Pink Professor Couple Journeys Home

Of course I'm delirious with my good fortune to this point, having received back the missing piece of my soul, 7% of its total, lost in San Francisco in 1975. Then my delirium continued with my ecstatic reunion with The Pink Professor. To think we're back together again! ... My mind is totally blown! Then, as well, I've had the coolest, richest friend at my side, the billionaire! None of this could've happened without him, the financing alone would've staggered me. Cool dude! I'm about ready to explode if anything else cool happens; don't try me!

Everyone's looking at us -- me and Pink -- and wondering what's next? And how does the billionaire fit in this picture? Since, naturally, everyone thought that he and I would end up together; we've been joined at the hip all month, so that would've been a pretty good guess. Yeah, yeah, he's still in the picture -- I'll put all rumors to rest. He's still in the picture as a dear, dear friend. Who did for me so many things that blew my mind. The whole month's been a mind-blower!

I don't know what else I can say, though, without making everyone entirely jealous. Because I know, one guy's good news is a source of pain for everyone else. People would rather see you dead than think they themselves somehow missed out. How can this guy be so happy, while I sit here in my same old boring life, missing out on everything? I'm not going to ask for a show of hands, OK? Just know, I know that's how the world goes 'round. I've felt the daggers shooting my way since way back, like when the billionaire gave me the $2.1 billion. The cattiness I got, I shouldn't say anymore.

Let's face it, though, not everyone's going to live their lives in such a way as to please you. Still, I know, at some point I have to let this story subside into obscurity, because from your point of view, it's nothing but rubbing your face in it, if someone else is too fortunate. I get that, I took Psych 101. It's why you never hear much about the lives of billionaires. You may see in the paper that a billionaire donated money to a political candidate, but that's it. Where they live, what they do there, etc., the papers don't print that. They don't dare, or we'd cancel our subscription. The lives of quiet desperation we typically live, we don't want their good fortune to be an added burden.

With me, then -- in this story -- it was only adding insult to injury that barely anything went wrong. And that's what people want when they get their grubby paws on a story. A falling out, a sad ending, and for me, the hero, to slink away licking his wounds, to the general merriment of all, taking on myself the derision of my peers, one who aspired to heights above his abilities only to crash to earth according to the spirit of divine justice or karma. Since that didn't happen, What a trite story! I'm chuckling a little. A story like this can go that way, and for most of you that would've been satisfying. But what about me? Oh, I know, I committed the unforgivable sin of being so wealthy my success was guaranteed.

With that out of the way, allow me to continue---

We were so happy in San Francisco. The Pink Professor said goodbye to his underlings/students under the bridge. The billionaire spent close to $4 million tricking out The Pink Professor symbol on the blimp, adding my symbol to it, to portray my soul-completeness and the fact that we were wonderfully reunited, something to celebrate.

We headed for home, one of the world's first journeys of this sort where there was a crew of galley slaves and not a single man was lost. I was virtually certain a few of them at least would've gone AWOL in San Francisco, only to be found in a bathhouse. Am I right? I know if I were a galley slave reenactor and got a free ride to Frisco, I'd probably bale. The hell with diddling nothing but oars, am I right?

A little more happiness to lay on you: (If you're the extremely jealous type, don't read any further.) It's not in the picture, but the billionaire spent an additional $30 million, maybe $40 million, to rent 40 additional blimps (without galley slaves, which was cost-prohibitive) to accompany us as far as the Wyoming area. Also, he notified every biker bar between the coast and home to come out and wave at us. They know The Pink Professor; he's the sun, I'm the moon. And they definitely love him! So they're all out along our journey, throwing pretty petals high in the sky, a lovely sight.

I became so ecstatically happy, I had to go to my quarters, lie there and think, think, think about The Pink Professor, and thank my lucky stars, of which I saw quite a few.

A Piece of My Soul in San Francisco

"Big blimps billow blissfully," I told myself last night as I tried to fall asleep. The galley slaves had climbed up into their quarters; without their rowing, of course, we couldn't make the same progress, but their argument was, 'We have to sleep, too.'

I lay awake on my cot, thinking of the weird confluence of past and present afoot in these strange days. We had narrowed it down to this fact, that the piece of my soul that I'd lost in San Francisco in 1975 was the center of the entire trip. I kept thinking back to my night there, under one of the highways, wondering what the morning would bring. I was hitchhiking out.

The soul split was unfortunate, and when morning came, close to 40 years ago, I should've looked for it more diligently. The truth is, I felt a distinct difference, but at that age how would I know how much soul I'd need? Or that decades later I'd have a friend and lover who'd obsess over it to the point of going there? I thought The Pink Professor was the perfect man -- and still do -- but, Get a calculator! Wouldn't it be smarter to stay home and enjoy 93% of my soul than leave to get by with 7%, or however much it was?

Now, of course, I realize soul splits can happen when you're confused, beset with worries, wondering about tomorrow, etc., "Oops, there goes another piece!" But as a kid you're dumb. You're immortal. You can always go to church and they'll give you 7%, or whatever, like a gas station. Little did I know, they're powerless to help you. If you feel your soul even appear to crumble, you deal with it right now; carry Super Glue if you have to...

So I spent that night clinging to my pack and possessions for comfort. And with morning, caught a ride. I spent the next night, a disastrous, cold night, outside Winnemucca, NV,  and wasn't myself. I was totally freaked out when I crawled to the middle of a culvert under the highway and imagined scorpions and other animals crossing through there. It left me no choice -- split soul and all -- but to get out and spend the night wrapped in my space blanket, standing by the side of the road. A military general picked me up at daylight and said I looked like his son. He bought me breakfast and gave me $5.00. I have to wonder, if I'd had the rest of my soul, maybe I'd have gotten more.

Back to today, I knew at some point the blimp would be near Winnemucca. The memories of the old general are actually sweet ones, though by now he's probably dead, and his son old like me.

In other activity -- it wasn't all boring contemplation -- I tried one of the billionaire's other chamber suits -- this one meant to hone your mental acuity in the zero gravity chamber. My vision was sharp, hyper-realistic. I saw The Pink Professor, as in a musical, on his knees like Al Jolson, calling out to me, not "Mammy" but "Babyface!" Behind him was a large group of devotees, also calling out. I saw an underground shrine and a whole apparatus of devotion and sacrifice. The Pink Professor counseled two old derelicts, who were given an honored place in his group, the "Servants of the Beloved," the "Beloved" apparently being him, me, or 7% of my soul.

I shuddered and left the chamber. Because if one broken off soul shard is so important, I don't want to lose any more.

Of Fantastic Blimps and Galley Slaves

The billionaire once again was true to his word, always giving 150% effort. I arrived at the construction site, and after just a few hours, everything had proceeded on a scale similar to the work long ago on the Egyptian pyramids. In this case we were building a blimp port and a blimp itself!

How impressive it was, too. This port isn't just a one-off temp thing. The billionaire bought land just north of where my $20 million personal library will be. This is a real facility. And it took them less than an hour to clear the land -- before it was a forest, while being in the city limits. We're in a hurry, with things to do!

As I approached, it took my breath away to see that majestic blimp docked above us, with The Pink Professor's unremitting pink symbol. This was easily the biggest blimp I'd seen all day. Off to the side was an elevator fit for NASA. The blimp itself has luxurious accommodations, with amenities too numerous to list. Including a zero gravity chamber in the center, for relaxing from the pressures of life. After we would load, the galley slaves would load, whose rowing would keep air currents at an optimal stream. Wait! Galley slaves? Sort of, they're a local galley slave reenactors group.

In my opinion, these guys were a little slow on the oars, but their argument is, If you rowed close to 2,000 miles you'd be tired, too. Perhaps. But I think a good old fashioned whipping would have sped them up; but these are the sacrifices we make for living in more modern "civilized" times. (If I seem critical, it's because I did my master's thesis on galley slaves, subtitled, "Those Were the Days." And I never have enough real-life opportunities to critique the practice.)

By afternoon, we were off! Headed for San Francisco, where, according to the billionaire's plausible theory, we would find The Pink Professor. Just like the Tony Bennett song, I told him once, "I left a piece of my soul in the San Francisco area." Obviously that hit him as a search worth making, and he left. He was lost to me, a relationship I never thought would end. Now I must find him.

I kept my seat till we were over Colorado, when the higher altitude started doing things to my head. I needed the refreshing tonic of a zero gravity atmosphere, so I left my seat and went into the chamber. To enhance the experience further, the billionaire had various suits we could wear. I picked one of the heavier suits, an amniotic sac simulator. That and floating in zero gravity gave me the world's best space to chill out. And drift.

Frankly, it was stunning. I witnessed my whole personal development -- phylogeny recapitulating ontogeny -- that whole scene. I remembered things about myself, things that can't be verbalized beyond "Goo goo ga ga." I felt so extremely thankful for my mother, whose body allowed a place for me so long ago and brought me forth. Now she's passed on -- in 2013 -- and I miss her terribly, but on the bright side, I've got this blimp, running a close second.

In the mix, in the stew, in the wash, in this kaleidoscopic array of mental and metaphysical wonderment, I also saw the development of the Pink Professor. His spirit towered over his physical embryo, a foot taller if it was an inch! I swear on a stack of ultrasounds. It could very well be that that's the way he is today as well, a larger spiritual presence hovering over a little literature professor's body. This insight I will carry to my dying day. It certainly explains his success with rowdy bikers. And the impetus of going to San Francisco to look for the missing piece of my soul. Once he got there, then, he simply had to serve. I would have to be careful bringing him out.

I stepped out of the amniotic suit and made my way back to my seat. Billionaire: "Things are going great." Me: "It feels like we're going a little slow. Where's the whip?"

The Sheds of Butlic County

You could ask nearly anyone in the state what is one of the most interesting of our many tourist spots, and they'd probably say, The Sheds of Butlic County. Some college students even made a movie there about a couple adulterous farmers and ladies from out of state, Butlic or Bust. I never saw it, but I understand it had quite a bit of each. Also, years ago, some genuine Hollywood stars were in the area.

As for me, it's sort of funny. I could live right across the street from a tourist attraction and never go to it. But then, if I'm in some other state, I make a beeline for whatever it is, a famous rock or anything, The World's Largest Rotten Tomato. But I hadn't actually toured our famous sheds, until around three weeks ago.

It's a little different, as tourist sites go, since they're not in one place but scattered around the county. That means you either drive yourself or get on the bus and go with a guide. I thought $15 was a pretty good deal, with the price of gas, and also because you learn more with an educated person.

OK, the overall summary -- and I'll be looking at my notes here, excuse me -- is that a Mr. Ebenezer Tobias Peabody Smith, who wanted to serve the world as a priest, but because his parents were deathly sick on the farm and he had younger siblings, had to drop out of seminary and help the family, worked as a carpenter. Most of the things he built are long gone, but he built nine sheds, six of which remain.

Of the six, there's three major ones, making the others minor ones, very minor. But they do take you to the minor ones, mostly so you can say you saw them, but, frankly, I'd advise dropping out way before then. So we have the Big Three. And even these vary, being called the Best One, the Medium One, and the Other One.

The Best One has quite a story. (That's it in the picture. It now has modern siding and bears little resemblance to its original self, since they want to preserve it for future generations.) Runaway slaves used to congregate there, with the brave townspeople pretending to help slaves in another part of the county, throwing slave owners off track. But it all came to a head when a turncoat, Col. Butlic's greatest nemesis, Benedict Ziffle, led the slave owners to the shed. They almost burned it down with the former slaves still in it. But the townspeople took them on, rounded them up, and burnt them alive. The slaves were free! All that -- an amazing story! -- happened at this shed!

The Medium One has a so-so story. Two donkeys had been tied there in the late 1800s when their owners were in school. One donkey belonged to a girl, the other to a boy. But the boy's donkey was a female, and the girl's donkey a male. One day, nature being what it is, the donkeys interbred and ended up with twins, the male of which went to the boy and the female went to the girl. So all was right with the world. Walking the little path to shed, the guide said it was called "The Trail of the Four Donkeys." So I watched where I stepped.

Then there's the Other One, the other "major" shed. Its most famous story is how a farmer came up over a hill, again in the 1800s, back when apparently all kinds of things happened, unlike now, and thought he saw a family of fairies dancing on the green in front of it. Then, as he approached, the truth became clear. Turned out that he'd been drinking and mistook the sun reflecting off some metal bars and the swaying of garden variety weeds for a fairy family. I thought, Big damned deal. I've seen weirder stuff than that without drinking!

Among the many other interesting things the guide told us, all the sheds had famous people who stopped by over the years. Since they've been there forever, of course that wasn't so unbelievable. But the famous names! I was floored, somewhat. Especially when it came to the Best One. When President Woodrow Wilson came through, he and his wife stopped and toured the Best shed. The duties of office prevented him from doing the whole tour. So there I stood, right in the very doorway where President Wilson himself passed!

The Medium One was also visited by a political titan, at least halfway a titan, Henry Wallace. Ever heard of him? Turns out he was a vice president in the '40s. So that's a definite step down from President Wilson, but still not too bad. So I also stood in the doorway right where Henry, uh, Wallace went through.

Then at the Other One, the most famous person to visit it was a guy named Walter Seymour Randall, according to the guide the founder of Randall Eggs, an egg farm which has since been bought out by a conglomerate and renamed. So I also stood in the doorway where a guy who sold eggs once passed...

The final story concerns more gossip than established fact, since people are usually quiet about their romantic shenanigans. But the rumor goes -- and I'll be brief since I doubt anyone's too interested in who was boinking whom way back when -- that there was enough hanky panky at these sheds alone to repopulate a barren land, were each coital encounter to have resulted in pregnancy and subsequent live birth. So I'll just sum it up with a few names, without suggesting what may or may not have happened between them. The Best Shed: W.C. Fields and Mae West -- very, very cool; The Medium One: Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, a married couple; and, The Other One, Slim Pickens and Gabby Hayes. You might remember the movies, neither one was a straight man.

Anyway, what a tour! It was definitely fun to get out and learn. In my advanced years, I really don't do much learning, so I'll be taking some time off. But it was quite a refreshing change of pace. I hope I didn't give away too much. Because next time you're in the area, I would definitely advise you to at least visit the Best One of the six.