The One Hundred

Going back even further, I was able to find the page from John Sagredo’s journal from the actual day that we performed that song! Here we get to see what he was thinking at that exact moment in time.

Originally written: November 12, 1987

I did it! I don’t know how I talked them into it, but I did it! Going in I was thinking can-can or the bump? Can-can or the bump? I went with can-can and it felt…well, it felt right.

Look out world! John Sagredo is dancing and he – is – FIERCE!

Ed. Note: I do believe this was the first time “fierce” was used to describe something unbelivably gay.

Edge of Memory

Welcome to a new feature on The One Hundred: Recycling. In an effort to keep all three of you entertained (Hi Mom!) we’re recycling old posts from past blog lives that maybe you didn’t read before or it’s been so long since, it’s new all over again. Recycling! We hope you don’t hate it immensely.

Original post date: February 19, 2007

Ever have one of those thoughts that you can’t get rid of? You’re sitting there minding your own business and suddenly – BAM! – you’re thinking about something that you can’t let go of. I get that all the time. Except for me – and I don’t know if I’m the weirdo here or not – it’s usually something from a ways back. It’s often something that I have no right to be thinking of in that moment but for some reason, the thought surfaces and it won’t go away.

So there I was, putting Aaron to bed, laying on my bed in the dark when Hagen Toeman stopped by for a visit.

Hagen Toeman is a fictitious character that me and three of my classmates wrote a song about during our Freshman year of high school (that would set the way-back machine to about 1987). Our English teacher, Mrs. Douglas had given us the assignment to write new lyrics to a pre-existing song. That’s just about all I can remember. I don’t think she gave us much more direction than that. Well, that and we had to perform it in front of the class.

So the four of us, me, Jon, Brett, and Stephen gathered together to craft this song. We some how decided on the Can-Can as our song of choice, possibly because it was an easy tune to remember, a lot of the details seem foggy to me now. We had the song. I can remember sitting in our class during one of the writing sessions, our four desks turned to face each other and we decided to write this song about this guy who had the worst luck ever and all the stuff that happened to him throughout his life.

OK, well not all of his life but I guess maybe some of the more memorable ones. I can say that I’m fairly certain that I didn’t contribute too much to this. I might have had some edits when verses were presented but I doubt that I had submitted anything. It was probably mostly Jon that did the lion’s share with Brett and Stephen picking up the slack. When the song was done and it was our turn to perform, we made the brilliant decision to try and do a little can-can while singing this song. Perhaps not the best decision in the world as we weren’t terribly coordinated and I think we decided to do this about 30 seconds before we went up there. Side note: Could we have been any more gay* here? Unless we were dressed as french showgirls or Carmen Miranda, probably not. I mean c’mon, the Can-Can? Really? End Side note. So we get up there and we flub the dancing within like two lines – ‘natch – and Brett nearly walks off mid-verse (diva). But we pull it off, our classmates laugh and we get a passing grade.

So here’s why this thought won’t leave me alone. I can’t get the song out of my head. And what’s worse is I don’t know all the lyrics. Worse than that, I know some. So I want to sing along and I can’t. Here’s what I can remember (the chorus of course):

Hagen Toeman was cursed
because he was the first
son of Clarence Toeman
and it was a real bad omen.

That’s all I know for sure. The only other verse than I can remember is something about him going somewhere and meeting someone and the last two lines of that verse are:

thought of a solution
but started a revolution

and that’s it.

It wasn’t a great song. None of them were. But I can’t get that friggin’ song out of my head. So, in an effort to maybe payback the guys who did all the heavy lifting back then or to just give myself some lyrics and possibly some closure, here now are my verses for Hagen Toeman (and only 20 years late):

Then he went to Sweden
love is what he is needin’
Likes girls from colder climates
He got one that was a primate

While he was down in Cuba
On tour with his tuba
one mojito too many
now he doesn’t have a penny

Finally his end in Moscow
the KGB he kowtowed
but it did not save him
unmarked grave is what he lays in

Well, that was a bit harder than I thought it was going to be. I can’t say if those are any better or worse than what we sang that day but now that I’ve written this down, maybe that thought will go away now.

Fly away thought, fly away.

*not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not what we were aiming for that day. I think.

EDIT: As a special treat, here’s some recycled comments that appeared along with the original post.

---

Jon wrote:

how could you forget:

“he went to taiwan
where he met suzie wong
he ate her chinese food
and thought he was a real cool dude”

there was also a verse about him going to libya and breaking his tibia, but i don’t know how that ended

you know, after reading these i am not sure that i am comfortable with you saying i did the lions share of the writing…

---

John wrote:

Good Lord. Maybe there was a reason I wasn’t remembering these verses. eeesh. And how did going to Taiwan and meeting a girl and eating food fit into the structure of the song (go someplace, do something, something bad happens)? It’s a wonder we ever made it out of the 9th grade. It really is.

---

Jon wrote:

i just recall that verse because that is the one i did and i remember trying to do a funky little breakdown move to go with the “real…cool…dude” part and failing horribly – i think i ended up looking like bob saget up there…

good lord…

Edge of Memory, Music, Recycling

Summer.

The word alone conjures up many images, thoughts, and memories. I can’t even begin to guess what it stirs up in you and I would love to hear about it sometime, but for now, it’s my turn in the chair and I’m going to tell you how summer taught me that it’s all about cup size.

Depending on where (and to a certain degree when) you are, summer means a lot of things. For those in the working world it means that the AC which is unbearably cold for the other 3/4 of the year becomes slightly more tolerable.

Actually, for most adults the changes that summer brings are small and not that noticeable — the temperature and traffic levels change. That’s about it.

Summer is no longer that three months of second Christmas it used to be. The feeling that you would get at the end of the last day of school… swoon. It was magic. Knowing that summer vacation was finally here and you could do whatever you wanted for three months… I think it’s called Joy — but like to the N^th degree. I’ve not experienced that feeling on the same level too much since then. And when I have, it is certainly not sustained for three months (although the Patriots loss in the Super Bowl came pretty close. And yes, the births of my sons, my wedding day, of course, of course. But man… that Super Bowl…). But I’ve found a way to get it whenever I want — and it was in the most unlikeliest of places.

A gas station.

But not just any gas station. It must have a mini-mart of some sort (do they still call them that?). And in the mini-mart lies the magic.

Big ass fountain drinks.

And I don’t mean just big — I mean huge, gigantic, enormous, and other words as well.

In my head I can see the condensation droplets all over it’s new gaudy summer clothes — because every summer, there was a new look. Always enticing me with different names and ever increasing capacities. I think they topped out with the version called “The Beast” which was literally a bucket with a lid and a straw. Even *I* had to admit that this was going too far, and I’m a fat bastard!

I must also admit that I would kill for one right about now.

It’s not about loving soda, even though I do (fat bastard, remember?). It’s about holding on to the joy that I mentioned. I reminds me of my childhood summers — which were filled with hot days full of nothing to do except hang out your friends and maybe go and get a soda. That was the priority for the day: go get a soda. Maybe we’d go for a swim at the community pool. Ride our bikes across town to go and check out the arcade at the local pizza place. Get your first kiss from the girl you have a crush on and be equally surprised at where it happened and that it happened at all. Go see a movie with three of the best friends you’ve ever (and will ever) know. Shoot a cruise to a town 13 miles away simply because there was nothing happening where you were, only to find out that they were also doing nothing. Lay down on the top of haystacks, look at the stars and try to figure out where you belong in the world (and wonder if the upperclassmen below think that you might be weird because you’re the only one not drinking beer).

Wil Wheaton* once wrote about a summer memory of his and I know this memory because I lived it too:

The barefoot dash across the parking lot, stopping at least once on the white painted lines, before making it into the cool Thrifty drug store, where ten cent scoops of double chocolate malted crunch awaited. The cool linoleum and slightly dry-but-cool air conditioned air inside is as much a part of summer as swimming and staying up late on weeknights.

And that’s what I’m talking about. A memory so vivid, you can almost reach out and touch it. It happens every time I get my Xtreme Gulp fix — and I think I’m going to go and get one now.

Let the Summer begin.

*Seriously, if you’re not reading his stuff by now, do yourself a favor and go read it. This is required reading as well. You’re welcome.

Edge of Memory, Whatever

Welcome to a new feature here at The One Hundred. It will be as frequent as the rest of our features (which is to say not frequent. At all. Not even a little.) and we hope you like it. The common thread here is the retelling of events, good or bad, that are just outside the reach of full remembrance. They live on the Edge of Memory.

There once was a girl named Yolanda. I can’t remember her last name and, truth be told, I’m not even sure that her first name was actually Yolanda — but that’s what I remember so I’m going with it.

This must have been around the second grade or so, because my memory is telling me that the following event happened right across the street from Johnny’s Neighborhood Market. Again, just going on memory here. Could be that this was not in fact the name of the store — but it was around the corner from Oakley School, down the alley from Our Lady of Perpetual Help, and a few streets over from the house where I grew up. This much, I know.

I can still see her if I close my eyes. She must have been from a racially mixed family. She wasn’t quite Mexican and she wasn’t quite African-American either — but you could see the contributions from both races in her. She had really pretty eyes — almost a light blue or green. So different from the brown eyes that resided in the heads of just about everyone else. They were her most striking feature. I recall her having to wear a brace — one of those metal jobs, like lil’ Forrest Gump — on her leg for some reason. But only on some days, not always. I also remember her being tough. Like, you didn’t want to mess with her, she’s-already-been-in-a-few-fights-and-we’re-only-in-the-second-grade-and-I’m-pretty-sure-at-least-one-of-those-was-in-a-bar tough. She may have had a tattoo, but I could never be sure. I mention her toughness because it almost makes me second guess what I remember her wearing. Almost.

She’s wearing a pink and white dress with those shiny black dress shoes that seemed so popular for girls back then. You know which ones I’m talking about — so shiny they might as well be mirrors because you could see yourself in them and a they had a buckle. These shoes always had a buckle. I don’t know if it was a Mexican thing or not but coming from a Mexican family, I only have one frame of reference and let me tell you, every single one of my female cousins (and my sister) had at least one pair of those in their life time. Take from that what you will.

Did I mention that she was riding a bike? Well, she was. It was pink with streamers on the handlebars and it had one of those banana seats that you don’t see anymore. I think their disappearance is a mixed blessing. Mixed because they were just awkward and needed to go but, somewhere deep inside, I miss them, if only because they remind me of a simpler time. This story might also be why.

I’m walking home. I’ve just crossed Palm after lingering in Johnny’s for a bit, always wishing I had enough money for some candy. Now I’m walking down toward “D” street which is a straight shot toward home. Yolanda comes riding up out of nowhere.

I wish I could remember the exact conversation that we had but from what I can recall, I’m pretty sure it went something like this:

“Do you want a ride home?”

“Um, yeah, ok. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just sit on the back.”

And I did. She never sat down once while pedaling. She stood up the whole way (about two blocks) wearing those shiny shoes and that pink dress. We got to the front of my house. She let me off the bike and we had a quick goodbye and she was off again. Standing up while pedaling, around the corner, down “D” and out of sight.

I don’t know what happened to Yolanda after that. Much like some people do, she just fell off the face of the earth. Maybe she moved away. Maybe she quit school. Maybe she was doing time. Who knows?

I’m sure I understood then, but now, I can’t figure out why she would have given me a ride. Perhaps we were friends and I just don’t remember that part of our relationship. Maybe we were just in the same class and she recognized me. Maybe I was nice to her once and she wanted to be nice to me too. The reason, what ever it was, is now lost to time. But the kindness done to me that day has never left me and I don’t think it ever will. It was a simple and small thing that you did for me that day, but it still has an affect on me all these years later. A pebble in the pond.

Thank you for the ride Yolanda. I hope you are well, wherever you are.

Edge of Memory