Random Points on the Map of Joe

Is anything really random? Or is something else, like Mitochlorians maybe, coursing through us to design some vast unknowable quilt of life?

I do know a young and growing boy who is named Random, but I digress.

From the internets arrives today a meme, a tag event, from the impressive pages of Newscoma. The instructions are as follows:

"I just need to quickly write 8 random facts/habits about myself, then tag 8 people. If I tag you, you had better play."

Okey doke, I'm on it, NC.

1 -- First, I must say a random fact is that right here on the floor by my foot there has been a copy of "Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III" in the Uncut VHS version and it has been there for months now. It has not moved and I've been watching it daily and it just stays right where it is. I don't think I've watched anything on VHS on more than two years ... wait, no, I take that part back. I did watch my VHS copy of John Woo's "Hard Boiled" about two weeks ago. When Chow Yun-Fat plays a cop named Tequila and ends up rescuing babies from a maternity ward during a bajillion-gun slo-mo shoot-out, you have some serious entertainment. Viggo Mortensen is in "Leatherface" and the movie features the line "The Saw Is Family" but I still have yet to place that VHS in the VCR and watch it, so it just lays there like some demented dust-bunny.

2 -- Can a habit be random? I must remember to think about that.

3 -- This year I have not been fishing yet, which is a habit I used to have more intensely. I love to go fishing and am surrounded by some most excellent lakes. So I will have to go to it soon. Have I ever told you about the time I went fishing and lost my pants and had to run naked to my truck? It is a true story. I was crossing a dry (I thought) spot in the lake-bed one December day en route to my truck at a nearby state park. The not-dry lake-bed suddenly became an evil mud-bog and I was suddenly stuck chest-deep in the mud. Fearing for my life, the only safety tip I could think of was about what to do if you fell through some ice into a lake, which was to flatten my arms and what was unstuck of my upper body across the muddy ground. So I sank no further. I let go of my tackle box, which was in one hand, and used my fishing pole in the other hand to attempt to leverage my body out of the muck.

That's when I felt my sneakers go. Ah well, I thought, there is no getting those back as 70 percent of my body was still beneath the ground. I could see my truck, about 80 yards away, taunting me. Again, I used my fishing rod to leverage me up and that's when it started -- my jeans slid off of my backside and weirdly cool mud mingled freely with my nether regions and I stopped moving immediately sensing like a bona-fide psychic what would soon be my future mud-slimed naked self standing near the boat ramp of a state park.

I pondered my options for the next few moments. I noted the utter absence of any other people nearby and then considered trying to snake an arm down into the vice-like grip of mud surrounding me to snag the jeans. Putting more of me back into the muck was not an option. With great relief, I recalled that my wallet and my keys to the truck were in my tackle box, which was above ground. I took a deep breath and did what had to be done. Like those earthworms I had, at times, used as bait, I wriggled up from the dirt and mud inch by inch until I had a naked knee on the ground and the wind whipped about my muddy butt. As all of my legs emerged, the hole closed up behind me as if it never existed, my jeans and shoes forever a part of the earth's crust.

I stood for a moment, wearing only a muddy t-shirt, feeling like a primeval creature who dared approach the world bipedally. Snapping back into reality, I bolted for the truck somehow opening my tackle box in mid-flight to get my keys out. And then I realized that even once I reached the sanctuary of my vehicle, I still faced about a 15 minute ride home through heavy commuter traffic naked and covered in lake mud. Also, the impending naked run from truck to house. This was not over. I never veered from my goal, however. I was nakedly committed to finishing this episode. Suffice to say that driving naked was kinda fun, but not fun like you might repeat the act. True, I may have smiled more at the vehicles around me as I steered through school zones and shopping districts, especially when I was stopped at traffic lights. Finally home, I appreciated the usefulness of pants in a new way and to this day know that the lake ate my jeans and sneakers with extreme prejudice. Still, I survived to tell this tale.

4 -- Wow that last point was way to long. As a rule though, I have never ever fished naked. Just went home naked once.

5 -- I must remember to ask the guy at the record store when the new Beastie Boys is coming out. I wanna get that. Their new one will be an all instrumental album and those boys can play some funky grooves. (I really should not have told that story about me being naked.)

6 -- Really, I'm thinking I should not have told that.

7 -- This isn't going well is it? it's turned from a random fact/habit list into something else, but on the plus side, I'm almost done.

8 -- Whew! I reached number 8 and am almost done here. OK, one more random fact/habit. Ummm ... how about .... I collect old post cards and ... nope, all I can think now is how embarrassed I am that I told that naked fishing episode. Damn.

OK, that's my fulfillment of the Newscoma Directive. Next -- name some other blog writers to take on this project. How about:

Les Jones

Salem's Lots

The Freedonian

Juliepatchouli

Tennessee Jed

Cherokee Sage Woman

Fine, that's only six. But I gotta go lay down now.