markie d: : Phyllis Diller Girls and Alien Abduction

Monday, January 25, 2016

Phyllis Diller Girls and Alien Abduction

Circa 1971: You know that old couple in the rusted Ford truck rolling down a lonely two lane highway at night and they get sucked up by a tractor beam and abducted by aliens―well that's me.

I'm trapped in a car with a bunch girls and going completely out of my mind. The station wagon was crammed packed full of all the girls on our street―headed to Saint Monica's High School.

This is my new Monday to Friday morning ritual―purgatory.

The clamorous ride from Venice to Santa Monica was a cacophony of high-pitched girls all talking at the same time broken up with intermittent cackles, ear piercing screeches and singing―if you could call it that.

They carried on multiple conversations about boys along with the occasional whisper-speak in code with me in the back completely invisible―not understanding a bit of it.

Contributing to the din of noise from Mimi Lennon, Sally Lennon, Theresa Blaser, Theresa McCarthy and my sister Marylee was Debi Gas who flipped back and forth between radio stations about every ten seconds. KRLA...KHJ...sound-bites of familiar voices Wolfman Jack, Robert W. Morgan and Rick Dees and tantalizing morsels of songs―none longer than 8 seconds.

Being bombarded with fragments of The Jackson Five ABC; Simon and Garfunkel Like a bridge over troubled Water; BJ Thomas Raindrops are falling on my head―I felt like one of those humans who had been abducted by aliens and whose brains were being blasted by gamma rays.

My little gray-cells were moosh by the time we rounded the corner at Ocean Avenue and turned right onto Wilshire Boulevard where Lawrence Welk was in the initial stages of building his Welk Towers.

I smiled as we passed looking into the giant hole filled with all of the busy construction equipment. Let me tell you, bulldozers and cranes were easier to understand than high school girls suffering from estrogen overload. I also smiled because I felt connected to that construction-site on top of the bluffs in a weird sort-of-way―LENNONS

Not only did we have two Lennon cousins in the car ride but we also had one of the younger Lennon girls. Although we could literally call her a Lennon sister, she was not technically a "Lennon Sister." The four oldest Lennon girls had performed on TV every week on the Lawrence Welk show for nearly 15 years and the girl who is busy flipping the radio stations―her older brother was married to DeeDee Lennon.

As far as I was concerned that new high-rise going up was mine (well, maybe not mine, but it certainly had something to do with my street in Venice―of which I boast).

If you don't know who Lawrence Welk is, go ask your Grandma. She could tell you. Everyone over 60 watches the guy with the bubbly champagne music who began his show every week with the words, "Wunnerful wunnerful" in his thick German accent.

Anyway, I hoped my brain could recover from my journey through purgatory so that it can function by 4th period at least. Phyllis Diller made a promise to me and it wasn't working out so well.

She told me that I would be the Mayor of LA and that I would marry Andrea. You see every year at Saint Mark's grammar school, Phyllis Diller would show up and read her prophecy for all the graduating students.

Only Phyllis Diller was my mom in costume. With her hair ratted and the cigarette thingy in her hand she looked and sounded just like the famous comedian.

Darn you Phyllis Diller...ah...mom!

I've been in high school five months and haven't been able to say a single word to Andrea. I was too shy, too timid and felt so dimwitted that I couldn't even figure out what to say when I got near her―lips unable to form coherent words.

I thought playing water polo and hanging-out by the pool in my speedo would give me a chance. But No!

Come on dumb prophecy! Do what you're supposed to do.

My heart leaped every time I saw her, but I had no idea how this boy―girl thing was supposed to work. Nervous and scared I began to think that it had to happen either through osmosis or that she had better do something. Take charge. Be on the advance because my brain had been gamma-rayed by aliens and turned to jello every time I get within 20 feet of you Andrea.

COME ON PHYLLIS DILLER!

COME ON ANDREA! Marilyn? Theresa? Do something―help us out here. I'm too retarded.

I had been blown-up, electrocuted, the oxygen had been cut off from my brain, wrestled alligators, left behind at The Dead Sea been fired as an Altar-Boy and my self-image is so low I could stand up and walk underneath a wiener-dog.

HELP ME. I am in a quest to find out what love is all about and can't even say hi to a girl! RIGHT?

(pictured―6th grade, when I first fell in love)

I'd sue Phyllis Diller but she was my mom―what? Ughhhhhh Can't even get that straight.

Dig your hole Lawrence Welk. I've got hormones problems, brain issues and have my own pit that I'm trying to dig out of and besides I've got to head off to swim practice with Phyllis Diller's step-son! (pictured here in this Saint Monica swim team photo).

THE IRONY of it all.

BTW the picture on top of this post (at least temporarily) was the end of a fishing trip with Dad. With fishing poles in hand this was the moment the older boys concocted the plan to catch the biggest land-shark in the history of the world (photo credit Donny Blaser)

Wolf Man Jack (photo credit) Facebook post

Welk Show (photo credit) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lawrence_Welk_Show#/media/File:Mancinimercer003.jpg

Wilshire and Ocean 1970 (photo credit) Posted in "You Know Your From Santa Monica" by Michael Hayasha

3 comments:

Muriel ZJanuary 25, 2016 at 6:56 PM
Your Mom did resemble Phyllis Diller... and the irony of this is that Todd Tatum was on the Water Polo team (and Ms. Diller was his Step-Mom at the time). Just in case you were not aware. It's because of Ms. Diller that the class of '71 got to perform "Hello Dolly" as our Senior Class Play. Ms. Diller had David Merrick release the 'rights to the play', early so that we could begin rehearsals. We were the proud performers of the first ever 'amateur performance' of "Hello Dolly" and, Ray Duncan, KNBC news broadcast our 'dress rehearsal' and the arrival of Ms. Diller and other celebs who were at our 'opening night' performance. Great memories.
ReplyDelete
Replies

Add comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

No Other Family Like Ours - seriously

WHAT OTHER FAMILY IN THE WORLD let all of the monkeys out of the Zoo, been pranked by the sitting President of the United States in a rouge encounter, chased in cities, chased out of cities and chased down by the cops. Who in their right mind voluntarily electrocute themselves just for fun and dared to electrify the nuns around the corner—who neither volunteered nor had fun? WHAT OTHER FAMILY has had more broken bones, pulled more pranks, have had a plethora of runaway rattlesnakes and other large reptiles terrorize their neighborhood. WHAT OTHER FAMILY grew Mexican Tomato plants that never grew tomatoes and had leaky boats that refuse to float or Escaped death more times? Who had cars on blocks, trucks as trash barges and flowerbeds sprouting rusted bikes, mislaid sparkplugs and abandoned carburetors instead of flowers? Meet the DAHLINS

And to think we survived and came out normal—well, mostly.

The Truimph of Overcoming

I use the word dysfunction with deliberate intention and with great respect in serving the main point of this blog. In the wild ramblings of a kid I ruminate on the idea that my family was not just dysfunctional but was the “most dysfunctional family” on the planet—that’s the set up.

As I look to the other “normal” plain-wrap families next door and across the street that had tidy yards and flowerbeds believing that the grass is greener on the other side (well the grass was greener), it shouldn’t shock anyone to realize that there is dysfunction in all of us—often times masked by tidy lawns and clean exteriors. Along with joy, success and adventure, life is filled with disappointment, failure, pain, and betrayal from those who have let us down. This is what it means to be human. I admit that I faced some disappointment in trying to fit in and longed for acceptance as the youngest boy of our wolf pack, but in large part I can honestly say that I had more fun and more adventure, in what I would call a happy childhood—despite the numerous broken bones. Yet, I would be remiss if I did not brag a bit and say, “Yeah, but...Look at all the great stories.”

Though, I dig deep into the mind and explore the full range of emotions of this young kid who felt detached, wondered about his existence, about his place in the family and his connection to the universe—He came out okay.

The older Markie D loves his brothers and sisters and holds no grudges.

Markie D has found this elusive connection to the universe and is well adjusted—and yes, still a little bit crazy. He has been married for 34 years to an amazing artist, Kerry, and has four incredibly gifted and talented adult children.

Oh, BTW… He mows his lawn, parks a car in the garage and has flowers in the flowerbeds and desires boats that float and less adventure in every outing and more "plain-wrap."

May you find your connection to the universe that brings healing, wholeness, forgiveness and a sense of hope as you look to your future.

Not too long ago on a pale blue dot, third from the sun, people and events converged in the space/time continuum that would forever change the course of history. The setting is a huge Victorian home that slightly leaned on its crumbling foundation, groaning under the weight of unruly kids and hoards of junk. In the era of Ozzie and Harriet and Father’s Knows Best, I was born into a family dysfunction of epic proportions. This decrepit masterpiece in Venice would rival the Addams Family’s house, and the cast of characters would prove to be more incredible and wacky than The Munsters. The big problem was that I was the seventh born, the youngest boy and the runt of the litter.

To have 10 in a family in our catholic neighborhood was underachieving. To compete with the larger families, my mom gladly took in strays. The official-nonofficial count was more in the neighborhood of 14 ―mostly boys and all older than me.

All sibling rivalry and mischief flowed downhill and ended up on my platter, whether I had any say in the matter or not. For fun, we held on to the live wires that were left hanging out of a wall from a unfinished remodel. We were the only family I knew who voluntarily electrocuted themselves with 110 volt household current, and are the only family in the history of the world to single-handedly let all of the monkeys out of the LA zoo. We got chased out of cities; pursued by the Highway Patrol; and sought after by the entire Needles California Police force. Wherever we went, we made a spectacular splash which usually ended up on the front page of the local newspaper.

After being buried in pits, caged, hunted, left behind and electrocuted, I somehow managed to survive my childhood but felt numb, disconnected and alone although part of a big family. In college while searching for acceptance and connection, I experienced an event that would alter the course of my life. I graduated from Loyola Marymount University with a degree in Communications. I coached water polo and swimming at Saint Monica’s my High School Alma Mater and enjoyed major success in investment real estate. After a financial crisis, I committed myself to serving in ministry, working with Youth and Family, as an associate pastor of a large church in Southern California. I graduated with a Masters at the top of my class from Azusa Pacific Graduate School of Theology and was ordained a licensed Pastor.

I am married to an avid artist and have four children: three boys and a girl who takes after her mother’s creativity.

Currently, I am a senior Pastor of a church in Roseville, CA, and adjunct Professor of Biblical Studies at a Bible college, and live in Sacramento with my wife and daughter.

markie d:

'72 swim team

Monday, January 25, 2016

Phyllis Diller Girls and Alien Abduction

3 comments:

Translate

A little about Me