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• January 2008
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It is with sadness that I announce that this will be my last blog entry. My time at Flag and Banner has been fun and productive and in the short time that I have been here, I feel as though I have met friends that I will continue to see after I leave. Flag and Banner is like a television show, and to some degree it’s like the television business. People tend to come here when they are on the way up, or on the way down. I hope I’m on the way up.

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At a very young age, I knew I was fairly intelligent. Not long after that, I realized that a lot of other people were more intelligent than I. Which is why I am now about to discuss our Graphics Guru, Jacob Nolen. As part of the group of young people at FlagandBanner that I affectionately refer to as “The Art Mob,” he fits right in with his asymmetrical haircut and Converse sneakers. But what most people don’t know about Jacob is that he has a double-major in English and Math. What’s so bad about this, to me, is that it blows the “right brain, left brain” crap out of the water. All during college, while struggling through what little math and science I was required to take, I told myself I was a “Word Person.” Math geeks can’t do what “Word People” can do. I now know this just isn’t the case. Some people can do anything intellectually and I’m not one of them. Jacob is. But what is really amazing is that Jacob, a white kid, was valedictorian of his college class at Philander Smith College, a school which is approximately 95% African American, with only five caucasians out of approximately 850 students. According to Kristin, Jacob’s girlfriend, everywhere they go someone invariably calls out, Hey, aren’t you that white boy from Philander. This wouldn’t be that surprising if he had chosen Philander because of the financial benefits, which he admits were many. But he could have gone to many other schools on a full scholarship. HE WON THE DAMNED DUKE TALENT SEARCH FOR GOD’S SAKE!!!! In ninth grade, he already knew he had a free ride to DUKE!!! Are you freaking kidding me! His rationale for not going to Duke? “I didn’t like it.” He didn’t like it. Whaaat!!! When I was his age, I was busy chasing other peoples goals, afraid to pass up an opportunity for fear it would be my last. But Jacob probably never worried about such things because he knew he was in the top two-percent before he ever went to kindergarten (or Montessori or X-Men High School or wherever the hell genius kids go to preschool). Do I sound bitter? No way. I’m not jealous. I’m still pretty sure I can kick his ass at darts.

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When I realized how potentially dangerous it could be to further harass “My Little Friend” Cisco in the shipping department, I decided to focus on someone a little less controversial for my next FlagandBanner employee profile. I mean, right next to Cisco, working in the shipping department, is Susan “Susy Q” Brangan. On the surface, she is sweet and friendly. No way in hell I’m going to get in trouble showing the world her more positive attributes. Well, I’ll be damned if I wasn’t wrong again. What I learned was that Suzy Q’s personal life is just as different from her work persona as any of the other freaks here at Flag and Banner. I learned that while Susan long ago had her fill of men, there is one for whom she would make an exception.

Jon Bon Jovi.

“Big deal,” I thought. “It’s not that weird to be into 80’s hair bands… in 2007.” But I didn’t realize exactly HOW into Bon Jovi she was. Many of you might have seen Bon Jovi host Saturday Night Live several weeks ago. What you probably didn’t see was our congenial “Suzy Q” in the wings, waiting to party-on with him after the show. Check out these pictures.

It turns out Susan goes WAAAAAY back with tight-butt Bon Jovi. While we were all waiting for Domino’s to bring us our saturday night meal, Susan was kickin’ it with a rock/movie star. I used to think I had a fairly interesting life. Not so anymore. I’m almost afraid to look into the life of another FlagandBanner employee. If I find one more quiet person with a more interesting life than my own, I don’t think I can take it. What the hell. Next up I’m going to look into the group of young art freaks that work here. Check in later. Who knows what evil lurks behind all those punk rock t-shirts and paint spattered converse all-stars.

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As a writer, I put a lot of value in names. With a name like Joe Montana, what else could he be but a great quarterback? William Jefferson Clinton was meant to be President. So that’s why I was suspicious of our shipping guy, Francisco Gomez. I mean, what a cool name. But, with such a cool name, there is no way he could be as shy and introverted as he seems. I was so intrigued by Mr. “Don’t call me Francis” Gomez that I decided to tail him after work last friday. That’s right, I tailed him. And man, was I shocked at what I found. First of all, after leaving work, he stopped off at 23rd and Battery and switched cars. His meager vehicle drove into a garage and within minutes, a black Lamborghini emerged. And “Francisco” was now accompanied by one of the most beautiful Latin princesses I had ever seen. I tried to call Holly, or anyone else who would believe me, but alas, no one would take my call. The next stop was at an even larger industrial Brick building. When Cisco arrived, a large metal garage door opened and his car disappeared inside, while two suave latin guys kept watch. I crept around the side to a small window and peered in, just in time to see Cisco pimp-slapping one of his underlings. I swear he saw me in the window and grinned. I got out of there with a quickness. I didn’t know what to expect when I got to work on monday. And when I saw Cisco, he smiled that same grin, as if to say “Go ahead and tell everybody. No one will ever believe you.” But he didn’t realize I had proof.
Take a look at the picture.

A black Lamborghini belonging to Jermaine Taylor, the middle weight champion of the world. Concidence? I think not. Shy and introverted, my butt! I see you, Cisco. This ain’t over.

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It’s a rainy wednesday in Dreamland as the characters at Flag and Banner push through another week. Grady “The Real” McCoy is hard at it, giving quotes and taking names. “Captain Kirk” Wygal is holding down the fort from his corner cubicle. Holly Devine, our marketing and sales air-traffic-controller is handing out assignments and chocolate to “the Call Girls.” I make calls. I’m not a girl. I resent this, but more about that later. Meanwhile, in the showroom, Sargeant Sam, the long-term employee and ex-military man, is making sure everything is in order and every customer is treated right. In other news, Mark now knows how it feels to give birth after passing a kidney stone, and Stephanie now knows for sure that her son isn’t ready for his learner’s permit. On a more positive note, our accountant, Charles “twinkle-toes” Fisher, is brushing up on his Paso Doble and we’re starting a write-in campaign to pair him up with Jane Seymour on the next season of “Dancing with the Stars.”

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My New Muse

After slaving on the phone for two hours, calling existing clients, I had to step out for a break. On my way out of the building, I noticed a small stairwell going up to God knows where. With Saloon style swinging doors, it was labeled “Dreamland Ballroom.” I had heard Kerry talk about the pending renovation, but had somehow failed to take a tour. I walked up the stairs , pushed opened the doors and found myself rapped in my own imagination as I first looked upon the soon-to-be renovated Ballroom. As I surveyed the enormous ceiling, and the stage which once held the likes of B.B. King and Duke Ellington, my imagination got the best of me. I thought about those who must have fallen in love there.

Suddenly, I can hear Nina Simone singing Duke Ellington’s “I got it bad, and that ain’t good.” I can imagine an eighty-year-old man, Henry, standing where I am, having returned after 60 years to peer upon the room where he first laid eyes upon his recently deceased wife, Alice. My mind runs over the story. “Henry meant to go to a juke joint on the night he met Alice. After he met Alice, he never went to a juke joint again.” Then someone yells, “Where’s Jason?” And I am back to reality, staring at the construction. I have to go back to the phones. But, in the back of my mind, Henry and Alice are still upstairs dancing and I can still hear Nina Simone singing. “I got it bad… and that ain’t good.”

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I don’t usually quote country songs but ‘Where were you when the world stopped turning?’ And where are you now? I was four days into what was supposed to be the best year of my life. Having slaved away on a television show, writing about Angels and God, I had finally mustered the courage to quit, telling my boss I was simply done and no amount of money could keep me enslaved to television writing. In truth, everybody has their price, but this poor thirty-five-year-old had saved a hundred Grand and now it was time to write my screenplay, renovate my 1000 square foot Mediterranean Hollywood house and wait for fame. What a difference a day makes.

On the morning of September 11^th…

After only four days of unemployment, I had already solidified a morning routine: Wake up, turn on NPR, start coffee, check email, walk dog, eat bagel. Writing always took place sometime after the bagel, or the second bagel, but nothing came before turning on the radio to get my morning fix of NPR. Thus, on the morning of September 11^th, 2001, the first thing I heard was that a plane had flown into one of the Twin Towers. I went to the television to see one of the towers burning. The phone immediately rang and it was a friend, David Taylor, calling from Arkansas. “Are you watching this crap?” “Yeah, I Just heard. What happened?” About that time, as I am glued to the television, the second plane flew into the tower… Live… in real time. “What? Are you kidding me?”

I was really glad I didn’t have to go to work. One week later, David and I are in New York. You see, we had already planned a road trip from Arkansas to New York. We were going to see Cal Ripken play the Red Sox play at Fenway Park on his farewell tour. After the game, we had planned to “run up to the City” for the day, like we were cool. In reality, we missed the Red Sox game in lieu of a bar. The next day we slunk into New York like we were sneaking into a war zone. We got to our hotel and went to bed. The next morning, we would go to ground zero, or as close as we could get, and witness the disaster for ourselves. David went. I did not. I went to Central Park… to the Metropolitan Museum. Having been to New York several times before, it’s what I liked to do. I wanted to sit on the steps and eat a hot dog (or four), look up at the fantastic Banners that always hang down from the building, and feel like a New Yorker. I didn’t feel like a New Yorker that day. I still don’t know what I felt. Numb would have been an understatement. I only ate one hot dog.

Six years later.

I have been back in Arkansas for almost five years. After 9/11, I shelved my screenplay, sold my quaint, little Hollywood Bungalo, and returned to Arkansas to hang out with my aging parents and old friends. I bought a house in Capital View and started working with disadvantaged kids. I bought a lawn mower. I slapped mosquito’s. It’s been a fast, slow six years. Recently, it got old. Real old. I needed to get away from the social service work and laugh again.

A chance meeting with Holly Vines.

That’s about the time I ran into a Holly Vines at community Bakery. Holly was an old friend that I hadn’t seen in some time. I remembered her as the red-headed Betty-Page-meets-Barbie who knew the name of every garage band in Little Rock. She told me she had been working at Arkansas Flag and Banner, that the place resembled a sitcom, and that, overall, she was very happy to work there. I was jealous. When I told her it sounded fun. She said they needed a temp to make phone calls if I was interested. I was interested.

So what does this all have to do with 9/11?

I got the job. And Arkansas Flagandbanner.com is a flag store, and web site…and it’s decorated like the Metropolitan Museum… And six years ago, two planes flew into the World Trade center and for reasons probably more personal than patriotic, I have been floundering ever since. And now I feel compelled to write. And it’s a good thing. I feel good. Maybe it’s time to move on. Not to forget. As the sound bite demands, “We will never forget.” I don’t know. Maybe, like the death of my father, 9/11 was just a big emotional bite to chew and it’s taken me six years to do it. Who knows? For now, I’m happy. Arkansas Flag and Banner is just fine. I make phone calls to clients and am writing a blog. I didn’t think I’d be writing. I’m not sure I wanted to. But the boss saw unseen value. So now, in between phone calls to customers, I will wax fantastic about the sitcom that is Arkansas Flag and Banner. I call it “Dreamland.”

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