h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Hyp -- I'd love to hear your story one day ---- over a coffee and brandy - I'd be fascinated ... one day, one day ..

Phred - I think your DMC list has to go down in legend --- it could be performed on stage -- someone in the corner going DMC DMC and the others reciting the text ---

OK, Leo would perhaps suggest that I need to go and have a DMC with my analyst ...

gotta go -- hullo you all, and see you ....

at the next roadstop

Helen

So Mrs. Phred directly precipitated the end of the Worlds Fairs... Incredible, what an impressive, history-making woman Phred is hitched too.

Hypatia, my nose has come down from the air long enough to build a campfire, sit on a rock, pull out some marshmellows, and request that the story telling begin.

(er-- I think the campfire will have to be in the Ozarks, because Times Square is not really conducive to pow wows...)

It was a dark and stormy night.......

We want to hear some true stories about life in the mid-west, civil rights, Beaver and Butthead back in the 50's and other life experiences an adventures...cough them up please!

Helen can be very persuasive. How would you like 100 verses of poetry tattooed on your arm?

Yes, we're waiting.

Marshmallows, Phred?

Pass the guitar- I can strum "Clementine" and "Home on the Range" while Hyp gets her story ready.

And where would you like this amazing series of tales to begin?

Actually, my early schooling was a bit different than most people's. I grew up in a town of 500 people. We were too small to have a high school, so our local school only went through 8th grade. The school was in a big old brick building that had four classrooms. Two grades to a room. So one year we were with kids a year older and the next year with kids a year younger.

Remember Miss Rosetta from the Possum Bluff story? She was my first and second grade teacher. And she really did iron leaves between sheets of waxed paper every year.

Our school was one of about 8 similarly small schools in the area and was administered by a county superintendent. We had our own principal and local school board, but any decisions about curriculum came from the county. Having the other small schools let us have sports available. We had a softball team, a basketball team, and participated in track meets.

When we finished 8th grade we had the option of choosing one of three high schools to attend. The school district paid our tuition for us as long as we went to one of the three. If we went someplace else, then our parents had to pay the tuition.

I really didn't have a choice of high schools. All of my friends went to a town called Carl Junction. I was forced by my parents to go to Webb City. Mother was born and raised in Webb City and my older sister, Lady Chattingly, went to Webb City. (Actually I was born in Webb City, too, but my folks moved when I was a toddler.) It was considered a better school, was only 3 miles away, and heaven forbid I should let down the side.

Then when I was in 10th grade, my little home town consolidated with Webb City so all of my friends attending school in CJ had to switch. I remember when they had the election to consolidate the two school districts, one of the objections to taking us in was that kids in the county schools would be academically behind and would lower the level of the classes until brought up to speed. Well........

My 8th grade class had 12 students. Of the 12, 4 of us graduated in the Top 10; one of us was salutatorian; and 6 of us were in the NHS. So much for lowering their standards. The small county schools really did give us a good start academically. We were taught how to think, given lots of personal attention, and the basics were strongly emphasized.

I guess this would be a good place to mention that I hated school. Every single day of it from day one of first grade until I graduated from college. Absolutely loathed it. Thought it was cruel and unusual punishment. Lady C, on the other hand, loved school. Liked it so much she became a teacher. I would rather be boiled in oil than to teach.

OK LeoAlpha,

Your turn. Another ?

Xantief -- there you are --- lurking in the shads -

280 verses of poetry tattooed on your arm, Phred, not 100 --

Wow, Hyp ...

can I have a hotdog???? got a veggie corndog? ---

I do find peoples' stories rather extraordinary --- I suppose that's one thing we all have in common - everybody in the whole world --- we all have a story ---how human we are all, yet how so completely unique --

I must confess. Hyp, I am seriously fascinated by this story -- a town of 500 people? jeez --- and you loathed school ---

hmmm

well, I wanted to meet you in the USA, but now we are round this fire with the others, its good --- till I do meet you ---

hang about --- Possum Bluff? I remember reading this extraordinary story on h2 called Possum Bluff --that yours? Lady Chattingly -- your sister? sorry guys and girls, I get really confused ----h2 is so huge, and there's a gap between the first few months I joined, around the time of my friend Spynxxx and now this time, when I am friends (I hope) with you guys --- 'cos I don't assimilate fast ---- Hyp --- are you the lady with the amazing garden--- whose conversation with Spynxx I rudely interrupted one time?? ---- oh lordy ---

are there any drinks round this fire 'cos I need one right now ----

people are fascinating creatures ---

on with the stories then -- love the sweetcorn --- pass me a Sam Adams ---

H

*swollows S'more*
*licks melted chocolate and marshmallow off nose*

Sorry Cactus, there's no beer, but there is .
Here ya go.
coffee , anyone?

No need to lurk, Xantief. Pull up a log. Could you BBQ Cactus a corndog or two?

Good story, Hypatia. Lubricate with or ?

I am truly impressed by that town of 500. I didn't know such unpopulated places existed, out of the Arctic Circle, and maybe the Sahara. I mean, here we're so cramped for space even our park benches are full!

That only brings us up to high school graduation though, and you neatly avoided mentioning anything scandalous, Hyp. Does it end there? Or is this merely to allow a musical interlude?

Glad you asked. Or did you?...never mind.

I started my school years in an occupied zone (USAREUR Bavaria). The schoolhouse was a liberated SS detachment headquarters, divided into six barracks bays for the different grades. The cafeteria was in the bunker, serving mess-hall chow on those tres-chic stamped metal slop trays. (Every time I see those M*A*S*H reruns with the mess-tent scenes, I get a lump - or something - in my throat.)

Sgt. Grubb taught first grade. She was kindly and patient, but I learned the hard way not to shout 'Incoming!' in her vicinity. That incident bought me eleven stitches. I had to teach myself how to read 'n' write at home, because class time was divided between infantry hand-signals; learning enough German to punk the Kraut kids during our Saturday rock-fights at the gravel pit; sharpening bayonets good enough to shave with; setting booby-traps; and field-stripping cigarette butts. Ever since then, I've smoked nonfiltered. Those stupid filter-tips are too much work.

Second grade was more of the same. PhysEd involved Bazookaball, foxhole digging, hand-to-hand, and ammo-resupply relay races. My favorite subject was Explosives. Did good in that - I earned the Red Badge of Carnage for the demolition of my fliptop desk-chair thing, but spent the rest of the year on the floor. I also fell in love in second grade...pretty little Sally Grinder. Got my attitude adjusted for fraternizing. First Sergeant's attitude adjustments were certainly memorable.

After second grade, I PCSed from that pastoral Forward Operating Location to HQ division in Munich, and learned to drink beer. Also met some Armor and Artillery brats, who were a bunch of wusses.

()

Here, wet your whistle.

Mind if we stroll off a bit and discuss es for a few moments...?

shall we bank the fire and roast some potatoes and plums in the coals?

*cough cough*

...who's next?

(h*te posting from home. that "es" was supposed to read "expl0sives".)

Sgt. Grubb?

There's no way I can top that story. I'd better quit while I'm ahead.

Yep, I'm the crazy gardener friend of Spynxxx. *takes a veggie corndog and a glass of merlot then wishes she hadn't*

I think the worst drink and snack combo I've ever had was a speciality at the Arrowhead Lodge at the Lake of the Ozarks back in the early 70's. G&T and marshmallows.

So, Xantief, what grade were you in when they got around to the flame throwers?

They wouldn't let us play with napalm......but we did formulate our own 'gunpowder' in fifth grade.

I was in 7th grade in Nürnberg...The high school football team used Soldier's Field for their games, which was that stadium where Hitler held his famous televised rally. The Third Army insignia was painted above the spots where the swastikas were blasted away.

Nah, the teachers we had were real American civilian teachers, and mostly good ones, too...consider how nice it would be to teach in Europe, and how selective DoD could be...



Y'know, if had a big nose, he'd look just like 'Kilroy-was-here'...

Morning all --- I've never been at a campfire before where I have to cross a five to eight hour time difference every time, just to get there ---- so I arrive now all bright and birdie-shining at 7 a.m. and you guys are all zonked out in the ashes, after a night of wild stories, with the moon highlighting your innocent sweet sleeping faces --
anyway --- would I wake you ....I will not .. I shall add my say, then tiptoe out into the UK-day ---

glad I've remembered who you are, Hyp -- forgive the blur -- I'm really glad we have finally met -- I do miss our mutual friend, but time and the tide takes us all on I guess ---could you send me the A number for Possum Bluff if you get a minute? unless there's an easier route, like erm...

morning Leo, morning Phred. morning John-Boy .....(well, so???? I loved the Waltons....) Nice BBQ --- never had a veggie corndog before, 'cos I don't know what it is, but it tasted good in my dreams --

morning Xantief ----how extraordinary also is your story --- the M*A*S*H re-runs will always remind me of you now -- that's some childhood you have had to integrate into manhood -- ever thought of getting an Arts Council grant for a short film/docu.?

Do you have Arts Council in the States? Designed to support the projects of up and coming artists ---

ok my friends, time for and onward --

I shall go into the day and consider your stories-

by the time you are all waking up, I will be back at the fire with my and you'll all be going aargh groan ---how could you drink that stuff for breakfast --


Helen

This is my story....Would like to hear fromLeoAlphaabout growing up in NYC (During 9/11 especially) and spending her senior year hitch-hiking around Isreal.

1943- Born Bob in Ithaca, New York

1945- Pre-School: First memory in late 1945 is a attacking a strange and unfamiliar man in a soldier suit(he called himself “Pop”) with a toy hoe. Dismayed at how easily I was disarmed. Next day attempted his assassination by sliding lipstick tubes into his shotgun barrel.

1948- Elementary School: Played hooky for the first time in 2nd grade. Moved to Tampa, Florida in 1952. Bad Sunburn. Orange blossoms, swamps and clear lakes all around. These since replaced by tract houses and large buildings. Classrooms not air-conditioned. Iron sweat box in sun used to enforce discipline. Teachers often needed my help and diagrams to understand differences in things like a two foot square and two square feet. Learned to hide novels behind textbooks.

1955- Junior High School: Double sessions. School in the afternoon. Pushups at home in the morning. Ducktail haircut. Leather jacket and motorcycle boots. Rock and Roll.

1958 - High School: First motorcycle 125 CC Harley Hummer. Spent a week fabricating a 55-gallon still in shop class. Shop teacher sent me to see the Principal. Next tried making a machine to fabricate slugs for vending machines. Principal called in ATF agents. Lowest academic scores of any graduate in a class of 700. Talked understanding English and Spanish teachers into changing failing grades to “D” so I could graduate and attend university in the fall.

yes, yes, yes you extraordinary Firecloud person ---cruising into manhood on a Harley Hummer --

you know, all these stories are movies ---

yes, Leo, my girl, you next -- I was wondering about 9/11 - thought about it way back when we first met, and you said something about the ironic twist in the conversation -----

OK, so I'm going back for a re-read of these lives of these people that sit around virtual campfires and speak to me in tongues -- and see you all tomorrow ------

save a corndog for me tonight --- what what what is corn-dog??

Hey

H

Generally speaking, a corndog might be described as a hotdog that has been impaled on a stick (though its cylindrical axis), dipped in batter made from cornmeal and deep fried in grease.

We want to hear a campfire story about growing up in the UK...

I've been well trained to always let my elders go first, Cactus.
But, oh, if you insist... Not terribly thrilling, but definitely different:

On a summer’s day that will one day be a national holiday, but which is now unappreciated, Leo was born. She was born to an Orthodox Jewish family, which is not saying much, as there are Modern Orthodox, Centrist Orthodox, Ultra Orthodox, and Hasidic Jews in that category, but Leo was born to this type:
http://oukosher.org/images/Rabbi_Moshe_Elefant.jpg

Leo has four siblings, 3 of them older. It is because of these older siblings that Leo knows how to build a campfire, can recite Hamlet’s soliloquy, and knows what happens when you slide down a rope from a second story window. Older siblings are very educational; Leo believes everyone should have at least 2.

One of Leo’s grandmothers has an English degree from Hunter college and was determined that her progeny should speak a sophisticated English. She encouraged her grandchildren to read early and often. The school library’s policy didn’t allow chapter books to 2nd graders (stupid rule ), so little Leo would defiantly plunk a foot-tall stack of picture books in front of the librarian’s desk and drill straight through them until the 45 minutes of library time was over. Luckily, she was armed with a public library card, and knew how to use it. Leo’s grandmother stocked her grandchildren with classic reading, so Leo finished texts by Dickens, Alcott, Steinbeck, Twain, Doyle, Golding, Verne, and Swift before finishing 5th grade. This was not terribly clever from the literature-appreciation standpoint, but it did arm her with a deadly vocabulary, which she quickly learned to never use.
Reading did have its hazards: once while engrossed in a Diana Wynne Jones novel Leo walked into a flatbed truck that was parked on the sidewalk.
Leo did read the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, but she couldn’t find it on her father’s shelf and had to download it. It was her first wholesale encounter with the term “goy”. (She does not, I’ll add, have horns. Apologies, Hypatia, but every Orthodox Jew who’s ever entered the armed forces comes back with a “those hillbillies were looking for my horns!” story.)

Leo attended a local Jewish (girls only) private school where she spent most of the time between 8:45 AM and 4:15 PM (5:00 PM for high school) slouched in her desk doodling. All her report cards, from 2nd through 8th grade, had the same comment scrawled on the back: “Leo is a wonderful student, and has a lot to share with the class—or anyway, we’re sure she would, if she would share it.” High school teachers used a list of acronyms from the bottom of the report card: DW=Doing Well, PL=Pleasure to teach, etc., to comment on the students. On all of Leo’s report cards the teachers neatly penned in to the list “PP=Please Participate.” Leo always wondered how they could be so sure she'd have something intelligent to say--particularly since she never did.

Leo’s high school was one of the best (academically) in the city. To get in you had to be a certifiable genius or else, like Leo, have attended the elementary school. (Yes, this policy makes for a very interesting mix of abilities.) Valedictorians weren’t chosen by GPA because that would have had the principal calculating into the thousandths decimal column (yeah I know, it’s disgusting, but that’s how it was. ) Instead, they had the students choose who they thought deserved the honor. Leo was never in much danger under either system. Leo did write and co-produce a 14 minute graduation video, so technically she did get to give a speech—and the longest one too.