“I’ve got two tickets to paradise.” –Eddie Money

“I’ve got two tickets to Graceland and other less notable places too numerous to mention here.” – Jeff Brown

You’ve been doing a great job helping my Dad and me in the lawn care business this summer.  Next week, however, I’m going on vacation to Graceland and other less notable places too numerous to mention here, and you’ll have to take up the slack.  Your work to this point has been impressive, but you’re not a Jedi yet.  Here are some little golden nuggets of information that might help.  Good luck!

1. For fun and entertainment, I like to give my days themes.  For example, there’s Manual Labor Monday, I Got Something in my Eye Tuesday, Man, I drank too much Mountain Dew Wednesday, Cripes it’s hot Thursday, and, if you make it to the end of the week without a heat stroke, you can look forward to Casual Friday.  Yes, leave your suit and tie at home.
2. Even though it’s Casual Friday, and it might be really hot outside, I strongly encourage you to wear a shirt.  We try to look professional here.
3. For the umpteenth time, this goes for you too, Dad!
4. If it’s Man, I Drank too Much Mountain Dew Wednesday, and you urgently need to get to a bathroom, don’t be afraid to tell my dad.  Chances are he has to go too, and, besides, he’s already used to making frequent stops at the local convenience store because, let’s face it, I have to go ALL OF THE TIME.
5. Be sure to bring a screwdriver or a stick or something to scrape with when you’re mowing Dog Poop Alley.
6. I don’t call it Dog Poop Alley for nothing.
7. If the tractor we lovingly refer to as “The Brute” doesn’t want to start, I’ve found it helpful to stroke her hood and whisper in her carburetor, “Wehrenberg.”
8. That’s just weird.
9. Hey, it works.
10. If you break down or run out of gas, you can be sure that it will happen very far away from the truck (i.e. the tools and gas can) every single solitary time without exception.  This is Newton’s Fourth Law of Mowing.
11. When you’re at Fuss Bucket’s house, be prepared for tons of helpful advice on your mowing pattern and trimming methodology.
12. I have other hilarious and descriptive nicknames for Fuss Bucket too.
13. Oh, yeah?
14. Yeah, but there’s no way I’m writing them here.
15. Do you have anything else to say to the temp?
16. Yes I do.  In the immortal words of Sergeant Phil Esterhaus, “Hey, let’s be careful out there.”
17. Who the heck is that?
18. You know, that character from the eighties TV show Hill Street Blues.
19. The temp is seventeen years old.   He isn’t going to get that stupid reference.  He wasn’t even born until 1995.
20. Now I’m really feeling old.
21. Any other words of wisdom?  You’re near your 650 word limit.
22. Who says I have to keep this under 650 words?  It’s not like I have an editor.
23. This is painfully apparent.
24. Well, wait a second.  I do have my wife occasionally check for typos and dangling participles and stuff like that.
25. Okay, I’m waiting for it.
26. What?
27. Your dangling participle joke.
28. After thinking intensely, the punch line escaped me.
29. Real professional.  Do you at least have a good ending for this column?  You know– something profound that pulls everything together and wraps it up in a nice bow?
30. Not really.  Did I mention I’m going on vacation?  I’m feeling pretty lazy right now, so I think I’ll just rip off some song lyrics from Eddie Money.

I’ve got two tickets to paradise,

Won’t you pack your bags, we’ll leave tonight,

I’ve got two tickets to Graceland,

And other less notable places too numerous to mention here because I’m way over my word limit!

“I still get excited about meeting celebrities, because I don’t think I’m a celebrity myself.” –Allan Carr

“I still get excited about meeting celebrities, because I don’t think I’m a celebrity myself, mainly because I’m not a celebrity.” – Jeff Brown

I’m not usually the kind of guy who does a lot of name dropping, but my wife and I recently hung out with Colin Hay after one of his concerts. If you’re wondering who Colin Hay is, (Who can it be now?) he’s the Scottish-Australian musician who first made his mark during the 1980’s as the lead singer of the Australian band Men at Work. He’s now touring as a solo artist and played at the Gallagher Bluedorn Performing Arts Center in Cedar Falls, Iowa, a few months ago.

Anyhow, Vickie and I hang out with Colin all the time now. Well, technically not all the time. It was just that one time, but we didn’t have to wait in line very long and I got to snap the neat picture at the top of this story. This experience of rubbing elbows with a famous person has given me confidence that my wife and I will soon be running in the most popular crowds.

Yeah, baby, I’m in with the in crowd and I go where the in crowd goes.

For instance, I once saw the weatherman from Channel Nine in the grocery store. Wow, I thought, that’s the weatherman from Channel Nine. I can’t believe this.

For some strange reason I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

Oh my God, I kept repeating in my mind, I wonder if he signs autographs. Maybe he gives personal weather forecasts. This is so cool because that guy right over there is the WEATHERMAN FROM CHANNEL NINE.

Okay, I admit I can get a little star struck. I’d probably have a heart attack if I ever ran into the salesman from the late-night used car commercials. This is so cool because that guy right over there is going to get me a great deal on a ’94 Chevy and I’m pre-approved, GUARANTEED.

Last summer when I attended my first writer’s conference in Detroit with the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, I was really excited about seeing W. Bruce Cameron in person. I’d been a fan of his humor column for years and I really enjoyed his book Eight Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Daughter.

Sure enough, when my wife and I pulled up in front of the hotel where the conference was being held, Bruce was standing out front talking to the concierge. “This is definitely the right place,” I exclaimed to Vickie, “because that guy right over there is W. BRUCE CAMERON. I wonder if he signs autographs. Maybe he gives personal weather forecasts. Wait a second, that doesn’t make sense!”

I finally got the nerve and opportunity to talk to him the next day. “I love your book!” I said, maybe a bit too eagerly. “I could relate because I was a father of a teenaged girl when I read it.”

He looked at me uncomfortably.

My mind raced. Jeff, think of something intelligent to say. Don’t blow this.

“And your humor column– I really like your column a lot.”

As I uttered those words, those seven little words– I really like your column a lot– my mind screamed out, No! I did not just say, “I really like your column a lot.” But, it was true.

To be perfectly clear, in case you weren’t paying attention, I said to the accomplished columnist and novelist W. Bruce Cameron when I met him, “I really like your column a lot.”

He continued to look at me uncomfortably.

As I mentioned earlier, I can get a little star struck.

The conversation dragged on a bit longer. I said to him that I hoped to maybe build a career of sorts writing columns.

Then he looked at me like I was crazy.

Bruce mentioned that it was getting harder for him to come up with column ideas because he’d written so many already. This is why it wasn’t a huge shock to me when I read earlier this year that he was discontinuing his column to devote more time to writing novels.

If I quit writing this little blog, I wonder what the headlines will say. Brown Discontinues Column to Pursue Career Mowing Yards.

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to make a career out of writing columns. At this point in time, it doesn’t look very likely. One thing is for certain.  If a total stranger ever comes up to me and says he really likes my column a lot, it will absolutely make my day.

Imagine this…

A few years from now a couple of women show up at my first book signing. One says to the other, “Oh my God, I can’t believe this. Do you see that guy sitting right over there signing books?”

“Yeah, that’s the weatherman from Channel Nine.”

“No, I think he mows my yard.”

W. Bruce Cameron’s humor column is still syndicated with Creators and can be found at:  http://www.creators.com/lifestylefeatures/humor.html

“These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before. ”  –Introduction from Star Trek

“These are the voyages of the John Deere I like to call Enterprise. Its mission: to boldly mow where no one has mowed before.”  – Jeff Brown

Here I am out in the field.  Literally.

Well, technically I’m not in a field, it’s more of a Creeping Charlie and Not-So-Dandy Lion wildlife preserve, but this customer’s yard is so huge it might as well be a field.  Working with Dad in the lawn mowing business sure got an early start this year, and business is blooming.  Hahahaha!

That’s so funny because instead of “booming,” I used a word more closely associated with plants.

Note to self: I need to cut my caffeine consumption in the mornings.

There’s nothing like starting the day with a pot of coffee and a can of Mountain Dew.  Yes, my brain is in overdrive!

Note to self:  I probably should have gotten a job with a private bathroom.

Be still, my intestinal tract, there’s nowhere to go out here.  Oh well, at least this outdoorsy career keeps me physically fit, although my feet are killing me.

Note to self: Daddy needs a new pair of mowing shoes.

I sure hope today goes better than yesterday.  It was humiliating when that little girl kept yelling at me from her bedroom window, “Get out of my yard or I’m calling the cops.”

Note to Little Cretin:  No, Virginia, there’s no Santa Clause.

This terrain is bumpy!  I must distract my brain from my expanding bladder.

The Twin Paradox is a thought experiment in special relativity in which a John Deere lawn tractor makes a journey into space and returns home to find it has fewer hours on its engine than its identical twin that stayed on earth.   Consider this tractor traveling from Earth to the nearest star outside our solar system 4 light years away at a speed 80 percent the speed of light.

The round trip will take 10 years in Earth time (i.e. everybody on earth (including the twin) will be 10 years older when the tractor returns). The amount of time as measured on the tractor’s clock will be reduced by the factor ε=√1-v²/c².  In this case, the traveling tractor’s engine will only have 6 years’ worth of wear and tear on it when it gets back to Earth!

THIS ISN’T WORKING AND MY BLADDER IS GOING TO GO SUPERNOVA.  I wonder if anyone would see me if I went over there by that bush.  What’s the worst that could happen?

Note to self:  Probably an indecent exposure charge and a write-up in the local newspaper.

I want to be in the paper, but not that way.  Too bad my column writing career isn’t going as well as the mowing business.  I firmly resolve to get up at 4 AM tomorrow and write a new blog.

Note to self:  Hahahaha!

I suppose I’ll end up mowing yards for the rest of my life.  When I was a kid, there was an old woman in town that mowed yards for a living.  Mean people called her Crazy.  I wonder what the locals will call me in coming years.

There goes Eccentric Jeff.  He used to be respected in this town until he got caught watering somebody’s grass. 

Maybe that newspaper editor I sent sample columns to last week called me back.  I’ll check my phone right now for missed messages.

Crap.

Note to self: Buy beer on the way home tonight after you visit the shoe store.

Little Cretin:  Officer, you won’t believe what that bad man did to my parent’s bushes!

“I don’t answer the phone.  I get the feeling whenever I do that there will be someone on the other end.”  –Fred Couples

“I don’t answer the phone.  I get the feeling whenever I do that there will be an androgynous voice on the other end asking for Rodney.” – Jeff Brown

Hello Rodney.  How are you?

This column may be recorded for quality assurance purposes.

You don’t know me and I technically don’t know you.  For instance, I don’t know where you live, what kind of car you drive, who’s your daddy, or even what your last name is.  I am, however, painfully aware of your existence in the universe.

Believe me, Mr. Rodney Whatever Your Last Name Is; this isn’t because I ever wanted to be.  Oh, contraire, this knowledge of your beingness was forced upon me shortly after I got my cell phone number. The first not so subtle clue that you exist and are leading a more exciting social life than me came in the middle of the night, and it went like this:

Phone rings.

Jeff: (Fumbles for his glasses.) Where the heck is my stupid phone?   (Races to the living room and finds it stuck between the couch cushions.)  Hello.

Woman’s Voice:  Is Rodney there?

Jeff:  No, you have the wrong number.

Woman’s Voice:  (Giggles.)  Oh, I’m sorry.  (Hangs up.)

Rodney, from the sheer number of late night calls I received and continue to receive since I was issued my phone number several years ago, I gather you have lots of friends.  You must be pretty charismatic to have such following.  Whether its day or night, whether I’m on a ladder, eating dinner, or in the shower, you’re always in demand.  Sometimes it seems everyone in the country wants to reach out and touch you.

So do I, Rodney, so do I.

I have to admit you have a bigger social circle than me, and I was getting jealous.  That was until the second wave of calls started coming in that went like this:

Hi Rodney, how are you today?  Before I proceed further, I need to tell you this is an attempt to collect a debt, and any information obtained will be used for that purpose.

I explained to the debt collector that I was not you.  He took this information very well.  In fact, he liked my explanation so much that he called me a week later to hear it again.  He still calls occasionally, and each time I have to patiently explain to him that I’m not you, or as I often refer to you now– Mr. Popularity.

Apparently this confusion over our identities has extended to the government because I’ve been receiving messages from an androgynous robot voice that works for the Iowa Department of Revenue.

This is an important message for Rodney.  Please call us back at…

I tried to ignore the weird calls at first, but they came every day for two weeks straight.  Finally, I wore down and replied.

All of our agents are busy.  Please hold.

You’ve got to be kidding.  First they harass me incessantly, then they make ME call THEM, and then they have the nerve to put me on hold.       

How may I help you?

Your androgynous attack dog told me to call.

Is this Rodney?

No, my name is Jeff.  Please remove my phone number from your list.

Sorry for the inconvenience, Sir.

I’ve had this conversation with the Iowa Department of Revenue four times in the past twelve months.

Anyhow, Mr. Rodney, since I have no other way of contacting you, I have an important message for you here right here in this column:

The library really wants you to return those overdue books.

“There is a flower within my heart, Daisy, Daisy.” –Harry Dacre

“There is a flower within my heart, Hailey Baby.” – Jeff Brown

Hailey, Baby, give me your answer, do,

I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.

My 17-month old granddaughter, Hailey, shoved a plastic spoon laden with imaginary food (I liked to think it was a scrumptious bite of lasagna, but I suspect it was strained peas) in my mouth.  “Yum, num, num.” I said, smacking my lips loudly.

“Hee, hee,” she exclaimed.

Then it was my turn to feed her.  I took another plastic spoon, scooped up some imaginary Hamburger Helper, and pretended to feed it to her.  “Over the lips, past the gums, look out tummy, here it comes!”

She bit the spoon.  “Mmmmm.”  Then she smacked her lips.  “Apple?”

“Yes,” I said.  It’s certainly not Hamburger Helper; it’s 100% pure organic applesauce.”

“Mmmmm.”

I was on my knees and we were playing with a toy kitchenette, complete with plastic plates, plastic pots and pans, plastic fruits and vegetables, and yes, a tiny cardboard box of Hamburger Helper.  (Cheeseburger Macaroni, if I remember right.)  She grabbed a plastic French fry and shoved it down a tiny plastic ketchup bottle.  Her eyes got real big.  “Uh oh.”

“Oh no!” I exclaimed.  “What are we going to do now?”  She handed it to me.  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll try to get it out.”

It won’t be a lunch that tastes fantastic-

Because it’s made of plastic,

The yellow crinkly fry was really stuck in there, and my fingers were way too big to fit down the neck of the pretend bottle, so I turned it upside down and shook it.  The fry popped out just enough for me to grab with my fingertips.  I pulled it out.  “Here you go, Hailey Baby,” I said, as I gave her back the wayward fry and bottle.

She smiled at me appreciatively, which made me feel like I was king of the world.  Then she shoved the fry back inside.  “Uh oh!”

Soon we were filling a picnic basket.  “Here’s a nice plastic hardboiled egg,” I said.  We had our basket packed with other nutritious plastic items too like plastic hamburgers, plastic hotdogs, and about a dozen or so plastic potato chips.

Interesting fact: Junk food, even in plastic form, is still more attractive and tasty than the healthier plastic alternatives.

I noticed some of the fruits and vegetables were cut in half.  Well, they weren’t actually cut; rather they were vacuum formed in halves with Velcro taped to the side them.

Another interesting fact: Most children won’t eat the Velcro, although that’s where all the vitamins are.

The Velcro gave me an idea.  I found two plastic onion halves and Velcroed them together.  Then I found a plastic butter knife.  “Check this out, Hailey.”  On the floor, I cut it in half with the knife.  The ripping sound the Velcro made was surprisingly realistic and I handed the knife over to her. “Now it’s your turn.”

I put the onion back together and held it steady.  With her diaper sticking out of the top of her blue jeans, Hailey hunched over the plastic vegetable.  She pushed and pushed with both hands and the Velcro went rip, rip, until she cut it all the way through.

“Yay, Hailey,” I exclaimed, “You did it!”

She raised her arms in victory.  “Yay!”

Then I gave her a hug.

FYI:  I don’t normally teach babies how to use knives, but in this particular instance, it seemed perfectly appropriate.

Besides, I was really craving some freshly sliced plastic onion for my plastic hamburger.

But you’d look sweet, right next to me

On a pretend picnic packed for two!

“I’m here to rescue you.”  – Luke Skywalker

“I’m here to scoop your sidewalk.” – Jeff Brown

Chief Meteorologist:  Get ready for the first major snow event of the season.

Ugh, I thought, as I watched the evening news.  My career as a Professional Snow Removal Technician (motto: we put the “labor” in “manual labor”) was set to begin in the morning, and I needed to get ready.  I fumbled through my coat closet.

Parka?  Check.  Coveralls?  Check.  Ski mask?

My wife bought me a ski mask a few weeks earlier and I hadn’t tried it on yet.  I pulled it over my head and it snagged my glasses.  Good grief.  I yanked it off and my poor glasses hit the floor.  I picked them up and tried again, only this time I put the ski mask on first.  Then I slid my glasses on carefully through the ski mask’s face hole.

Needless to say, I was uncomfortable.

I headed for the nearest mirror to see what I looked like.  Staring back at me was some sort of lanky ninja/Jedi wannabe.  My glasses fogged up when I breathed and I whined, “With my ski mask on, I can’t even see.  How am I supposed to scoop snow?”

Obi-Wan: Use the Force, Jeff.

Then I felt myself being drawn to the dark side.

Yoda:  It is a good idea to scare your wife not.

But I couldn’t help myself.  I could almost hear the evil Star Wars theme (you know, the music that played whenever Darth Vader was around) as I walked, no, strode down the hallway towards my unsuspecting wife.

Da da da da da da!

She was standing in the bathroom looking in the mirror.  When she turned around and saw me, I didn’t get the response I was expecting.

Princess Vickie:  Darth Jeff.  Only you could be so bold.  The Imperial Senate will not sit still for this.  When they hear you attacked me in the bathroom–

Darth Jeff: Don’t act so surprised, Your Highness.  I want to know what happened to the plans they sent you.

Princess Vickie: I don’t know what you’re talking about… and you look freaky.

Darth Jeff:  Man, you didn’t even jump.

Then our wookie, Arlo, saw me and nearly had a stroke.

Arlo:  Bark! *cough cough*

He hacked so much he nearly puked.  I always thought it would be neat to choke people with mind powers like Darth Vader, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.

I took the mask off and went back down the hallway.  Dreading the impending snow storm, I remembered a happier, simpler time– a time of unseasonably warm temperatures.

Obi-Wan:  I have something here for you.  Your father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn’t allow it.  He feared you might follow old Obi-Wan on some damn fool idealistic crusade like your father did.

Jeff Skywalker:  What is it?

Obi-Wan:  Your father’s snow shovel.  This is the tool of a Professional Snow Removal Technician.  Not as clumsy or random as a gas-powered snow blower; an elegant tool for a more civilized age.  For over a thousand generations, the Shovel Wielding Professional Snow Removal Technicians were the guardians of sidewalks and driveways in the Old Republic.  Before the dark times…before the first major snow event of the season.

Chewbacca:  Raaaaaaalph!

R2-D2:  Beep, beep.

Dad:  None of this ever happened.  What’s the matter with you, Jeff?

Yeah, I have to admit I’m not terribly excited about being a Professional Snow Removal Technician, but until I win the lottery, this line of work will have to do.  I try to think of snow removal as character building.  Perhaps, someday, it’ll even help be grow stronger in the ways of the Force.

Chief Meteorologist:  Get out your shovel because *cough* it’s going to start snowing tonight.   *cough cough* (He tugs at his collar and keels over.)

“This was the moment I’d been dreading for the past six months. Well, actually for the past 22 years.” – George from the movie Father of the Bride

I told my daughter that she looked beautiful and she shot me the most amazing smile. Then we started walking. Take it slow, I said, we’re not in a hurry.

I still remembered her very first steps. My folks babysat for me when I had to work second shift. One day on my way out the door, Mom called me back. “Come here, Jeff, you need to see this.” Sure enough, my toddler was wobbling her way down the hallway on her own two feet.

A few years later, I found myself holding her little hand as we walked toward the pre-school. She would learn all kinds of important stuff there– colors, sharing, and tying shoes. Somewhere around my house, I still have the big coffee can she practiced tying shoelaces on. The soft plastic lid has holes punched in it with the lace still threaded through it.

Of course, I held her hand during less fun times. There were countless skinned knees, fevers, and even stitches a time or two. There was that scary hospital stay when she had pneumonia, and, when she was older, a broken arm from that damned trampoline. Looking back, all of these experiences seem like pretty routine rights of passages. At those times, however, they scared the hell out of me.

But, she survived. We survived.

I’ll never forget the morning when, all by herself, she used my pliers to take the training wheels off her bicycle. That began our longtime tradition of father/daughter bike rides. During one particularly ambitious summer, my odometer recorded over 100 miles.

As we made it further up the aisle, people began turning around and taking pictures of us. I smiled big and held her arm a little tighter. I glanced at her and found myself getting a little misty. I tried to think about other things.

Earlier in the day, I checked to see how she was doing with all the wedding preparations. Someone was curling her hair. It reminded me of when I used to tie it in pigtails. She was about four or five years old. No matter how hard I tried, it seemed I never could get the part straight. It was a good thing someone else was doing her hair today.

In the afternoon, my wife and I sat in one of the church pews and watched the photographer take shots of the wedding party. Including the bride and groom, there were about a dozen members. The group of young twenty-somethings had been friends since way back– the nineties. Amid the laughing and clowning around, I felt a bit envious. To have such a group of friends! I hoped the strong friendships would help make the marriage strong too.

When my daughter and I reached the front of the church, we stopped. The groom was there waiting for us. I took my daughter’s right hand, the very one I held on her first day of pre-school, and placed it in his. I held on to both of them for a moment and told the groom to take good care of my daughter. He nodded and said that he would.

Then I let go.

There were still important things to come today, but my job was over.

I gave my daughter away.

Over the years, I’ve often wondered when this day would come. Sometimes I dreaded it, but today was a good day. I stood behind her for a few moments as the Deacon began the ceremony, but it was time for this father to go.

She was standing on her own two feet.