Nostalgika

I distinctly remember singing "What's-a matter you? Hey! Gotta no respect. What-a you t'ink you do? Why you look-a so sad?It's-a not so bad, it's-a nice-a place. Ah, shaddap-a you face!" and being called in from recess to sit on a bench. Thanks a lot, Joe Dolce.

This is the best thing I have ever seen.

Dallas School Districts

Opening Convocation

(delivered by a 3rd grader)

Nostalgika XVIII : All Things Oral

circa 1978

I used to spend a lot of time reminiscing about the various joys and tragedies of my childhood in a series I like to call

Nostalgika (see all of them listed in the sidebar); oh yes, my heart still bleeds and purrs when I remember Land of the Lost, wearing shoelaces with ice cream cones on them, climbing the pole at recess, coming in third and crying winning the 3rd-grade spelling bee, and bringing glory to my school with my plagiarized Winnie the Pooh bookmark.

Lately, I've been having memories about school and realizing that I was pretty much out of it for most of elementary school. This is due in part to ...

1. not realizing I had a back to my head, ergo, never brushing it.
2. possibly being ADHD, which back then meant you just managed instead of blaming being a spaz on "skipping my meds this morning."
3. having a very active imagination.
4. eating those little white astringent pellets I found on the carpet during story time, which I think migrated to my brain and crystallized.

Anyhow, I found the following bits emerging from the fog of memory. While I have no stirring of nostalgia per se, these naive sexual puzzlements and oral fixations may shed some light on SG's inner early world.

Sometime in 4th or 5th grade I went to see Airplane! with my mother, who took me and my sister to see this educational documentary about the advances in flying since the days of the Wright Brothers. There's a scene in which the stewardess (that's what we used to call flight attendants, for all you little youngsters out thar) is trying to reinflate the auto-pilot blowup doll through the nozzle located below his beltline, and I remember blurting out, "mom, is she giving him a blow job?!?" My mother was, of course, horrified to hear this phrase coming from my 9-year-old lips that had only a short time ago given up a pacifier. Her flushed and spittle-laced Where did you hear that?!?!?!? was satisfied by the explanation that our slutty and large-boobed (and later hairless, since she suffered from trichotillomania) neighbor Crissy had very thoroughly described the process to my sister and me at the bus stop, aided in part by a visual demonstration on a hairbrush.

Shortly thereafter I went through a phase of drawing blowjobs being given on a series of artwork that looked something like this. ... yes, I drew that in Photoshop today. I don't really understand why the head of the penis is pushing out the back of the head like that, but I thought it was hysterically funny, so I drew a bunch of them, and left them lying around here & there. I did not remember this artistic bout until the other night when Jamwall and I watched Superbad, and Sean talked about his phallus sketching phase. No wonder I was so harsh, years later, asking my penis-drawing student whether he was going to be an astronaut ("I've never seen someone so interested in drawing rocketry!!!") and being met with his embarrassed are you kidding right now? gaze.

Since I was into eating things I found around the classroom, it's no surprise that abandoned baked goods left on a school desk (or inside ... heck, I'm not beneath a little freeganing) called to me. As I reached for it my brain suddenly discerned that I was about to grasp not an oversized fresh-baked oatmeal cookie, but a fresh-upchucked pile of someone's breakfast. Thank goodness for reflexes!

I think I've tapped a vein here --- so many memories are just gushing forward. Let's see where this leads us over the next few days, shall we?