The dog days of summer were panting their hot breaths on a steamy summer’s day a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Or, in Lewistown sometime in the 80’s. It was so hot the trees had sweat rings. The sun beat down continuously like a hard rock drummer. Aerosmithy hammering out horse shoes on an anvil from hell.
Brittle blades of grass were shooting off sparks. The air was still and silent like squashed road kill and about as fragrant. Everything and everybody smelled over ripe.
Lewistown’s Recreation Park’s pool was as full as TV weatherman Al Roker’s stapled stomach after a small pack of airplane peanuts. Trailers, apartments and houses’ air conditioners and fans were flying at Mach 7, whatever that means, inside Lewistowners’ homes.
Then suddenly the TV sets became black screen paperweights, the lights turned off, the fans stopped, the air conditioners ceased conditioning the air and, except for some swearing, the homes went silent. Sirens started howling all over town like backyard dogs barking when a strange dog appears.
Soon homes were too hot to stay in, so everyone went out onto their sidewalks and started walking around aimlessly, trying to create a wind by walking. They met neighbors they never knew they had, visited neighborhoods they’d only driven past and talked to each other. Yes, actually talked, instead of letting the TV talk to them.
This went on for awhile and as the day’s sun dipped into the darkness of night, a miracle happened. It wasn’t the parting of the Red Sea. It was more like the parting of a bald man’s red comb over, but a miracle nonetheless.
The Parkway Store on Shaw Ave. in Lewistown became a Good Humor truck. With the power out all afternoon the freezers couldn’t keep it contents from melting, so the owner Rocco Soccio decided to give his ice cream away first come, first served.
So chocolate, vanilla and the trifecta- Neapolitan were there for the taking. Ice cream sandwiches and bars, fudgesicles, creamsicles and all things ice creamy became free as the wind. If only there had been a wind.
The word flew like a bird. Kids and families from all over town rushed there for this dripping soft festival. It was like the Parkway had become the center of the universe.
From a spy satellite in outer space it must have looked like Lewistown was starting to sink in a circle around the store with its crowds. There was such a stampede that I worried about the earth tilting on its axis and crashing into the moon. Luckily, Rocco ran out of ice cream before that happened on this delicious hot summer night.
Kids were running around town with cool sticky ice creamy smiles. It was the great ice cream giveaway that turned a power outage, a black out, into a white melting miracle of ice creaminess.
Goodbye Rocco, old friend, and thanks for the ice cream.
Thursday, July 16
WHAT I DID THIS SUMMER- COLONOSCOPY!!
Dr. Hamas (swear to God) told me that only one in 1,000 colonoscopies perforate the colon. That’s wonderful, unless your doctor has done 999 just before yours. Now Hamas is an extreme Moslem terrorist group and I remember from my Air Force days in Turkey that you don’t shake hands with a Moslem with the hand you wipe yourself with, because it’s considered unclean.
But I couldn’t remember which one I use, so I put out my right hand, then my left. I was so confused I head butted him instead. To get on his good side just before the operation I shouted “Allah is great! Death to America!”
After the procedure, which took out two benign polyps I affectionately named Grumpy and Sponge Bob, the good doctor asked me a battery of questions because he said he was obsessive. I comically suggested “Anal obsessive?”
He smiled weakly, but his nurse laughed out loud and quickly told another nurse, who also cackled. But to Dr. Hamas by then, I was just another asshole.
After doing wheelies down the hall in the wheelchair they put me in to leave, I wanted to roll down the steep hill outside the hospital till the nurse shouted “NO!”
Colonoscopies are way fun!!
But I couldn’t remember which one I use, so I put out my right hand, then my left. I was so confused I head butted him instead. To get on his good side just before the operation I shouted “Allah is great! Death to America!”
After the procedure, which took out two benign polyps I affectionately named Grumpy and Sponge Bob, the good doctor asked me a battery of questions because he said he was obsessive. I comically suggested “Anal obsessive?”
He smiled weakly, but his nurse laughed out loud and quickly told another nurse, who also cackled. But to Dr. Hamas by then, I was just another asshole.
After doing wheelies down the hall in the wheelchair they put me in to leave, I wanted to roll down the steep hill outside the hospital till the nurse shouted “NO!”
Colonoscopies are way fun!!
SUMMER INTRODUCES ITSELF
Hello there, allow me to introduce myself. I am summer. I’ll blow into town on the June solstice and will hang around until the summer equinox. I’m warm and giving. In fact, I’ll give you cantaloupes, sweet corn, fireflies and baseball. I’ll give you enough grass to cut to keep you busy and sweating.
I’ll give you a relentless sun that singes all skin showing to produce that golden tan, that sometimes turns into skin cancer years later. I’ll give you backyard barbeques, spitting sizzling flesh dripping on white hot charcoal briquettes and corn on the cob wrapped in tin foil with friends and family all sitting around more naked than needed to beat the heat. Any way you look at it, I’ll give you plenty of exposed meat- both animal and human.
I’ll heat your pools and oceans so you can splash and play all day. I’ll give you humidity. Boy, will I give you humidity! I’ll turn the great outdoors into one big boiler room, complete with hissing steam from broiling car radiators.
I’ll give you twisters that spin from the wind to drop down on your towns, trailers, homes, businesses and farms. Then I’ll suck your lives up into the sky. I’ll interrupt crystal blue days to pour on your parades and picnics and soak your charcoal and chicken.
I’ll burst the bellies of heavy black clouds and let loose Niagara Falls. I’ll short circuit the sky and shoot lightning bolts down to topple your trees and knock out your own puny electricity. Periodically, I like to remind you who is really in charge here. I’ll give you beautiful days during the work week and wash out your weekends. They’re your weekends, not mind. I don’t get any days off.
If you’re young, I’ll give you the best music of the year to blast from boom boxes, iPODS and car radios. You’ll remember my melodies the most because they’re the soundtrack of your youth that’ll hum in your head till death do you part.
I’ll give you sun-splashed rivers so cool that you’ll flock to their banks, float on their currents and frolic in their depths. I’ll give you long lazy days, where lifting a chilled glass to your lips to take a sip is as energetic as you’ll get. I’ll give you balmy nights where you can stretch out your porches and in your backyards to breathe in my bouquet under my moonbeams.
I’ll give you romance with hand holding in the moonlight and kissing that shoots off sparks in the dark. I’ll give you a first love to tumble toss your head or a new love to jump start your heart or renew an old love under the eaves of my warm shadows.
I’ll give you the time of your life. Then I’ll be gone to let the leaves fall where they may.
I’ll give you a relentless sun that singes all skin showing to produce that golden tan, that sometimes turns into skin cancer years later. I’ll give you backyard barbeques, spitting sizzling flesh dripping on white hot charcoal briquettes and corn on the cob wrapped in tin foil with friends and family all sitting around more naked than needed to beat the heat. Any way you look at it, I’ll give you plenty of exposed meat- both animal and human.
I’ll heat your pools and oceans so you can splash and play all day. I’ll give you humidity. Boy, will I give you humidity! I’ll turn the great outdoors into one big boiler room, complete with hissing steam from broiling car radiators.
I’ll give you twisters that spin from the wind to drop down on your towns, trailers, homes, businesses and farms. Then I’ll suck your lives up into the sky. I’ll interrupt crystal blue days to pour on your parades and picnics and soak your charcoal and chicken.
I’ll burst the bellies of heavy black clouds and let loose Niagara Falls. I’ll short circuit the sky and shoot lightning bolts down to topple your trees and knock out your own puny electricity. Periodically, I like to remind you who is really in charge here. I’ll give you beautiful days during the work week and wash out your weekends. They’re your weekends, not mind. I don’t get any days off.
If you’re young, I’ll give you the best music of the year to blast from boom boxes, iPODS and car radios. You’ll remember my melodies the most because they’re the soundtrack of your youth that’ll hum in your head till death do you part.
I’ll give you sun-splashed rivers so cool that you’ll flock to their banks, float on their currents and frolic in their depths. I’ll give you long lazy days, where lifting a chilled glass to your lips to take a sip is as energetic as you’ll get. I’ll give you balmy nights where you can stretch out your porches and in your backyards to breathe in my bouquet under my moonbeams.
I’ll give you romance with hand holding in the moonlight and kissing that shoots off sparks in the dark. I’ll give you a first love to tumble toss your head or a new love to jump start your heart or renew an old love under the eaves of my warm shadows.
I’ll give you the time of your life. Then I’ll be gone to let the leaves fall where they may.
Sunday, July 5
MAKING BAMBOO SHARK MOVIE
Sunday afternoons are special and Sunday October 12, 2008 was a very special afternoon indeed. I spent it in a Christian youth center outside Harrisburg beating up a male model. What would make me do that? The word “Action!”
I was playing a Mafia thug extra in the movie “Bamboo Shark” starring Mickey Rooney and over 50 celebrity impersonators. In it, the mob is trying to retrieve its money stolen by some college students who’re making a movie.
I answered a movie internet ad for extras given me by aspiring actress/model Rhonda Weader. My wife Nancy, grandson Jack Roddey and his friend, from outside Port Royal, Tyler Dolan went along for the ride. Jack and Tyler were immediately drafted to be in the movie acting as student crewmembers. They were really pumped about that, bouncing around the set like tennis balls at Wimbledon.
Our single scene showed Tom Petty in a top hat wrestling a crew member, a bald guy in a black suit who looked like a stocky Mr. Clean knocking out Sylvester Stallone, Jack accidentally popping out a Mafia thug’s contact ( Mark Bitner) as he and Tyler punched and pushed him around and me socking a sitting crew member, played by a male model.
We did over ten takes, broke and then returned to do another ten from a different angle. The only direction I got was to not hit my guy so much as I was sweating and too red faced the first time. I had brushed my brow pretending to sweat for effect. ACTING! And I get red faced just thinking bad thoughts all the time, but I dialed it down like they wanted, so they wouldn’t think I was having a heart attack.
There was a tender moment off screen when The Terminator spritzed Rambo’s biceps with his tiny spray bottle to make them glisten and gleam under the hot movie lights. I told Jack that an extra was an extra special actor whose mere presence on the silver screen spoke volumes and didn’t need lines. I was told by an assistant that everybody loved Jack and Tyler’s acting because they beat up their middle aged Mafia thug so enthusiastically. They had movie stars in their eyes. Their potential that certain Sunday was unlimited.
Making a movie is fun, but tedious with take after take after take. It’s all in the lighting, that’s why they say LIGHTS, Camera, Action! And the actors speak softly because a movie mike really magnifies.
The next time you see a movie scene, where the star runs down the street past numerous anonymous people, just remember that they are the extras with their own hopes and dreams of making a free sandwich from the meat and cheese platter put out for the actual actors.
A little over three months later my precious goofy grandson, Jack T. Roddey, was shot to death. He was only 14. So treasure those special Sunday afternoons together, because they can be gone in a gasp.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
I was playing a Mafia thug extra in the movie “Bamboo Shark” starring Mickey Rooney and over 50 celebrity impersonators. In it, the mob is trying to retrieve its money stolen by some college students who’re making a movie.
I answered a movie internet ad for extras given me by aspiring actress/model Rhonda Weader. My wife Nancy, grandson Jack Roddey and his friend, from outside Port Royal, Tyler Dolan went along for the ride. Jack and Tyler were immediately drafted to be in the movie acting as student crewmembers. They were really pumped about that, bouncing around the set like tennis balls at Wimbledon.
Our single scene showed Tom Petty in a top hat wrestling a crew member, a bald guy in a black suit who looked like a stocky Mr. Clean knocking out Sylvester Stallone, Jack accidentally popping out a Mafia thug’s contact ( Mark Bitner) as he and Tyler punched and pushed him around and me socking a sitting crew member, played by a male model.
We did over ten takes, broke and then returned to do another ten from a different angle. The only direction I got was to not hit my guy so much as I was sweating and too red faced the first time. I had brushed my brow pretending to sweat for effect. ACTING! And I get red faced just thinking bad thoughts all the time, but I dialed it down like they wanted, so they wouldn’t think I was having a heart attack.
There was a tender moment off screen when The Terminator spritzed Rambo’s biceps with his tiny spray bottle to make them glisten and gleam under the hot movie lights. I told Jack that an extra was an extra special actor whose mere presence on the silver screen spoke volumes and didn’t need lines. I was told by an assistant that everybody loved Jack and Tyler’s acting because they beat up their middle aged Mafia thug so enthusiastically. They had movie stars in their eyes. Their potential that certain Sunday was unlimited.
Making a movie is fun, but tedious with take after take after take. It’s all in the lighting, that’s why they say LIGHTS, Camera, Action! And the actors speak softly because a movie mike really magnifies.
The next time you see a movie scene, where the star runs down the street past numerous anonymous people, just remember that they are the extras with their own hopes and dreams of making a free sandwich from the meat and cheese platter put out for the actual actors.
A little over three months later my precious goofy grandson, Jack T. Roddey, was shot to death. He was only 14. So treasure those special Sunday afternoons together, because they can be gone in a gasp.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN COMMON GROUND MAGAZINE
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