I'd like to introduce you to Shaun the Advocate.
While palling around with my archenemy "Steven Taylor" in NOLA a couple of weeks ago, we decided to go to a cemetery in the Garden District.
It was a jaw-droppingly beautiful day, but that didn't stop us from getting lost. Which really was quite remarkable because the Garden District is about three blocks by four blocks. Tiger woods could hit a ball over it with a 7-iron.
By the way, have I mentioned before that Steven has "Ripley's Believe it or Not worthy" unusually small feet for a man his size? In fact, his feet are more like hooves than proper human feet. And when he walks, he trots like a horse. I swear I'm not making this up. He walks faster than most Olympians run. I'm not making fun of him. But I am calling him devilish. That's different. Really I'm just doing you a public service is all. The man has hooves, and that just screams "in league with some bad elements." (You'll thank me later.)
Anyway, eventually we stumbled into the cemetery, about which I'll soon post photos and commentary.
Almost immediately Shaun came out of nowhere--an empty tomb, I think, because there actually were some--and came up to us (i.e. "me") to talk.
A lot.
A scary lot. And with a randomness and turnover rate of subject matter that I couldn't help think betrayed the kind of brain that has had its share of good times in its time.
Think Dennis Hopper in Apocalypse Now and you'll have a sense of what I'm talking about.
Shaun is an "Advocate" for the cemetery, which means...
that I don't know. I think it's something like a historic cemetery's version of the renegade vigilante border guards. He's there to keep an eye out for the bad "elements." I kinda sensed he loved it when they came so he could them show them what.
Shaun rejoiced in the fact that neither Steven nor I were "Yankees," and he didn't seem troubled at all by Steven's feet.
With his typical good sense, Steven simply loped away, and I found myself talking with Shaun the Advocate. Now for most of you who know me, you know that I'm very selective with the people with whom I like to strike up conversations. But I am transfixed by crazy people like the poverbial deer in the headlights, and they can sense it. So Shaun and I struck up a conversation.
He pointed to a tomb and said, "Here's my family."
Oh no! This poor man has suffered horrible tragedy (probably at his own hands), and here I am thinking shameful thoughts about him and his mental stability. He's suffered a horrible horrible blow, and of course he wants to come to the cemetery. Of course he is troubled.
And then he pulled a photo of his family off from the top of the tomb and said, "Yep. They live in San Diego. Me and the misses..we're divorced now, but we still get along...just couldn't live with her. Some people just ain't made to live with one another. She's got the kids. So you can see I don't shoot blanks!!"
The rest of the details went kind of fuzzy after that.
But Shaun the Advocate, I applaud you for your work. I don't understand what that work is, not exactly, but you tell me that you don't get paid for it, and I believe you. I do know you are devoted to your great city. And that's all to your credit.
So maybe the world is better off because you don't shoot blanks, and maybe we're all blessed by the future Shauns advocating for cemeteries all over the nation.
Blessings. I salute you, Shaun the Advocate.
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7 comments:
I'm not sure what fascinates me more, that a guy who spends his time caring for cemeteries leaves his personal effects disrespectfully strewn about on gravestones, or that a guy is that concerned about demonstrating his alleged virility to strangers. Also that he thinks photos of children are proof of virility. Anyone that defensive about it is automatically suspected of carrying around photos of strangers and simply claiming that they are his. Alternatively, maybe that photo was left there by the family of the deceased whose tomb that was.
Either way, you're lucky to be alive. You can't put anything past cemetery advocates with imaginary children.
The tale is true. Here's my own photographic evidence: click.
I would note, however, that Shaun and his ex were set to re-marry, and hence the story has a happy ending (that and the fact that we made it out of the cemetery alive).
It starts on the drag in Austin and 23 years later, it carries on in NOLA. The crazies love you and obviously keep track of your movements. Who knew they were so organized? Maybe they just recognize one of their own.
Upon reading this post, my wife recalled the fellow at Double Dave's who was talking to the St. Pauli Girl, as well as mb.
Perhaps that all get tips on him via the transmissions they receive in the fillings?
s-s: this was a veritable goldmine of psychoanalysis. i hope you never turn your keen mind to analyzing me.
that being said, it really is true that this blog is a sign of my virility.
but you're right: i was lucky to get out of there. there were some open tombs--ick--and he probably opened them himself in case he did need to place in there any unruly "elements." that's why i was so agreeable with him and told him that his seed must be extraordinarily strong and active.
st--
ah, you're right. i forgot that about his ex. i'm not confident that it will work out, though. in fact, i'm going to start reading the local NOLA crime blotter. you know, just in case.
timekeeper: they see the fear and fascination in my eyes and hop right on over.
st: it was unpleasant speaking with him about the martian transmissions he was receiving from the st. pauli's girl, but it was FAR more unpleasant being so casually abandoned by y'all.
just as you abandoned me in NOLA.
I will confess to trying to wander away from Shaun at least twice, hoping you would follow suit. However, let the record reflect that once it was clear you were stuck, I was right there by your side until he finally left.
But yes, I do confess to utterly leaving you hanging with St. Pauli Girl Guy.
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