I’m showing what the charge is against them.
Criminal trespass.
Assault, domestic violence.
Controlled substance.
Stalking.
The next two guys, “retail theft” and “failure to appear” respectively, show up more than once in the gallery for the past few months. It probably doesn’t help either of them that they’re so easy to identify, just from hairstyles.
The bottom two I like for their individual styles. Top, “aggravated kidnap,” this smooth Beatles/mullet combo is at least 20 years out of date, but shows a level of care. The owner is proud of his style. The next, “protective order violation,” fascinates; it’s a Viking hairstyle with the addition of bushy blond eyebrows.
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“Blowmeno”
Nobody has asked, but I’m going to explain why this blog is called Insomnia Notebook.
Sometimes I wake up very early, and can’t go back to sleep. Rather than give in to racing thoughts, “ruminations” which can drive me crazy, I use those hours of wakefulness, One of the things I do if I have an idea is jot it down, so that's where the “notebook” part of my title comes from.
Recently, for instance, I woke up thinking about a story from 45 years ago, when my brother and his friends had a local rock band. I jotted a few words in my notebook so I'd remember: ERNIE, BLOWMENO, INGRID A.
It wasn’t just the groups like the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin that attracted girls and young women; even local guys had their own female fans. Ernie, bass player in my brother’s band, had pretty good luck with girls. He was tall, blond, good-looking. As guys are wont to do, he told a few stories. One was what came to be known as “blowmeno.” Ernie explained he was in his car with a girl, making out. The going got heavy. The girl was willing. Ernie unzipped his pants and in one of those moments of ecstasy said to the girl, “Blow me.” As Ernie explained it to the guys, “The word ‘me’ was still coming out of my mouth when she said, ‘no’! It’s the fastest ‘no’ I’ve ever gotten...it was like ‘blowmeno’, one word.” It got to be a game with the guys. One of the bandmembers would call out in a passionate voice, “Blowwww meeee...” and someone would rush in with “no!” before the sound of “me” had faded.
Well, I didn’t say all the ideas I jot down in my notebook are good. It just demonstrates to me that we are memory repositories of all sorts of things, good and bad.
To follow up on Ernie, we talked a few times during band rehearsals. He mentioned a girl he’d gone to high school with. Once again, as guys sometimes do, he wasn’t kind to her reputation: “Man, Ingrid A. was a slut! I mean, a guy’d just look at her and she was on her back.”
Ingrid A! I told Ernie I’d known Ingrid when we were little kids. She was the same age as Ernie, who was a year younger than me. In the late fifties Ingrid’s family moved a few miles west, to the part of town Ernie lived in, which is why they were in high school together. I had my own story about Ingrid. When I was about 6 or 7 a group of boys and I were out playing in my yard one summer day when Ingrid and her little sister walked up to us. Ingrid gave us an offer: she’d take us into a neighbor’s back yard, one at a time, and pull down her pants for us! Hey, I was a kid and didn’t realize what I’d see, but since I’m writing about it nearly 60 years after the fact, what I saw impressed me.
I told Ernie the story. “She’s still doing that,” he laughed.
On that note, I'm going back to bed.
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