Category Archives: Blog

ComicCon & Jesus Dressup P2

May 29, 2024 Normal Bob

If that bill wasn’t bad enough, sales weren’t as hot as I’d hoped. Both Thursday and Friday we were having trouble getting people to stop at the our table and participate. There were just too many distractions. Fact is too we weren’t performing well enough to attract anyone’s attention. Our group was mostly introverts, and to get people’s attention in chaos like this wasn’t easy.
As Saturday progressed, I got more and more agitated by what had happened. A couple guys from the docks stopped by to make sure I’d received that invoice. They knew exactly what they were doing. They’d even made us do all the lifting from the truck to the pallet, then off the pallet again while they all watched. Then it took one guy to drive that forklift 50 feet. Frustrated and desperate, I started to hatch a scheme to get out of paying that hustle.

But first, I realized I knew exactly how to attract attention to our booth. No different than how I did it on the street handing out flyers. Except that I’m supposed to be yelling at this crowd.

“GOD IS FAKE! MAKE NO MISTAKE! NO PEARLY GATES, NO FIERY LAKE, NO TALKING SNAKES! GOD IS FAKE! IT’S A PIECE OF CAKE!”
“HE’S A ZERO NOT A HERO! HE’S A ZERO NOT A HERO!”
There’s video of this, if you’ve not seen it before.

Having a shake-down that morning drew it out of me. I came in like a rocket. Standing out front of our table I just stopped giving a fuck.
“HI! I’M NORMAL BOB SMITH, THE CREATOR OF DRESSUP OUR CREATOR! WE’RE NUMBER TWO ON A GOOGLE SEARCH FOR JESUS!”
And by god, it worked! There’s a fun video of this going down as it happened.

It was that Saturday afternoon, my friends saw my example and we all became an effective selling machine. When I asked Christine what she remembered from that weekend, she said that the moment she saw me turn up my volume and ranting like a carnival barker, that’s what inspired the rest of them.

At the end of the day Saturday, Christine, Owen and I came back to the apartment, and I told them my plan for Sunday.
The way the place was set up, all trucks had to load at the docks in the back of the building, through those union guys, where all final checking out happened. The only other exit was the front doors. The ones everyone else at the event goes through.

We had stacks of these 20 pound boxes of magnets still at our booth. I’d completely overestimated how many we’d need. So we were going to spend Sunday trying to sell as many as possible, at great discounts to lighten the load, while I transported everything, somehow, to the front sidewalk. Then Owen was going to stand guard of that pile until we came with a truck to load it all in. Then we scram.

The booth next to ours offered us use of their dolly for the task, and that day it took four hours to walk all our remaining boxes and stuff across that gargantuan building. Our booth was in the farthest corner back from the main entrance. I could fit 4 boxes max on this smallish dolly, then I had to travel the full length of the convention center, from back right corner, to front left corner for the exit. To make matters worse the escalators stopped running about halfway through. They’d busted on account of too many people! Back and forth with 80 pounds of magnets through this unforgiving crowd. I forget how many trips it took but by the time I was pushing the last load, the dolly was a bent mess, and so was I.

As the afternoon grew late I noticed the line of vans and trucks being held way back on the street by uniformed traffic attendants. They were blocking all vehicles from approaching the curb where Owen sat with those boxes.
“They haven’t let anyone pull up here all day.” He informed me. And that line of waiting cars was easily in the dozens. I had no idea how we were going to do this, and praying was obviously out of the question.

When all of our stuff was finally moved out of the building to the front, of which we were the only people with a pile of stuff in the front, Christine and I headed to the truck parked a few blocks away. At the truck we looked at each other completely void of ideas on how we were going to do this.
“Are we just going to drive up to the front of the line and see if we can talk our way in?”

Looking at us both, I realized these passes around our necks might actually be the problem.
“What if we take these off? I bet only people with these are made to wait in that line.”
So we removed our ComicCon passes and drove past the lineup of drivers, all with their cynical stares as we rode by. We went right to the security guy waving his hands in the air telling us to stop.
“You can’t come in here. You have to get to the back of the line!”
“We’re not part of this” I explained. “We’re just here to pick up those boxes over there. Is this some sort of convention going on?”
The guard looked at me confused, gestured at the stack of boxes Owen leaned against and said. “Those are yours?”
“Yeah, I’m here to get those. That’s all.”
“You with fud?” he asked me.
“Yes, I’m with fud.” I confidently responded.
“They’re with fud. Let them through!” And he waved me on to my boxes.

I’ll never forget Owen’s dazzled expression of amazement as we pulled up.
“How in the hell did you do that? Everyone’s been trying to get through for hours! What did you say to him?”
“I told him we were with fud.”

Christine and I exhausted after ComicCon

As fast as we could, we threw everything in the back of the truck, and drove back to Bushwick. We had pizzas delivered and an evening of stories and celebration. We figured that “fud” was probably referring to food delivery – the only vehicles they let through.
But we’ll never know for sure.

Just for the record, the couple in the booth next to us, I emailed asking the cost to replace their dolly, and mailed them a check the next day. They were happy it worked out as well as it did.

Weeks later I received that $4,400 bill in the mail. By the way, they’re a completely different company than ComicCon who I purchased the booth from up front. This invoice was only for those forklift services. I spoke to Mark about how everything went down, and he was sure sorry that had happened. He said there were others who complained about getting the same sort of invoices. There was nothing he could do however.

Something Shaggy told me once about a thing you can do in NYC, is walk into any attorney’s building and get a free consultation. So one day on my way down 14th Street I stopped in one of these places at random and told a lawyer there about what had happened. His advice was to write a detailed letter with the whole story, and the reason why I don’t think I owe them that money and mail it back with the bill. He explained to me how important it is to respond to every bill they send me because there’s print at the bottom of each stating that not responding is an admission of guilt.
“Just keep mailing back that story you told me, and be sure to update the date on each letter you send. That’ll probably work for a bill that small.” He told me.

That’s what I did. I wrote a letter telling what happened and how they would never see any money from me because I felt ripped off. I knew they did it on purpose, and I’d never pay them. I’d rather go bankrupt. They mailed that bill to me twice, and each time I responded with the same story. Then I never heard from them ever again.

In the end I pretty much broke even. We sold about $2,000 worth of stuff, and about $2,000 in total was spent. I learned a lot, and I tell myself over and over again it was worth it.
Looking back now 14 years later, it definitely was.

Blog, Storytime

A New Yorker, like Shaggy

May 18, 2024 Normal Bob

When I moved to NYC I was fully aware I had personality traits that needed work. I was an introvert. I was not graceful or quick when dealing with the public, or strangers, or even acquaintances for that matter. My default was awkwardness. And amongst New Yorkers this weakness of mine magnified.

This is something Shaggy has had no issues with since the day he was born. Before ever meeting Shaggy I would see him at Union shouting at his friends, and strangers, and whoever else, as Shaggy does. When he and I finally met, it was this aspect of him that really held my interest. He, like many born New Yorkers, have developed a different kind of personality dealing with the chaos of that city. A bold readiness for whatever may come around the next corner, and an instinctual way to handle said potential chaos with words, or whatever means necessary, then shrug it off.

A good example that stands out, one time early in our friendship we were hanging outside an entrance to the Starbucks on Astor. We were chatting while he smoked, and this grumpy elderly lady was walking towards us.
“Excuse me. You shouldn’t be standing right here. You’re blocking the door!” She scolded us both.

Without hesitation, Shaggy side-mouthed his cig, reached obediently to hold said door open. Pressing his back to the wall making room, he gestured with his other hand like her personal doorman so she could pass through safely. She wobbled past mumbling how much of a bother we both were telling us we should stand somewhere else. He apologized and gently shut the door behind her.
As soon as the door shut he continued on with whatever story he was telling without acknowledging what had just happened. To me it was an incredible moment. Here I was assuming he’d retaliate with rudeness, or something other than being completely accommodating and apologetic. And the way he did it was totally cool and amusing.
“I did not expect you to handle that that way!” I told him.

“Of course! We were in the way, and she’s right! Respect your elders.” and went on to explain how she was obviously a New Yorker. “That’s the way we talk to each other.”
How would I have handled that situation? I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t have been that cool. I wanted what he did to come that naturally.

Another time early on, Shaggy and I were hanging by The Cube on Astor and across the street these four ladies with their shopping bags were gabbing loudly. At first glance they appeared to be a couple daughters with their moms, and their voices were loud, laughing, conversing so they could be heard for blocks. They were oblivious to the spectical they were making of themselves. Shaggy says to me, watch this! And walks to them, skateboard in hand, striding along behind them like he’s showing these ladies around town.

It wasn’t even half a block when they noticed and all of their chatter came to an immediate stop. They glanced at each other saying with their eyes, “Who’s this weird little man walking with us?”
Their confusion and now, total silence was hilarious.

When they got to the corner they began hailing for a cab, to which Shaggy stood out even farther in front of them and hailed one down. They looked so bewildered assuming they now had to hail another one for themselves. I was amazed as I watched this all unfold. When the cab pulled up, Shaggy opened the back door and held it for the ladies inviting them to enter. He had the biggest grin on his face while all four of them squeezed into the back together, attempting to speed this along.
As soon as they’d all filed in and shut the door, he opened the front passenger door and sat right next to the driver, closed it and looked straight ahead without saying a word. The ladies were beyond dumfounded! They’re smiles switching right back to the same shock and confusion from before. It was so fucking funny. I watched it all from the sidewalk, dazzled. These were not the actions of an introvert.
He sat there only a few seconds before finally getting out and saying through the windows, “Only kidding, ladies! Enjoy your day in New York!” and waved them goodbye. He came back to me laughing, “What’d you think of that Bobo?”

Anyone who knows Shaggy, these stories won’t shock you. But for me, it was so strange, so refreshing, and so enviable. To be that confident and bold. It’s punk rock. This is what being a New Yorker meant to me.

Flash forward a decade or so. I’m walking by myself down St Marks crossing the street. At the middle of the road, a car is waiting for me so he can make a left turn, his front fender just a few feet from my legs. Then in a moment of road-rage he lurched forward and quickly braked just inches from my shins making me jump. Stepping forward, as he pulled behind me, I kicked my heel into the side of his car with my boot, and a couple steps more I look back realizing I’d dented his door. I thought to myself “He’s definitely going to stop and get out.”
I looked over my shoulder again, and sure enough he was pulling over and getting out shouting “HEY MOTHER FUCKER! COME HERE! YOU FUCKING HIT MY CAR!”

Now mind you, I’m carrying my laptop in a carrying case, when I turn around and start yelling “YOU WANNA HIT ME WITH YOUR CAR?! YOU WANT TO RUN ME OVER?! FUCK YOU!!”
I’m shaking my case in the air, pens and pencils flying out of its pockets onto the sidewalk. In my head I’m thinking “Am I actually ready to fight this guy?” But my blood is boiling and I’m stomping back towards him out of control. Whatever it looked like coming at him, it was enough for him to get right back into his car and drive away.

I was shaking all over, and my art supplies were scattered all over the ground. Then I noticed there were people sitting at tables on the sidewalk who saw everything! And as I was picking up my stuff a couple of them came over to help asking if I was alright. It was the first time I’d ever exploded like this. I was shaking, barely able to control myself. As these people were handing me my pencils I was shaking my head. “Thank you. I don’t know what came over me. I’m okay. Thank you.”

Shaggy & Normal Bob Sept 2006, Union Square Park NYC

I went straight to Starbucks to calm down, and phoned Shaggy at work to tell him what happened. He laughed and said “The pressure of the city finally broke you! Congratulations! You’re a New Yorker now!”

I’m happy to say that from the years of hanging out with him, this quality did in fact rub off on me. Not to the extent of Shaggy’s, but I definitely changed.

I realize this thing may read like Shaggy’s died or something. He has not. In fact I just talked to him, and as always “We’re homies for life!”

Blog, Storytime

I told my Parents I smoke Weed

July 31, 2021 Normal Bob

Living with my 90 year old conservative Christian parents has had its share of challenges. There’s been arguments. Usually political. But those differences work their way into other insignificant disagreements as well. I’m genuinely working to improve the way I handle these things on my end. This particular week has added to that challenge. I haven’t been keeping myself properly hydrated since this heat & humidity kicked in. Too much coffee and not enough water has resulted in a UTI. So it stings when I pee. I’m drinking lots of water and it’s getting better, but it doesn’t help ease tensions within.

There’s a bit too many similarities to how things were 40 years ago living with m&d. Our unchanging differences, this floppy-eared schnauzer that’s almost identical to my childhood dog, all going out to dinner at Auntie M’s. I often have flashbacks to how things were back when I was a bratty kid. Only now I’m an adult. But that child’s behavior is still there wanting to rear it’s ugly head. And this was exactly the sort of thing I’m trying to work on. To eliminate those tendencies from my collection hiding beneath the surface.

Right around the block from us lives my Auntie M & cousin Ben. And today is Ben’s birthday. So the four of us went to their house for Rubens and chocolate cake to celebrate. It’s my dad, mom, & Shotzi headed over to their house. 5pm sharp.
Oh, and they have three big dogs -Dud, Bud & Missy. One of which is a brand new, over-energetic Chocolate Lab puppy – Bud. Our 8 year old schnauzer has already met the new pup, and hates him. He’s flipped her on her back a couple times already. In fact, I think it’s safe to say all the dogs are as annoyed with the new puppy as we all are.

I’m carrying Schotzi in my arms as the three of us are approaching the door. Bud had previously ran right through this door knocking out the screen. So when we arrived there was no containing him. He came pouncing at us all at his peak of hyper upon our arrival, bouncing up and down trying to get at Schotzi in my arms.

My dad and mom are in front of me, and they’ve stopped moving into the house. That’s what you do when you’re entering someone’s home. You stop on the floor mat and say hello to the room while you wipe your feet! My folks were oblivious to the storm building behind them.

Ben had come outside to retrieve the dogs that escaped, but now he’s pushing us from behind trying to close the door. This is when Bud hooked his front paws onto my pants and pulled the entire left side of them down to my knees, exposing my bright aqua boxer briefs in front of everybody. My mom, dad, cousin and aunt. The whole family. I’m struggling to keep from pushing my rickety father forward while my pants are down at my knees. Laughter and barking is all that can be heard as this unrestrained pup reigns hellfire upon us all. And that’s when I fully stumbled forward pushing my dad from behind.

Luckily he steps to the side, but I’m continuing to get pushed forward by the crowd of animals and people behind me. That’s when my legs get tripped up by this oversized footstool and it brings me down in a humiliating pile of furniture and dogs falling forward in slowmo. I hit the ground, spilling Schotzi from my arms, and I basically flop like a dead fish onto the floor. It was dramatic enough to fling my eye glasses across the floor and under the table.

All I hear is laughter. None of it from me. It was rough having to look up and everyone is laughing uncontrollably at me. I could feel my face turning red. And everyone else had resigned from doing anything to help. Shotzi was still in a fit of rage. And so was I.

I got up, pulled up my goddamn pants, and yelled, “SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET HURT!” for some reason.
I was mad, and embarrassed.
“I’m taking Schotzi home.” and I scooped her up, and while I was storming out my aunt yelled, “Are you coming back for dinner??”
“I NEED A MINUTE!!” As I slammed the door behind me.

•

P2 – Hot Stew

This is the only pic of me from that evening

On the way home I stewed. I was embarrassed. I could feel my face still red, and I did not want to come back at all. This’ll be a story to be told again and again, and I gotta be that guy in that story. And did I mention, it stings when I pee still?

I wanted to pout. I wanted them to feel bad. I wanted to cancel dinner and make a scene. In fact, maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just not go back and not call and that’ll make them think twice!
This was exactly the sort of thing I was trying to work on. So when I got home I sat in the family room with my dog and I smoked a bowl.

I sat there with Shotzi staring out the window thinking of the different ways I could handle this situation. How the rest of the evening would go was in my hands. And it was then I realized how this situation I am in is actually very very good.
• I can do whatever I want, say whatever I please, just as long as I’m a good sport.

When I fully realized this fact, all the anxiety vanished instantly. Like magic. Because adult Bob knows how to be a good sport. Especially if I’m stoned.
So I got high, promised my dog a walk upon my return, and headed back on over to my cousin’s birthday dinner without a care in the world.

They were just finishing their Rubens and cutting the cake when I showed up. My aunt asked me very kindly if I was alright. And I could tell they were all anticipating the various ways this could possibly go.

Auntie M, mom, dad,
Ben w/Dud & Bud.
Shotzi had to go home.

Standing there in front of them all I spoke.
“I decided there’s actually a benefit to having had my pants pulled down, and then pushed to the ground in front of you all this evening. Falling on my face to the sound of laughter from you all, my family.”
Only stunned silence as I continued.
“I realized, as long as I’m a good sport about what happened tonight, I can do whatever I want for the rest of the evening. So I smoked a bowl! I’m really stoned, and I am looking forward to this Ruben sandwich!”

Then I pulled up a chair and truly enjoyed that fuckin sandwich. And it was all sooooooo good.

Happy Birthday Ben!

•

P3 – Their Response

Everyone’s immediate response was shock. There was no laughter, smiles, or even a “Good for you!”
While I spoke it looked like they were expecting me to pull eggs out of my pockets and start using their faces for target practice. They were all simply stunned. And I cannot deny this felt good to me.
My Aunt was the first to say, “Well that’s good to hear. And I’m sorry for laughing Bob. We couldn’t help it. It was so outrageous!”

My mother’s first words were, “I never found it funny. I hated it. I’ve never liked slapstick humor!”
So she didn’t have to apologize.
And I’ve heard her say any combination of those 3 sentences probably a dozen times since. But in the days to follow she’s expressed to me how completely astonished she was that I could do that. “I could never do that. Never. I don’t know how you did it.” Which is the #1 reason why when I finally left to take Schotzi on a walk (and write this story), my departing words were, “I was just trying to be a good example.”

And my father’s reaction? – “What’s he talking about? He wants cake??”
When he finally did get the full picture he kinda shook his head with disgust and went back to eating his cake. You’re hard pressed to get a reaction outta my dad when there’s a dessert in front of him. But in the end they (Ben included) all acknowledged how impressed they were I had that in me and apologized for laughing.

I’ve had to control myself in some really harsh situations in NYC. But it’s at a different level when its, say, your own mother, for instance. Here a few days later she’s had the strongest response. Like she’d witnessed a miracle happen right before her eyes, and no way to explain it. I’d love to find out she took notes.

Blog, Love Diaries, Storytime

My Hollywood Runaway Punkrock Adventure P1

July 14, 2021 Normal Bob 1 Comment

Part 2 – Mark/Drunk Driver
Part 3 – Dealing in LA

Normal Bob selfie 1988 Hollywood first night

RUNAWAYS
When I was a teen I ran away from home. Not “Climbing out the bedroom window in the middle of the night” runaway. I wanted to drop out of my senior year, skip graduating, skip college, skip getting a job, and instead follow my heart to Hollywood California. Forever! It took some arguments, but my folks talked me into at least graduating. Then I could spend my graduation money on a one way ticket outta here. No one was going to change my mind. My mom even sent me to her therapist to talk me out of it. After a couple visits she told my mom, “He’s fine. You’re gonna hafta let him do it” or something to that effect. To which my mom left the state to stay with her mother so she wouldn’t hafta be around when I split.
That sorta runaway.

Erika returns to talk me into Hollywood. 1988

1988 was my graduating year. I was still a virgin in pretty much every way. A bored, frustrated teenager in a dull suburb of Denver – Lakewood, Colorado. And I wanted OUT. My self esteem was at a dismal low. I was barely going to graduate, and there was only one shining smile in my life that lit up my heart whenever her name was spoken. Erika.
She and I had been friends our whole lives. When we were little in Wisconsin for several years, and then later when both our families ended up in Colorado. High school was going to be the first time though that we ever attended the same school. I was so excited about this. We both were! She was the sweetest, prettiest girl to me. That’s really all it took.

Bob & Erika's Secret Hideout — Bob & Erika’s Secret Hideout

It was at this time I was discovering punk rock. I took a picture of Sting into SuperCuts and got my hair spiked. I was finding out about all sorts of new bands while fantasizing about being a punk rocker just like what I saw in the movies. My life at the time was nothing at all punk rock. And I idolized Erika. She was into the scene I wanted to be in at our school. Or better said, They knew of her! Erika became a legend there.

At least amongst the punks & wavers at Bear Creek High 87-88. And deservedly so. She would come to school with some of the most outrageous, imaginative fashion statements I’d ever seen. She was hanging out with real city punk rockers too, with 3 foot mohawks and ten inch fingernails. Like this guy, Deragos who had a huge hawk, and Barbie heads hanging from his spiked leather jacket! Serious shit for that suburb.

She was the first in our school to pierce her nose. She pierced her own nose, during class! Half a dozen piercings on each ear. She dyed her hair and shaved her eye-brows. She even had a pet rat she brought to school and let crawl around in her sleeves. She once showed up to school in a hospital gown with lines drawn on her face like she was insane. But at the same time she was the sweetest, friendliest person you could ever hope to meet. Smiles and nice things was all I saw when I saw her.

Then she ran away, for real. During our junior year, her and this loser guy, Skyler jumped in a beater car and fled to Hollywood to be punk rockers, Suburbia style. In this town news of her escape swept across the scene. Every time anyone was around they’d ask me,

“Have you heard from Erika? How’s she doing? Anything at all about Erika?”
They all genuinely cared about this girl who was so strange and sweet, then just disappeared.

She did return though. She didn’t stay with Skyler long, and early into my senior year, she came back to visit. She wanted me to join her in this adventure. We’d written back and forth a few times so she understood how I was suffocating.

Mind you, Erika had no idea the size crush I had on her. Or that I even had one at all. We were friends. Best friends for all she knew, and to be fair that’s all I ever led her to believe. I was very safe. Our family had always felt safe. And she wanted to bring some of that feeling back with her, if she could just talk me into it.

Bob & Erika 1988 birthday at Ed Debevic's Hollywood — Bob & Erika 1988 birthday at Ed Debevic’s Hollywood

I arrived in LA June 13, 1988 on a midnight flight. I walked out of the gate at LAX and this guy looking like Slash from Guns & Roses comes right up to me saying, “You gotta be Bob! I’m Mark, Erika’s boyfriend. We’re gonna take you to where she’s at!”
This was the very first I’d ever heard of Mark.

Tiina & Erika 1988 Ed Debevic's on Bob's birthday — Tiina & Erika 1988 Ed Debevic’s on Bob’s birthday

So I followed him out to the street where Tiina (Erika’s roommate) had a car running.
“The breaks in this are completely shot, so hold on!” Tiina warned. Then every time she needed to stop or slow down she’d slam the brake pedal hard as she could on the floor, and maybe steer into the curb, or bump up against something like a sign, or the car in front of her to fully stop. Then she and Mark would both turn, look at me and laugh.
Whenever anyone asks me “What was LA like then?” There ya go.

Mark Erika & Steve 1988 Hollywood w/my punkrock suitcase

Erika waitressed the graveyard shift at the Denny’s on Sunset & Gower Gulch. When these two somehow managed to get me there, Erika, in her brown uniform was all smiles. I got a great big hug, a dozen questions, and even more compliments from her. But most importantly, her adoration. Plus she told me anything on the menu that didn’t need the kitchen I could eat for free! Seeing her changed everything. I decided I could do this “pretend to be only friends” thing, as long as she’s nearby.

That night at Denny’s, there was this raggedy dressed woman in a nearby booth coughing, and gagging, and throwing a fit over her table of scattered plates. She kept coughing, and more coughing, yet everyone was ignoring her.
“CALL AN AMBULANCE!” She would scream. She was gagging hysterically while the waiter was standing there with the check, unmoved. This went on with everyone in the restaurant trying to ignore her. Eventually an ambulance pulled up. She made a bit of a scene there on the floor at my feet before they got her out completely and into the truck.

“She does that so she doesn’t have to pay. Works every time.” Erika explained.
That’s how it all began.

To be continued…

• The very next day they took me to see The Vandals! I saw lots of cool shows there. Here’s some flyers I brought from Hollywood ’88.