THOUGHTS FROM THE DEEP END WITH MISS JULIE’S POOL BOY–STILL DOING DUMB STUFF, ONLY SLOWER: Some 12 weeks ago, Miss Julie’s Pool Boy saw a photo of himself & then stepped on a scale to the horrific number of 217. He pledged to smite & vex 40 extra passengers. This morning, after fist pumping the air for crossing the Mendoza Line, he stumbled putting on his gym shorts. Doing his own stunt work qualifies for the dumb stuff folder.

     His knees, 20 years older than the rest of him, then clicked & creaked & clanked a syncopated mezzo forte down the hall while he sought the first cup of his morning addiction. He poured & sugared his drink &  the knee driven jazz riff continued to his recliner.

    In a past littered with poor, dumb life decisions, his fingers were smashed by clackers, his eyes judged the parabolic arc in summer twilight of the original, metal tipped Jarts to avoid impalement, he ate burgers & questionable chicken nuggets out of environmentally irresponsible styrofoam boxes. He still possess a library book from a school he promoted from in June 1977 & worries if he owes over $370 in two cents a day late fees while also worrying if his promotion is valid & if the last 47 years are a sham equal to the six Brady kids surviving on one bathroom with no commode with an architect for a father, Milli Vanilli, & Nixon’s secretary’s explanation of the 18 missing minutes.

      His first car was a columbia blue 1967 Mercury Cougar with a white vinyl top that had bucket seats, wing windows & a lap belt for safety that he wasn’t required by law to wear.  A push button AM radio with an attached 8 track player provided music as he “cruised Brainerd” in an ensemble purchased solely at The Leader of alligator or polo pony branded shirt with the collar popped under a button down while sporting Duck Head or Dickies khakis & Bass Weejuns with no socks. Countless aimless fly-bys of the Krispy Kreme, Krystal, & Bennigans & numerous passes under the top radio station’s Studio in the Sky high above the local bowling establishment. In his wallet, that radio stations gold card, allowing a stop at Kay’s Kastle for a discounted Orange Freeze.

As the first sips of coffee chased away the effects of another night his bladder tells him it’s between 2 & 3 AM, as he watched Columbo unravel another homicide. Among commercials letting him know he’d be happier with a hair replacement or pills to increase his testosterone & an emu pitching insurance, there was Joe Namath promoting hearing aids.  All this, with him less than a fortnight from leveling up to year 4 in the sexagenarian club, & nearly 39 years of happily proving with Miss Julie that you can live on love. (Miss Julie says its just like 39 minutes…underwater. MJPB isn’t quite sure what she means by that)

     A trip 3 years back in a journal causes him to think back to a 3rd Floor Wednesday on asphalt parking lot that bears witness to some of  MJPB’S dumb teenage choices, with 50 youngsters. He stood downrange to be a scoring judge at the interim student ministers request. A request, he soon learned, that’s defined as “expendable ministry asset” in seminary. A giant slingshot loaded with eggs, potatoes, teddy bears, & an expired, badly aimed can of one of the 2 most redundantly named items ever, vegetarian beans, (Life Application Bible the other, MJPB thinks life application should be presumed), that would have sent him to the ER except that fortunately, along with vibrant hair & glowing skin & none of those extra 40 pounds, he still had nimble feet, which are still in his possession as the gym shorts can testify & retained the ability to duck. As the slingshot flung its ordnance skyward, he watched males ages 12 to 18, erupt with joy as a can of Spam exploded & turned the spiced ham portmanteau product that won World War 2 into shrapnel & he thought, “in 20 years some of these guys have a chance to be responsible citizens, some have an excellent chance to be between 32 & 38, but all of ‘em are going to dumb stuff, only slower”. The Pool Boy thought about that over gym shorts & coffee…