obama and i

some of you have complained that my creative nonfiction is a bit too creative. apparently you want me to warn you whenever i plan to stretch the truth. well, okay. the following story is completely true. this really happened*.

yesterday morning, senator obama and i were carpooling. well, to be more precise, i was escorting baraka--that's what i call him; he laughs and calls me andrewgah; then i frown and return to my story. anyway, the senator has a driver's permit, not a license, and he needs another forty hours before he can take the driving test. thus, as a happily licensed driver, i was obliging baraka with some extra drive time before work.

i climbed into his sleek black lexus and buckled my seat belt. baraka threw it into reverse, peeled out of the driveway, and thrust the car into drive. then, after we barreled along the highway for several minutes, the senator asked me whether the red camry on our bumper looked familiar. i turned my head back and looked at the car. no, i said, i've never seen it before. we were approaching a red stoplight, but instead of braking, he pressed hard on the gas. the lexus leapt through the red light. stunned, i glance back at the camry. it edged into the intersection and then burst after us. baraka was right; something was amiss. as we darted through traffic, baraka warned me that things might get a little messy. he had the look of jack bauer. i closed my eyes as he reached for the hand-brake, sending the lexus into a 180 degree spin. i heard the sounds of scraping metal and shattering glass, and inquired, am i dead?

'the camry hit a tree,' explained the senator. but now there was a honda on our tail. the car chase resumed in a busy shopping mall lot. baraka weaved through parked cars, old ladies, and shopping carts. somehow he managed to lose the civic as he skidded into a parking space at the local gas station and mini-mart. i took a breath and considered our position. there were no cars or buildings within 20 yards of us; nothing obstructed us from the view of that shopping center or the lights of that prowling civic. obama has his head bowed and his hands are rattling in his lap.

we're a bit conspicuous, i thought. searching the grounds for a plan, i spotted my good friend john brawner chatting with a gas station attendant. i figured that if we're being followed, the perps wouldn't suspect us if we're in a larger group. i stepped out of the lexus and waved at brawner. oblivious to my panic, he walked over and blessed me with one of his characteristic bear hugs. and then life slowed down. mid-hug, i saw obama bending over outside our car, i heard the desperate buzz of a floored honda, i felt john's arms tense as he sensed that something was awry. then time snapped back into the frenetic pace of real life. the civic tore through a yellow caution sign, jumped the curb, and slid to a stop 10 feet away; baraka, brawner, and i backed toward the lexus and scrambled into its black leather seats. angry screams burst from the honda and were muffled by the staccato of rapid gunfire. instinctively, i ducked, perhaps hoping that the engine block might somehow impede our assailants rounds. out of the corner of my eye i swear that i saw baraka obama smile and then mumble some wise words of passing. i shut my eyes and began to pray.

on the other side of my eyelids, the world erupted into bright colors: orange, yellow, red. a heavenly welcoming ceremony perhaps. but i was could still feel my legs bunched up awkwardly in the front seat. the fiery plumes of color faded to grey.

i opened my eyes and looked at baraka. instead of seeing a smoking corpse, i watched as the senator dusted himself off and turned the radio dial to npr. i straightened my body and surveyed the scene outside our car. a smouldering wreck sat in the place of the honda. obama grinned *and then i woke up. and, yes, that's exactly how i dreamed it.

nearly an introduction

last week i promised a post about the brain of the other andrew. i didn't share this, but he was to be the test case for my online obituary idea (see yesterday's post). however, after a day's reflection, i've decided that even a bucket of laud isn't worth the sham of a fake obit. besides, i faintly recall that when dave eggers tried it in a heartbreaking work of staggering genius*, his thoughtfully humorous memoir was nearly overtaken by dull monotony and post-modern pseudophilosophy. so, in an effort to avoid anything that might make me a wealthy contributor to mcsweeney's (the brainchild of mr. eggers) or scare my friends, i think i'll introduce the other andrew in a more ordinary fashion:

i first met the other andrew during my freshman year at seattle pacific university (spu). although andrew shared a room with some sophomores in a remote area of my dorm floor, i can't recall a single conversation with him from that year**. therefore, this introduction will resume with events that occur sometime after the 1999-2000 academic year.


andrew david. "african dancing" puget island, wa.
andrew david. "the best modeling mug" shekinah, saskatchewan.

*that is, when he tried writing about writing a mock obituary. by the way, nick hornby has now transformed the heartbreaking work of staggering genius into a new line cinema screenplay

**there are several explanations for this seeming lack of discourse during early y2k: (1) perhaps there really was no lack, perhaps we actually had several notable conversations, but they were wiped from my mind by the events of the following years--as manyone will tell you, my memory's not that great; (2) while andrew was a fellow 5th hill-er, his room was in another galaxy of the floor--i can't even remember where--it certainly wasn't close enough to borrow sugar or to be lured in by dumb and dumber, counterstrike, or the brassy sounds of chicago; (3) andrew is tall, and i've recently discovered that i don't like tall people (i.e., individuals who are taller than me). last week as i edited a PTSD manuscript for daniel conybeare i looked up from a dangling modifier and realized that i really was looking up. "this isn't right," i thought. "i didn't realize you were taller than me," i said. and here's some more anecdotal evidence: if your name is nathan white, jonathan skeith, or john brawner, you'll notice that i haven't called you in quite some time. no disrespect, but you're just too tall.

in case you haven't noticed...

warning: this post is the kind of thing you might see on myspace.

i have a friend (we'll call him john brawner) who occasionally sends bulletins to his 93 myspace buddies. the topics of john's bulletins range from silly surveys to updates on the state of his myspace page. i find it humorous that he keeps us up to date on the background of his myspace page, but now i'm following suit. i've upgraded to the new beta blogger; this means that some of the links on the left should be easier to navigate, that there's a new label feature at the bottom of each post, and that i'm still unable to post pictures. on the bottom left you will find a list of EVERY label that's been used in the 17 point scale, so if you were interested in finding out more about john brawner, you could simply ctrl-f "john brawner," click on the link, and then see every post where brawner is considered a topic of interest. (if i've used your search term as a label,) this actually works a lot better than the default blog search mechanism at the top of the page.

the other more significant addition to the 17 point scale is a linked list of every book and film that i've experienced since mid-july, 2006. in some ways, this list represents the first fulfillment of the 17 point scale's original design: it uses the infamous 1-17 scale to provide a qualitative rating for each of these works.

a comic strip

so here's my first ever 17 point scale comic strip. some credit certainly should go to john who had the courage to dream this dream in the first place. you'll probably have to click for a larger view of the pics in order to really understand the comic. also, i apologize for the poor quality of the pictures.