Half-Baked vs Grill-Face

It was bound to happen.  Even the Greatest Dynasties eventually come to an end.  Ancient Greece, Rome, the Aztecs, even Zamfir the Master of Parflute (if only one reader of this blog has heard of Zamfir, then I am a happy man! )

[Editor’s Note:  See Youtube Video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ISe0fdoaPs]

You name it, no greatness can last forever.  In here the undisputed, unchallenged King of the Non Sequitur has been the mighty Half-Baked (see a previous blog post on this guy), but entering the fray comes a contender, some would say a pretender, a would-be usurper, for the crown.  Like any good anti-hero, he has a nickname:  Grill-Face.  No, he’s not named for the BBQ variety, we’re talking about the the late 90s hip hop accouterment worn over one’s teeth.  Grill-Face sports a humungous fake gold grill over his significantly protuberant front teeth.  When he smiles, speaks, even sits quietly at rest, all you notice is the gawdy grill.  So he’s got the costume, but does he have the game?  I offer up for your pleasure a sampling of Grill-Face’s best work:

GF:  Hey, do you know anyone who lives in Italy?

Me:  No, why?

GF:  I need to buy some human hair.

GF:  Do people in the Philippines drive big cars?

Me: I’m not sure, why?

GF: I need to figure out if lots of Philippines chicks are virgins.

GF: You work in the library, right?

Me: yeah.

GF: How long will it take to get my commercial drivers license?

Pretty good in the non sequitur department, right?  Now for the explanations:

Turns out that hair extensions is a $2.8 billion industry.  Grill-Face has decided that Italian women have the best hair in the world and seeks to become the region’s “Number One Hair Hustler”.  Figures he can startup while in prison, but needs a good hair connection in Italy.

Grill-Face currently has three prison pen pals in the Philippines and hopes they are virgin women.  He surmises that big cars = losing virginity in the backseat.  But small cars means not so much and a better chance of meeting a virgin.

This one I think was a compliment.  He told me that only smart guys work in the library so I was his best chance of getting an answer (turns out I had one and he’s working on Part One of the CDL application now).

Well, it should be clear by now that this will be a good contest.  And no, Half-Baked will not go down without a fight.  Just the other day he tried this one out on us:

HB:  Girls from the Philippines are really hot.  I almost married one. (Don’t even ask me what’s up with all this interest in women from the Philippines, have no clue.)

Us:  Okay.  You know a lot of girls from the Philippines?

HB:  Never met even one!

Us: Then how did you plan to marry one?

HB: Oh, she just didn’t know it yet.

So here we go – Let the Battle Begin!

Recreation: A Refreshing of Strength or Spirit

We have a relatively new Director of Recreation, we’ll call her Ms. Snipes.  Why?  Two reasons:  (1) She bears an uncanny resemblance to Wesley Snipes and (2) she pretty much treats us inmates like we are the undead vampires from his movie Blade.  The Rec Yard is her domain and she is determined to run it like the stereotyped evil warden from a bad 1950s prison film.  Keep in mind that the Rec Yard is the only place where we are allowed to be outside.  There’s a soccer field, two softball fields, a pair of bocce courts, handball courts, basketball courts, a horseshoe pitch and about 15 picnic tables.  On a nice day it’s not uncommon to see Bible studies, card games, book groups, and board games being played at the tables in addition to all the sporting events and workouts.   

Except Ms. Snipes has other ideas.  She has decided that she will determine what counts as recreation, and in her mind only exercise fits that definition.  She has banned all books, notepads, journals, magazines, and newspapers.  It doesn’t matter if you’re 80 years old and use a wheelchair, no exceptions!  I had assumed this rule was just inmate gossip until yesterday.  With about an hour between lunch and my library job, I went out to enjoy the beautiful spring day by reading/writing a little on the Yard, like I have often done.  At the gate, there stood Ms. Snipes with the look of a very angry, vampire-ready Blade.  What follows is our conversation, recalled to the best of my ability (my thoughts in parentheses):

• Hi Ms. Snipes.
• Bag! (That was all she said, no verb, nothing.)
• Um, yes? (Not sure what she wanted.)
• What’s in it? (These are see-through mesh bags.)
• A book, a pen, and my writing notebook.
• Can you read? (spoken in a sarcastic, wishing-I-would-die tone of voice.)
• (Unable to resist and just answering the question) Why yes, I can Ms. Snipes, quite well in fact.  Would you like to borrow my book when I’m finished?
• That’s not what I meant.  My memo!  No books allowed!
• But I find books recreational. What is wrong with bringing a book to Rec?
• You are an inmate.  You have no right to question why I do what I do.
• What about guys who are unable to workout, but they don’t want to be inside all day?
• CAN YOU READ?  (Oh my goodness, back to this again.)
• (At this point, discretion being the better part of valor, I decided to just walk away.)
• Hey, I asked you a question:  CAN YOU READ?
• (No idea how to respond at this point.)  Yes, I read the memo, but I thought it just meant no contraband.  I didn’t think it really meant all books, too.  So I’m going inside.

Thankfully, she let me walk away, having imposed her punishment for the sake of punishment.  Look for a future blog post:  The Literati vs. Wesley Snipes: Blade 5!

My Cure for Insomnia

There are 63 living areas in our unit.  Sixty-two cubes, fitted for either 2 or 3 men, and “the Beach.”  The Beach consists of 4 free-standing bunk beds -- no walls, no desk, no window, no chair -- right in front of the officer’s station.  Once upon a time the Beach had tables and chairs but then the space got converted to sleeping quarters for overflow and/or punishment.  It’s not a good place to end up.  The lights are on full-blast all night.  You sleep in the open with the guard five feet away, the bathrooms with all their noises and odors are on either side of you.  Anyone passing by can grab your stuff, tap your bunk, mess with you in sundry ways.  Basically sucks.  Everybody hates getting moved to the Beach (luckily, it has not happened to me). 

Meanwhile, back in the cubes, all sixty-six top bunks are currently assigned to an inmate.  Being on top means it’s never dark.  The other night I woke up at 3:30 because the guards decided to replace some light bulbs.  I got off the bunk and wandered around as unobtrusively as possible.  Three top bunks were empty and three had wide awake occupants.  Where were the missing guys?  Hmm, that’s a whole ‘nother post.  I’ll give you a hint, though, refer back to my post about being gay in prison?  So, anyway, excluding me, I found 59 guys asleep on their top bunks.  I was curious how they dealt with the light.  Most slept with their blankets on their heads.  Twelve slept with the light right in their faces.  I counted thirteen homemade sleep masks.  The rest?  Well without looking like a freak prison night-stalker, I couldn’t be sure.  You may be asking by now, “Why is this guy doing this?”  Simple:  I like to sleep in the dark.

It was now about 4 am.  Time to act.  The DIY/Maker communities in the outside world have nothing on prison.  MacGuyver would be laughed off the unit for being lame and unimaginative.  Drawing inspiration from the creative minds around me, I figured I could make my own sleep mask.  Using my reading light, I surveyed my cube and locker for materials and came up with the following:

·      1 torn gray skull cap

·      1 elastic band from underwear

·      2 crocheted flower prototypes (too flawed to send to someone, but in prison you never throw anything away)

·      1 sewing kit

·      1 roll double-sided tape

After cutting off the top of the cap so it resembled an oversized headband, I got to work.  Two cups of coffee, 4 pin-poked fingers, innumerable whispered cuss words and two hours later it was finished, my Frankenmask!  It has two crocheted flowers for the eyes with an underwear waistband between them all held together by pink (it’s all I had) thread and double-sided tape.  It’s a mess, but when I look at it, I see a good night’s sleep.  It works like a charm.  Snug but not too tight, soft and lightweight enough that I hardly know I’m wearing it.  Slept straight through Lights On and breakfast for seven straight days.  People kept asking me if I was sick?  Depressed?  I told them, nope, just making up for 18 months of missed sleep!  Yes, I look like an alien clown or something, but I don’t really care.  Sweet dreams are totally worth it!

Time on My Hands

Over the past 18 months I’ve read 184 books.  I’m just beginning No. 185, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  Thank you to the many people who have sent me books, particularly Blogmaster T, who is known as “The Book Man” by the guys in the Unit.    The books range in length from the 100 pages of Camus’ The Stranger to 1000+ pages of Bolano’s 2666.   These books have had me laughing out loud, crying, learning about the world and about myself.  I’ll read anything, or at least give it a try.  Then I pass the book along to someone who might enjoy it.  Everybody knows I’ve always got a book or two in my bag.

I say all this not in any attempt to impress you with my erudition, but to point out another prison truth, the spectacular, mind-numbing amount of time we have on our hands.  For example, if you consider the average number of hours I spend on daily activities (Sleep = 7.5 hours, Meals = 1.5 hours, Work = 3 hours, exercise = 1.5 hours, and reading = 2 hours), I’ve still got 8.5 hours to fill every day and nothing much to do.  I started crocheting, but how many coasters does my family really need?  I watch some tv, maybe write a letter, shower, even take a nap, and I’ve still got hours to kill.  Even the busiest guy on the compound will admit to having too much down time.  We sit around talking about how much we miss household chores.  Mowing the lawn, cleaning out the gutter, unclogging a drain, digging a ditch (filling it up and digging it again, whatever!).  ANYTHING!    Most of us would kill for a “honey do” list.  Yeah, I know your mom taught you that only boring people are bored, but whoever came up with that line never did time in prison.  You’d never believe how arduous having nothing to do can be.  I meditate, take a self-directed Spanish course, crochet some more and stay just occupied enough to stave off insanity!  I figure it's got to be better than sleeping all day like some guys do.  So I ship out the coasters, gladly dive into a new book, scribble a blog post like this.  Smile everyone, so far I’m winning the battle with boredom and staying true to being me.