June 1966

bird brain

You were never ashamed of having a brain.

Its insatiable thirst for new knowledge.

A burning yearn to learn.

You were never ashamed of having a brain, and you wanted to feed it all that you could. Therefore, it was no surprise that when you got your first big boy paycheck you went and bought yourself a brand new encyclopedia set.

An entire encyclopedia set. A 150-pound heaping of leatherbound-brainfood. A collection of literature heavy enough to crush a cranium.

You placed it on some shelves in the living room of your apartment, amongst some ceramic busts, tiny sculptures, and miniature globes that you accrued at a garage sale. They were what an interior designer would call “smart objects.” They proudly supported your books.

And you had grand plans to read them all! A to Z; from Aztecs to Zaire.

But things didn’t go as planned. You worked long hours at your job. You got promoted. You fell in love. You were too busy learning about life to learn a little more on the side.

You moved into a new house. The books were rented out to your study. You got married, teamed up with your wife to make a kid. You teamed up again to make another another.

The study became a bedroom. The books were demoted to the basement.

And those books just sat there. For years, they collected dust bunnies. The dust bunnies fucked like bunnies and continued to grow. They soon grew to be a small colony. They even formed their own government.

Years later, you decided to have a garage sale of your own. You uncovered the books when you were going through old boxes of shit. And all of the sudden, you felt that spark. The yearn to learn it was back.

You wondered to yourself, when was the first encyclopedia created? 

You went upstairs to your computer and went to Wikipedia.com to find the answer.

You thought again.

What was I thinking that day when I bought an encyclopedia set?

You were ashamed you didn't use your brain.

ball men read playboy

Terry stretched to his left, then to his right. After both hamstrings were sufficiently loosened, he reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny little comb. He proceeded to preen both sides of his upper lip. Terry ran a hand through his hair and fluffed it up real nice.

He was now ready to chase down some tennis balls. Or provide fresh towels to the tennis players in between sets if needed.

In his younger days, Terry had been the most talented ball boy the tennis club had ever seen- his relentless hustle was unsurpassed; his acumen and agility, unprecedented. Years later, as a fully grown man, his legend continued to grow.

Only Terry was no longer a ball boy.

He was now a ball man- one of the best the game had ever seen.

    

*     *     *

After a long hard day of fulfilling the duties bestowed upon a ball man, Terry would enjoy a nice ice bath back at home, because unlike the spry and youthful ball boy of his youth, Terry would be quite sore after spending the day fetching balls and dodging serves. 

On this particular evening, Terry was soaking in the ice bath reading a Playboy when he heard his telephone ring.

He quickly got up and toweled off and hobbled downstairs before it stopped ringing. He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a sultry voice responded. "Is this Terry?"

"It sure is." He stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "Can I help you?"

"Why yes, I'm hoping that you can. I got your number from the tennis club. I watched you work a couple of matches today. You were quite the impressive ball boy-"

"Ball man." Terry corrected her.

"Yes, I'm sorry, ball man. Anyways, I was calling to let you know, I just got out of the shower, and I could use a fresh towel from a strong and capable ball man."

Terry grinned as he continued to stroke his mustache. "Tell me where your court is and I'll be on my way."

Terry was the sort of man that read Playboy.

July 1970