When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
"Information."
"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open the icebox?" she asked.
I said I could.
"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.
After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math.
She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called,
Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Wayne always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please."
"Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me..
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.
"Information."
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."
laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"
I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me.
I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do", she said. "Just ask for Sally."
Three months later I was back in Seattle.. A different voice answered,
"Information." I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" she said.
"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."
Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne?" "Yes." I answered.
"Well, Sally left a message for you.. She wrote it down in case you called.
Let me read it to you."
The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in.
He'll know what I mean."
I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
Lifting you on eagle's wings. May you find the joy and peace you long for.
Life is a journey .. NOT a guided tour.
I was listening to Goodhope FM this morning (Nigel Pierce), and it seemed like a little bit of a Nigel Praise show.... He got people to phone in and tell him how great he is and how he is not a racist and stuff. Very entertaining. It made me think about DJ's and morning shows. I listen to Goodhope FM, not because I like Nigel, but because he is the best of a bad bunch. I can not stand that opinionated, self-righteous Gareth Cliff. He just makes my skin crawl. I don't listen to anything on Kfm, because the station and all on it is just so boring. Not even old people want to listen to Kfm, its mostly housewives from the northern suburbs. Those are the only stations worth listening to, so pick the best of the worst....Nigel Pierce. My issue with him, and about 90% of DJ's on the radio, is that they have completely skipped over their job descriptions, and are just winging it. A DJ is employed to play music on a radio station, maybe give some interesting insight on the next track, or some quirky fact around the artist. But nooooooo. DJ's today are doubling up as politicians, socialites, social scientists and just all round fixers of the world. They want to, and do give their opinion on every single thing on air. They talk so much about crap, believing they are so controversial, that there is almost no more music being played. Now if I wanted to listen to talk radio, and other peoples opinions, I would switch to 567 Cape Talk. I listen to MUSIC radio to hear MUSIC. Get off your boom-box, and switch it on!!!
This is the final product of my agonising Saturday. I really like my tattoo, but had a moment on Saturday when I was thinking: "what are you doing to yourself". I mean, in the end, it really is like mutilation. You are shoving needles into your skin so you can fill the holes with ink. Your poor body reacts be sending loads of white blood cells to the "hurt" area, but you just keep on wiping it off. Its not the nicest thing you can do to your skin, but in the end it looks really good. It was really sore while they were doing it, and felt like I was being tortured. There were about 3 or 4 times that I wanted to stop and leave it as is, unfinished. But I endeavoured and got it done, and am very happy with it.
I am off on Saturday to get another tattoo. This will be number three, but this time it is the biggest of the lot. My first one started out about 3cm big on my side, the second is about 10 cm on my back, but this one will be about 20 cm and on my ribs. I can not wait!!! This latest one is going to mean much more to me than any other. Its Arabic writing, and it is the word "Inshallah". It means "by the grace of God". I am getting this, for myself, because I believe that everything in my life happened and happens due to Gods will. The reason why I have chosen the Arabic word, is because for me, there is no other word or phrase in any other language that carries as much power as Ishallah. It is used in the Arabic language as a phrase for every decision, every task every day. Nothing gets done without the Grace of God. So I will keep you all updated on my tattoo and post pics of it during and after. Its going to hurt like hell, but is it going to be very cool. My tattoo attached...
So I had a pole on my blog regarding Speedos. I asked the question if Speedos were for aging queens only, or for everybody. Of the 7 people that voted (thanks) 57% thinks it is a bad idea!!! I think I need to explain what my issue is with it. For everybody who wears them...LOOK AROUND YOU ON THE BEACH.... you and the other gay, bulging, staring, old queen are the only ones wearing Speedos. They are soooooo 90's and sooooo gay. No respectable man will be seen dead in a pair. They are really good for tanning studios or for when you are the main theme on a yearly float, but not for the outdoors and NOT for in-public. When next you wear them, and you are among other straight people (coz you are not going to be among gay fags all your life), just see how they are reacting to the Speeods and what they are wearing. I cant stress enough how revolting, embarrassing, gay, and just down right trashy they look.....
cs of the ship. 
