I walk into the Cavern and it's this kid from school, the type who glom onto me, and think they are big shot writers.
I don't indulge them but they think I do, because they are oblivious.
So anyway we had a beer and then he got the bright idea to step outside and smoke a joint in the parking lot of the body shop next door.
Which we proceeded to do.
As we were smoking, one of the guys who works there, an Indian from one of the local tribes joined us.
We started out talking about tobacco when he bummed a smoke from me and before long he was telling me about how he got into the White Deer dance up on the Klamath river.
He saw a black deer get killed in the road, skinned it out, and did other preparations appropriate to the situation, but his tribe doesn't use the deer in their dances.
So he took it up to the Klamath river tribe as a gift, because they use deer in their dance.
But a black deer is even rarer than a white one. The white deer skins have been collected over generations. Most people never see an albino deer, much less hunt one down, skin it and dance with it. To find a black deer skin then is a matter of significance.
To say the least, I was interested in the story.
But my young friend was inspired to keep trying to interrupt the other guy, which got to be very irritating, so we both just ignored him, and asked him to wait, as he repeatedly kept trying to make the other guy stop speaking and listen to him. He was utterly oblivious to what was being talked about.
What finally happened was the Indian, who was pretty much a stranger when he walked in, was invited to join in the dance, dressed in the full paints and regalia, bearing his black deer skin on a stick.
He showed me the dance step, jumping up and down and leaning forward, and signing Hiyut!
The irony is that the punk-ass bitch from school turned in a story a few months back that pretended to deal with just that sort of mysticism. But it was phony as a hollow easter bunny. He had no understanding of the subject, although he may fancy that he has a fascination for it.
In the end, the Indian got to make some important connections on a level that most of us never see.
I just thought his story was interesting.
I don't indulge them but they think I do, because they are oblivious.
So anyway we had a beer and then he got the bright idea to step outside and smoke a joint in the parking lot of the body shop next door.
Which we proceeded to do.
As we were smoking, one of the guys who works there, an Indian from one of the local tribes joined us.
We started out talking about tobacco when he bummed a smoke from me and before long he was telling me about how he got into the White Deer dance up on the Klamath river.
He saw a black deer get killed in the road, skinned it out, and did other preparations appropriate to the situation, but his tribe doesn't use the deer in their dances.
So he took it up to the Klamath river tribe as a gift, because they use deer in their dance.
But a black deer is even rarer than a white one. The white deer skins have been collected over generations. Most people never see an albino deer, much less hunt one down, skin it and dance with it. To find a black deer skin then is a matter of significance.
To say the least, I was interested in the story.
But my young friend was inspired to keep trying to interrupt the other guy, which got to be very irritating, so we both just ignored him, and asked him to wait, as he repeatedly kept trying to make the other guy stop speaking and listen to him. He was utterly oblivious to what was being talked about.
What finally happened was the Indian, who was pretty much a stranger when he walked in, was invited to join in the dance, dressed in the full paints and regalia, bearing his black deer skin on a stick.
He showed me the dance step, jumping up and down and leaning forward, and signing Hiyut!
The irony is that the punk-ass bitch from school turned in a story a few months back that pretended to deal with just that sort of mysticism. But it was phony as a hollow easter bunny. He had no understanding of the subject, although he may fancy that he has a fascination for it.
In the end, the Indian got to make some important connections on a level that most of us never see.
I just thought his story was interesting.
But as for that annoying kid from your class: I'm working on a little something called the go-to-hell-wand. This seemingly innocent stick, in fact, causes whomever pisses you off to get sucked into hell until you leave the scene. That way you don't have to deal with the annoying person and he or she might learn a lesson.