Hello, Everybody—nice seeing you again.
I know what boys like: Boys like Beetlejuice although, being a girl, I don’t quite understand why. Beetle is a 37-year-old black microcephalic man. He is extremely short, but technically neither a dwarf nor a midget. His tiny head is emphasized by his very disproportionately broad shoulders. Beetle became famous when his friend and manager, Sean R., got him on Howard Stern’s radio show. I guess guys enjoy Beetlejuice because he says whatever comes into his head and, being that his head is unusual, so are some of the ideas inside of it.
Sluggo adores Beetlejuice. For years he has spoken of his dream of someday having lunch with Beetle. So, when Sluggo’s 40th birthday approached last week, I knew what I had to do.
In the old days, Beetle would have been called a “freak,” and he might have made his living exhibiting himself at carnivals. How do I feel about that? I’ve seen interviews with retired carnival people who say they were grateful for the chance to make a living, but I hate the idea of someone being exploited. A guy I know—and admire—made a movie about some retarded people. He loaded them into a bus and drove them around the country and filmed them doing things they probably wouldn’t have thought to do on their own and, while I know that the guy was genuinely fond of the retarded people, the movie made me really uncomfortable. I think the key is that they wouldn’t have been doing the things they were doing if this guy hadn’t put them up to it.
Beetlejuice, on the other hand, met his manager when they both were hanging out at the same bar together, and I don’t feel Beetle ever has to do anything he wouldn’t be doing anyway, even if he weren’t being paid. For Sluggo’s party, Beetle came to a bar with his manager and sat with us and had some drinks and talked with everyone, and after about an hour we said good-bye and he went home. This cost me my entire savings account, but it was worth it. I have never, ever seen Sluggo so happy.
The funny thing was that Sluggo’s birthday is January 25 but because of scheduling considerations we had to have his party on January 27, which is my birthday, which means that in the midst the hoopla of the Beetlejuice Birthday Party everybody pretty much forgot about me, except—I got a voicemail message at my dayjob from someone who sounded just like Dirty Duck. He wished me happy birthday and then told me to go fuck myself, which is par for the course with him, except isn’t he supposed to be dead? I’ve heard of phone calls from the dead, of course, but as far as I know they don’t leave voicemail. Maybe Dirty faked his own death, just like Andy Kaufman—I wouldn’t put it past him. But how would he know where I’m working now?
So that’s the way the birthdays went this year—Sluggo got drinks with a microcephalic dwarf and eternal blissful memories, and I got an empty bank account and voicemail from a feathered biped junkie.
Thanks for reading my blog entry, and may God bless.
-Bronwyn C.
You three would make such a cute little family!
We miss you Bronwyn.
-mr. word-
Posted by: Ed Word | February 09, 2005 at 10:25 PM
That picture has changed my outlook on the entire day. For whatever reason, I am filled with joy.
If you ever come to SF, i can get you and Sluggo a lunch date with local legend Frank Chu, and he can tell you about the 12 Galaxies.
Posted by: listener jon | February 15, 2005 at 01:33 PM
There's no one good web site about Frank Chu, although there's lots of weird stuff if you google him. Here's a site that will allow you to get to know the man.
http://www.mistersf.com/sanfran/index.html?sanfranfrankchu.htm
Posted by: listener jon | February 15, 2005 at 03:36 PM
One thing I'm wondering about -- does Sluggo listen to you on the radio... does he obsess about you on the radio? I, for one, would really like to hear my wife on the radio. For that matter, I would really like to hear Bronwyn C. on the radio. And, in fact, I would very much like to hear Kelly Jones (with whom I share a birthday) on the radio. Yet I'm not particularly perturbed by the fact that I've never heard Beetle on the radio. But... whatever works for him. I live just down the street from an organization where retarded people can go to make art and sell it. Infrequently, I drop in there to buy stuff for my home. I buy the stuff I like, and it would surprise me if the people who made it didn't enjoy making it, because it's interesting stuff. Of course, in a time of fewer possibilities I wouldn't even have had the opportunity to see the things these people had made...
Posted by: sighmoan | February 16, 2005 at 04:30 PM
In your blog note you write, "I’ve heard of phone calls from the dead, of course, but as far as I know they don’t leave voicemail."
The most recent issue of FORTEAN TIMES has an article about the "electronic voice phenomenon" (i.e., dead people acting as radio announcers). The author of the article talks about answering machine messages from the dead.
Posted by: John | February 23, 2005 at 11:44 PM