about the term "flip a bitch?" It's the hippest new way to describe a u-turn. I have many theories about where this colorful bit of language came from.

Theory One: Making u-turns is a bitch, largely due to the peril involved in flipping your automobile into oncoming traffic at an unprotected left hand turn. Also, it is not uncommon to lack the necessary clearance to make one, as your huge American vehicle has the turning radius of the Titanic.

Theory Two: Women, (also known in some circles as "bitches" (sorry ladies(whoa, parentheses inside parentheses, that's cutting edge))) who are stereotypically known for having difficulties in making their way around via automobile, find it frequently necessary to make u-turns. Hence, "flip a bitch."

Theory Three: Gangstahs like to hollah at bitches as they slow down for a u-turn, and may also flip out their penises.

Theory Four: A band of traveling entertainers from Estonia had a special trick they did with a female dog that involved catapulting said canine over a giant piece of taffy in the shape of Ronald Regan. The bitch would typically flip head over heals in the air four or five times before landing in an enormous mug of eggnog that says "Today Is The First Day of the Breast of Your Wife" (Typical raunchy Estonian humor). Anyway, these Estonians had trouble reading the street signs when they came to visit the good 'ol U.S. of A, and thusly could not find the venue for which they were destined (The Luxor in Las Vegas. Somehow they were lost in Anchorage). Pualo, the leading man, is remembered as having said to his assistant Ferdinandrew, "Vee are out of tieyem, vee must fleep thees beetch right now! Also, vu-turn up here." And so, the people of Anchorage Alaska were amazed and delighted as the cannonballing canine was flipped continuously while the enterprising Estonians made a tenacious and unprecedented u-turn that would change the course of United States history forever. God bless America.

Theory Five: The internet.

Where Are the Students of Color At UCSC?

Authorities have discovered the remains of intrepid naturalist Ted Stridewell in the woods just above the UC Santa Cruz campus, two months after his disappearance. Just what was Stridewell doing up there?

"Searching for the fabled Student of Color, no less." says his fifth hippie life partner of thirteen months, Shiela Gerbins. "He knew in his heart of hearts they existed, and the need to prove it consumed him."

And how. Three months ago, Stridewell journeyed bravely into the forests of UC Santa Cruz to find and document these elusive and folkloric beings. He made the following statement in a press conference just before he disembarked.

"You know that mural outside the college nine apartments? It really speaks to me. I mean, 'Where are the students of color at UCSC?' Yes... yes, exactly... where? Where are they? They're around here somewhere. The next time you see me, I will have documented proof that these shy and misunderstood creatures exist. Wish me luck. Oh, and fuck whitey."

And it was with this final poignant statement that Ted Stridewell hauled his cracker ass into the untamed wilderness of the UCSC Upper Campus Nature Preserve.

One month following the beginning of his expedition, all contact with Mr. Stridewell was lost, until some hikers stumbled upon his campsite. Stridewell, along with much of his equipment, was found horribly dismembered and obliterated. But authorities did manage to recover several of his journals and audio recordings, most of them relatively intact.

The following are transcripts of these recordings. You may find some of them disturbing, particularly the final ones.

Day 1

Stridewell: I've established a base camp two miles north east of Tree Nine. The hike was relatively uninteresting, and the weather is fair. A few Asian sightings on the way up here, but those guys don't count. I'm fully stocked up on hummus and clove cigarettes, and preparing to bed down for the night.

Day 3

Stridewell: Nothing much to report. I spilt some hummus on my Che Guevara t-shirt. Man, fuck George Bush.

Day 10

Stridewell: Finally some progress. I was snoozing on a rock and was awakened by a rustling in a nearby hedge. Something's been watching me, I know it. The thing made tracks back into the woods when it knew I was awake. Whatever it was, it definitely had some pigment to it. I'm getting pretty excited here.

Day 13

Stridewell: No more occurances since the last entry. It's become apparent to me that sitting out in the woods and waiting for 4:20 PM to roll around isn't getting me anywhere. So I'm taking action. I've decided to implement a calling technique. This involves cupping the hands around the mouth in a very particular way and... here, I'll do it right now.

(Ted can be heard making a very peculiar noise. It sounds like the beat to Snoop Dogg's Drop It Like It's Hot, repeated quickly over and over again.)

Stridewell: I also have another very complex call to show you. If this doesn't bring in an SOC, I don't know what will.

(Stridewell begins whistling Mexican Hat Dance.)

Day 17

Stridewell: (Breathing heavily, with the sound of rustling folliage, as if he's hiding in a bush) I'm really excited, I've just made a huge breakthrough. I've come across a frontage road running through the backwoods and there's an SOC standing right there, no more than 20 yards away from me, next to the street. He appears to have discovered an abandoned vehicle and is examining the contents of the engine compartment.

Okay, Stridewell, get a grip on yourself. (Clears throat tentatively) I will now come out from hiding and attempt to establish first contact. (More rustling, and footsteps.)

Motorist of Color: Jesus Christ, you startled me.

Stridewell: How. Me human. Me come in piece.

Motorist of Color: Um... what the hell?

Stridewell: (Whispering into recorder) The Student of Color appears relatively unintimidated by my intrusion into its natural habitat. I can only assume this is because it has had limited to no contact with humans, which would explain why it bears no natural fear of me.

Motorist of Color: Yeah, er, okay. Say, do you have a cell phone I could borrow? Mine's out of batteries and I'm having a bit of car trouble here-

Stridewell: He appears to be attempting a rudimentary form of communication. I believe he's asking for food. (To Motorist) Hun-Gree? Want... food?

Motorist of Color: What? Erm, I'm fine really. Criminy, you smell bad.

Stridewell: (Into Recorder) I will now attempt to offer him some of my left over Tofu Humus Patty.

Motorist of Color: That's really disgusting. Wait, are you homeless? Okay buddy, here's a couple bucks. Don't spend it on booze.

Stridewell: My God... The creature has just offered me human currency. My mind is reeling with the implications. What's that sound?

(The sound of a car approaching can be heard as it comes to a stop.)

Driver: Hey Al, what up? Car trouble?

Motorist of Color: Yeah man, can you gimme a ride back to campus?

Driver: No problem. Who's that weird guy in the bush?

Motorist of Color: Some mentally handicapped vagrant. He's really creeping me out. Let's go.

(The car pulls away)

Day 18

Stridewell: I just can't get my head around it. How can a creature so... separate from normal society possibly acquire a thing like human currency? I would have thought I was hallucinating except that I'm holding the dollar bills right here in my hand. He was even wearing what appeared to be... a t-shirt... and jeans. This is absurd. My world is collapsing, you have no idea how this feels. The next thing you know, they'll be attending the actual university, not just hiding in the trees. God I need to get high. (Audible bong ripping).

Day 21

Stridewell: Something's been... following me. Watching me. I'm really rather frightened right now. I've only heard it, never really got a good look at it. All I know is that it's big... and brown. Definitely very brown.

Day 22

Stridewell: (Panting) Been on the run pretty regularly for the past 24 hours. Only time to stop for pot. It's close, and I can just feel it's intentions aren't good. I'm not frightened, I'm terrified. This is fucked up. (Long, frightened pause) Oh shit!

(The heavy rustling and cracking of foliage can be heard)

Stridewell: Oh fuck me, he's huge. Seven and a half feet tall... brown... I do believe this specimen must be of the genus Negronicus. (The indistinguishable growling of a grizzly bear is heard) I want to run, but at the same time, I'm elated. How many people get to.... Hey buddy, you're a big boy aren't you? (More growling) According to lore and history books from the 50's, poking this species with a stick is the best way to establish common ground. They also excel at basketball. Here buddy... there you go. See? I come in peace. (Growling becomes more agitated) Let's stay calm, let's not get too, what is it.... Hyphy? That's it. Hyphy.

(The growling converts at this point to a full on roar. Stridewell's screams, as well as the sound of ripping clothing and flesh, last for about a minute before being replaced with the sound of crunching bones. Finally, there's a dull plopping noise as the creature shits nonchalantly in the woods and walks away.)

And so ends the legacy of Ted Stridewell. Will anybody ever again feel inclined to search for the mysterious Student of Color? Stridewell did, and he payed the ultimate price, making it more clear than ever before that nature just doesn't intend for many people at Santa Cruz to, well, quit focusing on frivolous racial issues that don't even apply to this campus or for that matter make any sense.

....

The mural at College Nine is dumb.

Kids Say the Darndest Things (There's a great joke about tits at the end)

Working with kids can be amusing, as well as a rigorous test of one's will not to collapse like a dying star, obliterating all nearby matter. Having worked at a day camp in Berkeley for five and six year olds this summer, I can account for having taken this particular exam many times. Did I pass? Well, I can at least say I wasn't fired, nor is my name and residence posted on any government websites.

(Sorry to disappoint you, Daltonius, I'm afraid I won't be joining your 'illustrious' ranks any time soon. You degenerate scum bag piece of trash.)

Ahem, anyway, I figured it would be worth putting into writing some of the more amusing experiences I've had at work this summer, and I believe I'll kick it off with

Anything Pertaining to Joe

If you've ever seen the movie Men In Black (a favorite of mine), you may recall a scene where Will Smith is in this shooting gallery being attacked by cardboard aliens, and of all the monstrosities that confront him, the only one he shoots at is a little girl. When asked why he took that particular shot, he explains that he thought there was something very wrong with a little white girl walking through the ghetto at night carrying books pertaining to multi variable calculus and quantum physics.

Joe is that little girl. Keep Will Smith the fuck away from him.

This kid is just aware of concepts, ideas, and vocabulary that he shouldn't be. Once when we were getting ready for lunch, he referred to the line he was standing in as a "procession." A procession? Just take a moment and imagine that word coming out of a five year old's mouth. I was at least halfway through high school before I can even recall hearing that word. Another time he told a misbehaving camper that if he didn't shape up, he would be sent to prison where he would be brainwashed and forced to fight in the military.

Joe is also perhaps the only kid to have caught on in any way to the true nature of the game called "Graveyard." Graveyard is simple: The kids lie down on the ground as still and silent as they can while counselors look for any movement. The goal is to be the last one caught moving. "I don't think graveyard is a real game," Joe told me. Which, of course, is pretty much true. It's mostly just a rather effective way to get 'em to shut up. "I'm not playing unless I get to be the guy who figures out how everyone in the graveyard died," Joe told me.

"Okay, fine bud, knock yourself out..." I lie down in his spot, eager for an excuse to catch a quick nap.

He looks me up and down as I lie on the ground. "You died in a boating tragedy."

Not a boating accident, mind you. A boating tragedy. W.T.F, Mr. Joe. W.T.F indeed!

From what wellspring of... unique parenting did this anomalous behavior arise? I can only imagine. Maybe I can't even do that. But I do know that while all the other kids at camp were having bananas, Granola bars and Rice Krispy treats for snack, Joe was eating corn. Raw, uncooked, unhusked corn. As in, every morning his hippie parents go outside and crack a cob off one of the stocks they have growing in their nuclear-free backyard and stick it in his backpack. Oh, and instead of packing him a pair of swim trunks, they give him a second pair of underpants, and expect everyone to believe they qualify as appropriate swim wear.

Berkeley.

Miscellaneous Antics and Garbage

I'm going to put this in bullets. We've got:

- A kid who peed his pants like clockwork within the same 30 minute timespan for four consecutive days, after repeatedly denying the need to use the bathroom.

-A kid who refers to my brother as "Don Chi-Chi" for no definable reason.

-Kids who shit in the pool.

-Kids who shit in the pool repeatedly and think its really funny.

-Kids who punch each other in the balls and think its really funny.

-Kids who punch you in the balls, and of course, think its really funny.

-One kid who walked in at the beginning of the day, pointed at his dad who was standing a few feet away, and said in a serious, hushed voice, "He eats pee and poo for breakfast." The dad smirked knowingly and walked off. It was a look that said, "So maybe I do and I'm proud of it."

-Might I mention the way these kids get ready for swimming? They strip down in the locker room to change into there swim trunks, but then opt to sit around completely naked, occasionally yanking idly on their ding dongs while pondering the mysteries of Optimus Prime or something. When you ask them why they're not changing, you can expect them to respond with something like, "My pants are inside-out." I'm not Daltonius, so there really is nothing I find particularly fun about this part of the day. But God help us all if I were Daltonius. I shudder to think.

-Some pretty damn hot moms.

-This lifeguard with really big bozangas. Yeah dude, they were like totally gigantic. She pretty much spent the whole day lounging in the lifeguard's chair while she "kept watch over the kids in the pool." Yeah, right. She was just about as good at her job as I was at "never steeling surreptitious glances at her WMD's." (Weapons of Milk Distribution. Yeah, that's right. Another term for tits is born. Oh, and back off George Bush. I know you've been looking for a while now, but I saw them first.)

Well, that's all I got. I hope you didn't just scroll to the end to read the bit about tits. There were some okay parts in the middle I guess. Anyhoo, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon! BUM BUM, BUM BUM, BUM BUM, BUM BUM...